I stood quietly for a few moments, fidgeting with my watchstrap. ‘Sorry, Clare. I didn’t mean that. Would you mind if we called it a night?’
She shook her head. ‘We can leave this pub but we’re not going home while you’re upset.’
‘I’m not upset. I’m just… Oh, I don’t know.’
‘Maybe you’re not upset but you’re disappointed, so you are. And I know you’ll be taking it personally, even though he thinks you look lovely and the only reason he’s not interested is bad timing.’ She moved my head so she could look me in the eye. ‘It’s not about you, Sarah. It’s circumstances. Youaretaking it personally, aren’t you?’
‘I can’t help it.’
‘Which is why we’re not going home where I know you’ll brood and convince yourself you’re fat, ugly, will never get married and have children, and will end up a mad spinster with cats.’
‘Am I really that predictable?’
‘You’ll meet the right person; I’m sure of it. Just don’t expect it to be instant and do expect there to be knocks along the way. What’s that bollocks they say about the path to true love never running smoothly or something like that?’
I smiled and wiped at the tears that were about to run down my cheeks. Clare reached for my hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘Let this be a lesson to you, though,’ she said.
‘In what?’
‘Checking your messages more often. If you’re serious about finding Steven, you need to be on the ball. If you’re going to do it half-heartedly, you may as well go back to hoping he’ll walk into the shop one day.’
I nodded. It was true. You snooze, you lose.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Where to next? Where do all the hotties hang out in Whitsborough Bay?’
‘God knows. I haven’t been on the pull here since I was eighteen.’
‘We still have a list to get through, haven’t we?’ Clare said as I steered her back up the precinct towards Minty’s.‘Starting with the lovely Stéphan Marcell in the morning. And once we’ve exhausted the list, there are stacks more profiles we haven’t looked at and more Stevens in your favourites who haven’t contacted you so you can drop them all a message. Plenty more options.’
I stopped walking. ‘Do you really think I’ll meet someone special?’
‘I’m sure of it. He may not be on your current list and he may not even be on a dating site, but I’m absolutely convinced that, one day soon, you’ll meet someone who sweeps you off your feet – just like in the soppy movies you love so much – and you’ll get your happy ever after. I’m just not convinced he’ll be called Steven. In the meantime, why don’t you try and relax and enjoy the moment?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’ve just relocated back to somewhere you love but haven’t lived for twelve years and you’ve become the owner of what promises to be a grand business. Why not just take a while to enjoy being the new you?’
‘The new me?’
‘Sarah, the entrepreneurial florist instead of Sarah, the other half of a couple. What you’ve achieved in the past six weeks is amazing. Stop kicking yourself for being single and congratulate yourself for being successful.’
She had a point. A very good one. When did my two best friends become so wise? And when did I become so tunnel-visioned and obsessed with meeting The One at the expense of appreciating all the great stuff I had going for me? Things needed to change.Ineeded to change. I was nothing like Uncle Alan so I needed to stop obsessing about ending up like him.
21
‘One cappuccino and a skinny latte, please,’ I said in my friendliest, most cheerful voice as I leaned on the counter of The Coffee Corner on Saturday morning.
Stéphan Marcell was serving and he was lush. His online photo really didn’t do him justice. Deftly handling the espresso machine, he was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. His online profile said he was half-Portuguese, half-French. Stunning. Even more gorgeous than Stephen Lewis the plasterer. And this time there were no fluorescent green prams in sight.
‘Coffees.’ He slammed the paper cups on the counter. ‘Anything else?’
I flinched. ‘Er, yes, two croissants please.’ Hmm. Not so friendly. Nice accent, though.
‘Heated?’
‘Yes, please, if it’s not too much trouble.’
Without acknowledging me, he opened a small oven behind him. ‘Christ!’ he muttered before shouting, ‘Sammie! Here! Now!’
