Page 14 of Last Christmas in London

‘Please tell me he looks like Richard Armitage circa Vicar of Dibley?’

‘I wish. He’s not quite that good-looking, but close.’

‘Tell me everything.’ I scooted closer, eager for details.

‘We met trying to get into the same taxi at Charing Cross. I said he could have it – being polite and all – and he said he hadn’t realised I was waiting, so it was mine. In the end, we just decided to share it.’

‘Oh, my God, that’s such a sweet meet-cute,’ I said, feeling a warm glow spread through me. ‘It’s so Hallmark movie, I love it.’ The only meet-cute I’d ever had was when I ended up going on a date with a man who accidentally trapped my wrist in a sliding door at a butcher’s in Italy. It was more meat-cute than meet-cute, but he did introduce me to tiramisu gelato as a way of apology, and as a date, before getting distracted by another woman’s extremely long legs as we walked across the Ponte Vecchio. I ended up making out with the gelato rather than the man.

‘It really was,’ Josh continued. ‘Anyway, we were both heading to Piccadilly, not far, I know, but it was raining, and you know I’m a martyr to my hair.’

I nodded solemnly, resisting the urge to pat his head.

‘So we’re in the cab, chatting and flirting, and by the time we got to Eros’s statue, we’d exchanged numbers. The taxi driver even joked, “When’s the wedding?”’

We laughed as the waiter returned, placing our drinks on separate napkins on a side table. I thought it was odd – beer bottles on napkins? – until I noticed a phone number scribbled on Josh’s.

‘Oh, poor guy,’ I said, watching the waiter walk away with a hopeful glance back. ‘And to think I encouraged it.’

‘It’s fine,’ Josh said, pocketing the napkin casually. ‘Just because I’ve already ordered doesn’t mean I can’t look at the menu.’

We clinked bottles and relaxed. Josh took a small sip before diving into a rhapsody about his new boyfriend.

‘The symmetry of his face is ridiculous. And the way he smells; like nutmeg cookies mixed with mulled wine.’

I raised an eyebrow. ‘He smells like Christmas?’

‘Christmas with a hint of cherry vape and a touch of Tom Ford.’ Josh grinned. ‘And the sex, Evie. The sex!’

‘This I don’t need details for,’ I laughed, taking a long draught of my beer to give myself the time to do the mental maths on when I’d last had sex. Three years? Maybe more. The longest dry spell of my life; nothing worthy of an existential crisis. As a graysexual, my interest in sex was more of a polite curiosity, like wondering how the stock market’s doing while rarely investing. Occasionally I’d reap a reward, but it had been a while.

‘You’re getting the details anyway.’ Josh leaned in conspiratorially. ‘It’s vulgar, I know, but my God! I never thought sex could be so quick and yet still be A+, spot on, would come again.’

‘Quick?’ I asked, blinking. ‘Are we talking… premature enthusiasm or—’

‘Oh, it’s all him,’ Josh interrupted, a little too defensively. ‘But not in a bad way. He just – he can’t wait for the pleasure, skips right to the good stuff. It’s magical.’

‘Is it, though?’ I asked, doubtful. Josh had never been one to equate brevity with brilliance before. I knew his preference was long and slow, more a marathon than a sprint.

‘We’re both busy! It’s on-the-move sex, not gymnastic stay-at-home sex,’ he explained, as if this clarified every-thing.

‘Okay,’ I said, thinking that was more my speed than Josh’s, but people can change. Although it felt… off. But this was Josh, and his taste in men had always been unconventional: from the Mancunian circus performer who set up a pole in Josh’s living room (and left it!) to the Latvian rock guitarist who enjoyed strumming his guitar during fellatio or the architect who designed prison cells and would do anything sexual, so long as they did it outside.

‘So when do I get to meet him?’ I asked.

Josh flushed, looking suddenly uncomfortable. Oh wow, was it that serious?

‘Come on,’ I urged. ‘I want to meet him.’

‘It’s not that I don’t want you to. It’s just… complicated.’

‘Complicated how? Does he work abroad? Not into exclusivity? Are you keeping it casual?’

‘None of the above,’ Josh said firmly. ‘I want it to be serious. But… it’s complicated.’

‘Why? Spit it out. Or don’t.’ I shook my head quickly. ‘I don’t want to push.’

Josh hesitated, then sighed. ‘Maybe I do need to talk about it. I can’t tell Megan, though.’