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I didn’t get her name.
What an idiot. I spin around and stride back towards the terrace, but it’s empty, the doors standing closed. I turn again, desperately searching with my eyes, but I can’t see her anywhere in the crowd; I rush through them to the exit, going as fast as I can past the clusters of people talking, the exhibits scattered through the room, waiters who always seem to be walking exactly where I need to pass through.
I step out into the street and look left and right, but there’s no one in sight. I eye the taxis waiting on the other side of the road; no wonder I can’t see her. If she left, she probably hopped in one of those and is too far for me to follow already.
Damn it. Why was I so careless? I should have paid more attention – but I was too blown away by her beauty, too concerned with making sure that she was alright. How could I forget such a big thing as her name?
I rub my mouth thoughtfully as I step back inside. I can’t do anything about it right now – not only because she’s gone, but also because I still have work to do. But I desperately hope that she will use the number I gave her. That she won’t forget me, or get too shy, or have her phone stolen before she can get in touch, or any of a million other mishaps that might get in the way.
Maybe I made a mistake in not taking her number. I should have thought about it and made sure there was no chance we would miss one another. I should never have left it to chance.
But there is one thought that sustains me as I throw myself back into doing the rounds: the thought that all hope might not be lost. If she doesn’t contact me, there may be one way to find her, as time-consuming as it might be. I know that there are at least two artists that she follows, and even though it might take me a long time to trawl through hundreds of thousands of social media accounts looking for her – I will do it if I have to.
I will find her again, no matter what.
Chapter Seven
Candy
I sit in my seat in the lecture hall, trying to resist laying my head down on the keyboard of my laptop and having a nap. I managed to make it in time for Professor Clarke’s lecture, but that doesn’t mean I’m really here – at least, not in my mind.
I’m so tired after last night. I could barely sleep even after getting home late, thinking about the mysterious man that I met – Finn – and trying to decide what to do. I almost wanted to text him the moment that I got home, but it seemed like it would be too soon. I don’t want to seem too keen.
All of the cheesy teen movies I’ve ever seen pop up in my head – all of the endless discussions about when is the right time to send a text, whether to keep them waiting, how many days there should be between the first date and the second. It all flies around in my head instead of whatever Professor Clarke is talking about, and above it, all is one more thought, him.
I can’t stop picturing him, remembering every aspect of last night in fine detail. His eyes. The way he pulled those boys away from me and took charge. How he looked for me and brought me the glass of water. His smile when he asked me out.
I think I’m losing it.
“Alright,” Professor Clarke says. “We’ll take a fifteen minute break. If you leave this hall, make sure that you’re back on time. I will be locking the doors again.”
There’s a flurry of general movement around us, and I let my head thunk forward onto my laptop, pressing the space bar down. Finally, I can stop pretending to be awake.
“Not doing great after last night, huh?” Alex chuckles.
“I’m so tired,” I groan. “And I can’t concentrate. All I can think about is…”
“Your Mystery Man?” she teases.
I gave her a mild version of what happened this morning – after all, I had to explain to her why I’d left on my own instead of waiting for her.
“Yes,” I say. “When should I message him? I don’t want to screw this up.”
Alex grins. “You’ve really got it bad, haven’t you?”
“He was so gorgeous, Alex,” I groan. “And so kind to me. I can’t believe he actually wants to go on a date with me. This is such an amazing chance, I don’t want to put him off.”
“What does he look like?” Alex asks. “He must be something pretty special.”
“Tall, dark, and handsome,” I say, relying on the old cliché – which in this case, just happens to be true. “And amazing in a suit. What am I supposed to do, Alex?”
