28 June
Riffing along with Scott’s whole Titanic gag, I extend my arms like plane wings and give him my best breathless, girly Kate Winslet impersonation. “I’m flying!”
Over on the pier, a tiny red light at the peak of the helter-skelter flashes in time with my elevated pulse. I could really get used to this place. Especially this balcony. My arms tire, so I let them drop back down by my sides. Still right behind me, pressed up against me, Scott says, “Actually… out of interest… do you trust me, Kate?”
I turn around to face him and he plants both hands on my hips. His expression tells me he genuinely wants his question answered. “That’s a slightly odd thing to ask.”
“Curious, that’s all,” he says, but his shrug fails to convince. I search his face for further cues, but find nothing to go on.
“You seem like a really good guy, and…”
I’m already falling for you, but would rather jump off this balcony than admit as much.
“… I like you. But trust you, one hundred per cent, on our second proper date? Ask me again if we’re still seeing each other in another two months. Or two years.”
Well done, me. That struck the right balance.
“Just FYI, though,” I add, “when someone asks if you trust them, it doesn’t necessarily make you think, ‘Ooh, they must be proper trustworthy.’”
Oh. And now I may have gone a shade too far, on a great night. But he did ask.
Scott nods and smiles. “I get that, yeah. I wouldn’t have asked in the first place, if DiCaprio hadn’t in the movie! But I don’t know… Actually, I suppose it’s because I’ve been accused of being shifty before. Had a girlfriend, a while back, who didn’t trust me, purely because of how I looked. Not that I’m hung up on it or anything!”
There’s that flash of vulnerability – the thing that first drew me to Scott. “I don’t really get her attitude,” I tell him. “You seem pretty honest.”
Does he really, Kate? Be honest. Right now, does this guy really seem to be anything but hot?
With a flash of inspiration, I throw in, “She might’ve grown to mistrust excessively handsome men.”
Squeezing my waist, he pulls me against his groin. “Oh, good work. You can come again.”
“And again and again, I hope,” I say, as I kiss him, tongue first.
Scott pulls back and smiles. Then, without warning, he looks shocked and I wonder what on Earth I’ve done wrong.
“Christ,” he says. “I completely forgot to say… and your eyes just reminded me! You know that whole thing about the contact lenses getting lost? That was a wind-up.”
I shake his hands off my hips and stand open-mouthed. “What?”
A gale of laughter flies out of him. “I’m so sorry! I totally meant to tell you, but then we drank more and ended up on different topics.”
“You fucker.”
“Let me try and make it up to you, right now? I think I know a way.”