‘Absolutely not,’ I say, with a little too much conviction.
He laughs at my disgust. ‘Wow, so you’ve really been suffering,’ he says jokingly.
‘Nothing I’m not used to.’ I shrug.
‘Oh, yeah, you’re from England, right? That’s all pints and pubs, innit?’
Sam recites the second sentence in one of the most terrible attempts at a British accent that I’ve ever heard. It’s so bad, in fact, that a squawk of a laugh leaves my mouth, so brash and unrestrained that my hand rushes to clamp it in. His smile widens at the noise, a fondness in his eyes that instantly quells my remaining giggles. I keep my hand in its place, though. I can’t let him see the new awestruck, goofy grin that lies underneath it.
‘Was my accent that good?’ he asks, biting back a smirk.
‘Impeccable,’ I say as he chuckles back.
‘I spent two weeks there last month – absolutely loved it. Pretty place and even prettier girls.’
He props his chin in his hand as he leans further forward, staring deeply into my eyes, but my ears prick as I hear El’s laugh bounce across the room. It’s a loud laugh, a shrill laugh, a – dare I say it – flirty laugh. Noah’s funny, but there’s no reason she should be laughing that loud.
‘Yeah, I suppose the girls are pretty,’ I say, distracted.
‘Sorry, was I not clear enough? I’m talking about you,’ he says. ‘I’m a little out of practice. The last time I was single I... well, I was still in high school, actually.’
‘That’s a long relationship,’ I say, trying to make out Noah’s words.
‘Yeah. Honestly, it was a little too long. Turns out, convenience isn’t the same as love.’
The room stops. I stare back at him, my eyes widening as I hear my own words parroted back to me.
Is he serious?
I mentally flick through my articles so far – I haven’t spoken about Tom online. As painless as it was, I haven’t shared that part of me with the wider world. Even when I mentioned him in my viral video, I never got into the complexities of why our relationship ended. There’sno wayhe could have taken those words from me in an attempt to manipulate this. Those came fromhim. He reached into his heart andsounded just like me.
And here I am, distracted by Noah and El while this poor man sits here and proves that we just might be a match.
Enough’s enough.
I take a sip of my wine, gathering liquid courage before slamming the glass down on the table and looking him dead in the eye. His gaze clouds with intrigue as my tone shifts, which only spurs me on further.
‘Did you... maybe want to get out of here?’ I ask.
The second we left the bar, I felt the wobble in my knees and realised why you don’t skip dinner before a bar crawl. My stomach lurched and I braced myself for a repeat of Rotterdam, but Sam pulled a bottle of water from his bag and found a bench for us to perch on. Ten minutes later, the water and the cold were more than enough to still my stomach. It wasn’t enough for Sam, though. He was horrified at my lack of food and whisked me off to his allegedly perfect sandwich spot.
Sam links his arm through mine tightly as we wander through the empty streets, the smell of his cologne wafting silkily under my nose.
‘Are we close yet?’ I ask, mirroring his long-legged stride.
He laughs again. ‘You’re impatient.’
I stare him down. ‘No, I’m hungry. And you promised me the perfect sandwich.’
‘We’re almost there,’ he says.
He pulls me under his arm, rubbing me warm as we stroll down the dimly lit street. He tightens his grip as we move, biceps clenching against me. It lights a flame inside me I haven’t felt burn that strongly since Brussels. I reach for his hand and squeeze it, stroking my thumb across the skin, and swear I hear a tiny growl seep from his lips. As I glance up, I catch him already staring down at me. His eyes have darkened, hard to make out against the night sky.
‘You know,’ he says, his voice hoarse. ‘I also have bread and stuff at my place.’
‘Bread and stuff?’ I repeat, smirking.
‘Meats, cheese, pickles... the works,’ he says. ‘It may not be the perfect sandwich, but it’s... Well. It’s at my place, so...’
