I skimmed a few more blogs, all repeating the same commandments of etiquette. Suddenly, a jolt of panic iced my veins – what if I reeked? What if he took one look at me and thought,no thanks? Or worse, what if I blurted out something tragically stupid? I did a final mirror check on my phone, confirmed my make-up was still serving, and pulled out my perfume for a liberal spritzing before saying goodbye to Mum and Femi.
‘Have fun, dear!’ Mum called after me. Then, with the timing of a stand-up comic: ‘Although, what perfume did you just drown yourself in? It smells like cat piss!’
Fantastic. Exactly the confidence boost I needed. Nothing like stepping out the door smelling like Eau de Public Toilet.
On the Tube into town, I opened up theOuiMeetapp to reread the itinerary that Jericho had laid out, but not before seeing his latest message to me that he’d sent that morning:
Good morning, Cassie, I’m looking forward to seeing you this afternoon. Take care!
He was too sweet. After writing back saying I was looking forward to seeing him too, I hopped off at Bond Street and marched straight into the first fragrance shop I could find, which of course turned out to be a Middle Eastern oud boutique – aka, the Holy Grail of perfumes. Crystal bottles glimmered under spotlights like holy relics, while I slunk in looking like I’d just lost a fight with a Yankee Candle.
Channelling fake confidence, I prowled the aisles with my best ‘hmm yes, I’m very discerning’ face, while inside I was screaming:please God, just cover the pee smell.I paused at a £250 bottle of tobacco oud, lifted the tester dramatically, and thought,well, if Jericho doesn’t like this, maybe his grandad will.
‘Hello there! Do you need any assistance?’ A sales assistantmaterialised out of thin air, dazzling me with veneers so white I nearly ducked for cover.
‘No, thank you,’ I croaked, then, in a voice two octaves lower than usual, added, ‘I’m just browsing … for my brother.’
Smooth.
The moment she pivoted away, I lunged at the tester like Gollum with the One Ring and unleashed a panicked spray storm all over myself. One spritz turned into three, three into seven – I basically hotboxed myself in a tobacco oud cloud. My eyes watered, my throat closed, and I coughed like a Victorian orphan, waving away perfume fog before the assistant noticed.
By the time I staggered out, I smelled like Santa’s grotto had been set on fire inside a Lush shop – but hey, at least it was an upgrade from Eau de Cat Litter. Barely.
I sprinted towards the WatchHouse coffee shop located on Hanover Street. It was one of those super classy, Scandi-inspired coffee shops filled with patrons on their laptops, sipping their iced matcha lattes. The coffee shop was situated just behind the station off the public pathway, so there was a degree of privacy there which was perfect. Jericho had clearly done his homework.
I checked my watch; in true Cassandra fashion, I had arrived fifteen minutes early, so I found a booth seat in the corner of the shop. I took a couple of deep breaths; I wasn’t sure whether I was nervous or excited – maybe both? I tried to steady my heartbeat as a myriad different thoughts flew around my head. What if he changed his mind after meeting me? What if he didn’t find me attractive? What if he was a weirdo? Was I crazy for doing this in the first place? Well, it was too late to look back now. Just then, I received a notification ping on my phone – from Jericho. He’d cancelled, hadn’t he? I knew it.
I sighed as I opened the app, gearing myself for whatever excuse he’d written:
Just walking down Oxford Street; I’m about seven minutes away or so.
Oh. That’ll teach me.
I responded back telling him I’d grabbed us a seat, took out my make-up bag and touched my face up one last time, dabbing at my T-Zone to clear up my oil patches, and put on a fresh layer of lip gloss. I was in control, not him. What I was doing was empowering, not degrading. I could almost see it as self-care. Some people pay £500 for a month’s worth of Pilates classes; I pay for the pleasure of being in good company. Self-care was self-care.
I took another couple of deep breaths. It was all going to be fine. I smelled somewhat OK, at least. And even if the date turned out to be awful, I could say that I’d tried it. As I went to put my phone in my pocket, I looked up briefly and that’s when I saw him; all six foot four of him. He was wearing a crisp, white T-shirt with a pair of navy-blue slacks and its accompanying utility blazer. On his feet were a pair of white Nike Air Force Ones (rarely worn). He had a gold wristwatch on his left wrist, and had a smattering of gold chains around his neck. As I glanced up towards his face, it took everything in me not to let out a choke. Jesus Christ.
Jericho wasbeautiful.
His chocolate-brown skin almost seemed to radiate in the sun’s rays, with his small, piercing eyes squinting narrowly as he approached the shop. His hair was freshly trimmed, and from my field of vision I could see that he had a small tattoo inscription on his neck. There was nothing – and I mean NOTHING – that drove me wilder than a man with a neck tattoo. I crossed my legs and tried to stifle a huge grin – this gorgeous man was here to see me, and it was what I deserved.
As Jericho opened the door of the coffee shop, every femaleeye in the vicinity turned towards him. It was as if an Adonis had entered the building. He glanced at his phone briefly, then looked up and did a sweep of the room before eventually locking eyes with mine. His mouth immediately burst into one of the most beautiful smiles I’d ever seen. His teeth were absolutely perfect. I stood up awkwardly and returned the smile, suddenly feeling embarrassed although I wasn’t sure why I felt that way – I was just as cute as him, if not cuter??
Jericho weaved in between the tables, staring at me the whole time, eyes unflinching. I suddenly felt incredibly exposed; almost as if he were sizing me up. He looked like a predator about to attack his prey. His stare was intense; almost intimidating, but equally, incredibly hot.
‘Cassandra. Here you are,’ he said, his sexy, almost-baritone voice permeating my eardrums. I studied his face again; he was thirty-four years old, but he had a charming, youthful look about him. I wondered if he’d had Botox or any other tweakments; he looked good.
‘As I live and breathe, Jericho; the icon herself. It’s lovely to meet you!’ I managed to utter eventually, opening my arms to give him a hug. He welcomed my embrace and as we briefly hugged, I noted the intensity of his cologne; it was fresh, yet woody, and smelled amazing. After a short moment I sat down as he remained standing.
‘Can I order you a drink? What would you like?’ he said. A true gentleman. We loved to see it.
I had surveyed the menu beforehand so knew exactly what I wanted. ‘Aww, thanks!’ I responded, smiling sweetly under his intense gaze. I couldn’t allow him to intimidate me in any way – I was in control here. ‘Could I please have a medium skinny cappuccino with a shot of vanilla, and an almond croissant?’
‘Absolutely. I’ll be over shortly, sweetheart.’
Sweetheart.
And I was SAT. Was this whole thing transactional? Sure, but it didn’t stop my heart from skipping a beat on impact. I took a seat, emitting a low whistle under my breath as I checked him out from behind. So far, so good. I took out my phone, put it on silent and snapped a sneaky photo of him while he was at the counter and sent it to Sade with the following message:
