I’d laugh if I wasn’t so bummed out.
Sorry, my phone was dead. On plane leaving Palma. Call you when I land.
The shuttle from the airport to the station isn’t as crowded as it was on the journey there. Maybe people have stayed longer in Palma. I wouldn’t blame them. Grey skies and rain aren’t the welcome home that anyone needs.
‘Hey.’
‘You did not just leave me hanging all day, waiting for this important follow-up information,’ Naomi exclaims. ‘Even Philip’s invested.’
‘I probably shouldn’t have texted you in the first place,’ I reply. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
‘What do you mean? You’re still not giving me the details I quite clearly requested.’
‘You know that we’ve been hanging out all week. Getting on like a house on fire. Last night we went out. Karaoke—’
‘Oh God, you didn’t sing, did you? I’ve heard you sing. Like having a root canal in my eardrums.’
‘Yes, I sang. We both did. Also,mean.’
She laughs. ‘Sorry, continue.’
‘We ended up in a nightclub, drinking, dancing. Unbelievably fun night.’
‘Sounds great. . . and?’
‘We were outside, he just started rambling about how much he likes me, how he loves spending time with me, how he can’t stop thinking about me. I said I felt the same. And then we kissed.’
She gives a little squeal. ‘This is much better thanThe Love Boat. How was it? Is he a good kisser? He looks like a good kisser.’
‘It was perfect,’ I admit. ‘Slow, soft, deep. Honestly, ten out of ten, would recommend.’
‘And then? His room or yours?’
‘Neither,’ I reply. ‘We were drunk. Decided not to rush things.’
‘Rush things? Sophie, sleeping with someone seven minutes after meeting them would be rushing things. Seven days is just needlessly dragging things out. People have married, divorced and died in less time.’
‘I saw him this morning. Asked if he’d like to meet up when we’re back in London. See where this goes. He said no.’
The line is silent.
‘Naomi?’
‘I’m seething on your behalf. Give me a second.’
I wait.
‘I don’t get what his problem is. You’re single, he’s divorced, you’re both hot. . . Wait, it was the singing, wasn’t it?’
‘He’s not divorced. He’s a widower. His wife died eighteen months ago. He’s not ready to start seeing anyone.’
‘Oh,’ she replies. ‘Yeah, that would make more sense than the singing.’
‘When we met, he didn’t want to talk about her, so he said he was divorced. In his mind, that was more respectful to her than saying he was single.’
‘Ah, I get it. Sorry, Sophie, I could tell you liked him.’
‘It’s fine!’ I reply. ‘It was just a kiss. I’ve probably read too much into it anyway. That’s my bad.’
