Cassie: I can see him on a season ofWorst Ex Everon Netflix tbh. You don’t think he’d ever do anything to Mum, do you …? Like … something serious?
Steve: Don’t think like that man. Dad is a 50-something-year-old short-sighted lawyer. He wouldn’t hurt Mum. He’s harmless.
Cassie: D’you know who else was a lawyer . . . . . . . . .?
Steve: Who?
Cassie: Ted Bundy.
Steve: SMH.
Cassie: Also! Serial killers can also suffer from short-sightedness and astigmatism! Jeffrey Dahmer had the thickest spectacles of all time.
Steve: Bye, sis. And stop listening to those true crime podcasts, yeah? xxx
In any case, I started googling old people’s homes in the area just in case we needed to refer my dad. Who knew what he could be capable of?
In the late afternoon I saw a DM from Theo. That didn’t take long.
Hey Cassie, I hope you’ve had a restful day today. I just wanted to check in to see how you were doing? xx
The fact that I was on his mind was quite sweet, I couldn’t lie. I grinned to myself as I typed back:
What is this? Like an aftercare package now? I love how you go above and beyond for your clients; that’s the kind of service I’m talking about haha! But to answer your question, I’ve had a wonderful day, thanks; spent it at home, trying to catch up on some rest from the last 24 hours. My body’s really been through it, as you well know …
The message was read immediately, which I found interesting. This was coming from the same person who had spoken about ‘establishing boundaries’ with clientele, by the way.
Ha! I’m glad to hear you’re getting some rest in, and NO this isn’t part of any package *tuts* – I’ve just been thinking about you all day, that’s all. I really had a good time with you …!
Hmm. Was the sex that good? I mean, it was incredible, but surely not good enough for him to be breaking his boundaries like this? I decided to prod further.
Thinking about me, huh? Doesn’t that go against your so-called ‘boundaries’? Was my gorilla-grip moose knuckle that sensational? Damn. Maybe I should joinOuiMeetand have my own clientele.
An almost immediate response:
HA. Go ahead and joinOuiMeetthen. Just remember to list your ‘moose knuckle’ as a separate account. It deserves its own rate. xx
We traded playful banter for about an hour, and as timepassed, Theo grew noticeably more talkative. He started opening up, chatting about work, sharing a few of hisOuiMeetHoe Adventures, and even letting me in on a bit about his family. I learned he was an only child, and that his parents had moved back to Saint Lucia four years ago, leaving him alone in London.
The fact that he was beginning to open up to me about his life felt like real progress. As long as I was careful not to overstep any boundaries or press him with anythingtoopersonal, I hoped things would continue moving in the right direction. I eventually bade him adieu and went to bed – exhausted yet quite content. I’d started the weekend off right, and dozed off, thinking about possible things I could get into tomorrow. There was a farmer’s market on Battersea High Street that I’d always wanted to visit. Perhaps I’d swing by tomorrow morning – maybe with Theo, if he was free? It would be wholesome, and cute. I grabbed my phone from the bedside table and sent him a DM on Instagram:
Hey! I know this is really random and by all means please feel free to decline, but I’m thinking of going to a farmer’s market tomorrow morning or early afternoon in my area and I was wondering if you wanted to tag along? It’s on Battersea High Street!
Two minutes later, a response:
This one can’t get enough of me, can she?? Haha, I may have some time tomorrow, I know the market you’re talking about. That’s the place that does the viral sourdough ploughman’s sandwiches right? I saw it on TikTok. I can be at yours for say, 10 a.m.?
YES. I was in. This was shaping up to be, by far, an excellent weekend. I quickly typed back:
Ha, well, what can I say? A girl enjoys your company. And yes, that’s the same place! We absolutely have to get a sandwich while there; I’ll see you at 10 a.m.
I loved this for me – this whole ‘grab the bull by the horns’ energy was really paying off, and honestly, I was thriving. In my head, the script was already written: a picture-perfect, cutesy, wholesome morning with Theo, after which I’d somehow (very smoothly, of course) persuade him to come back to mine. There, we’d spend the entire afternoon making sweet, passionate love before seamlessly transitioning into more quality time, like some sort of erotic romcom montage. It was all going to unfold exactly like that. Obviously.
Except, that didn’t bloody happen, did it?
I was jolted awake at 2.44 a.m. by the crackly 8-bit Sonic the Hedgehog ringtone I’d assigned to my brother. I groggily rolled over to get the phone, having missed the call again, only to see a string of text messages he’d sent over the last thirty minutes, alongside texts from both my mum and dad. Bianca must be in labour! I called him back and my theory was confirmed immediately.
‘Cass! She’s in labour. She’s in labour! For real this time; we’re in the labour ward at St Tommy’s.’
