‘Sophie,’ I reply, grinning like a halfwit. Good Lord, he’s handsome. I wonder if that woman will lend me her red dress for the next three minutes.
Desperation isn’t attractive.
Shut up, Naomi.
‘Have you been here before?’ he asks. ‘I had no idea a bar like this existed. It’s rather fun.’
He sounds like my boss Rupert Nighy, an Eton alumni, who can only be described as posh, privileged and unbearably pretentious. However, unlike Rupert, Jasper already seems far less up his own arse.
‘First time here,’ I respond, cheerfully, ‘and first time speed dating.’
He smiles, flashing a mouthful of perfectly straight, white teeth. ‘I must admit, I’ve attended a few of these events. Far more civilised than swiping faces on a phone, don’t you think?’
I bob my head in agreement as he sips his gin and tonic.
This beautiful man and I have common dislikes.
‘So what do you do for work, Sophie?’
‘I work in digital marketing. You?’
‘I have two vegan cafés. Pianta. Maybe you’ve been?’
This beautiful man owns his own business and is obviously successful enough to pay for those veneers.
‘Hmm, I don’t think so,’ I reply, knowing that I absolutely have not. I did once visit a vegan restaurant (the only place we could find that wasn’t fully booked) where even the staff looked unhappy to be there. I got food poisoning from a mushroom stuffed with tofu and rice and spent six hours on the toilet.
‘I have colleagues who are vegan,’ I tell him, deciding not to share my bathroom trauma, ‘so they undoubtedly have been. They tell me it’s hard to find good vegan food nowadays.’
‘Carnivore then?’ he asks, his smile showing a little less teeth. ‘You should visit us. I’m sure I could have you eating vegan within a month.’
The delicious steak baguette I had for lunch disagrees. ‘Hmm, I’m more omnivore than carnivore,’ I assure him. ‘I eat vegetables too!’
He sighs. ‘Maybe you’re just not an animal lover. . .’
‘Excuse me?’
I’m offended. Of course I love animals, I gave my neighbour’s yappy dog Rocco a leftover chicken breast last week.
‘I’m just saying, it’s hard to have compassion for something you’re eating.’
This beautiful man is a pompous arsehole.
There are two vegans in my office, Eric and Abbie. They don’t criticise what we eat and, likewise, we’ve never judged them, apart from that one time Eric brought in the foulest-smelling vegan mac and cheese and we all threatened to report him to HR.
The bell rings again and he reiterates just how nice it was to meet me, while updating his match card. I update mine with a big cross and a small doodle of the bacon cheeseburger I plan to have on the way home.
The rest of the dates are far less noteworthy. Bland even. Including Vincent the illustrator, who was sweet but wore the sameStar WarsT-shirt I bought for Naomi’s twins.
‘You remind me of Jyn Erso.’
‘Sorry, who?’
‘FromRogue One. The movie. I mean, obvs not identical, you have a larger nose, and the actress Felicity Jones is stunning. . . Not that you’re not attractive, you absolutely are, it’s just. . .’
I stare at him blankly, my fingers instinctively reaching towards my nose. ‘Are you OK?’ I ask him.
He sinks into his seat and smiles sheepishly. ‘Nervous, I am.’
