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Bloody hell, I’m over an hour late. He probably thinks I’ve stood him up. Or perhaps
he never showed in the first place. Maybe I’m the one who’s been stood up. With trembling fingers, I dial his number, praying that this time he answers.
Once more, it goes through to voicemail.
Dammit.
I flip up my collar and step into a shop doorway.The air is cold and wet with strong winds that cling to your skin like a murky spider’s web.
This night just couldn’t get any worse.
In desperation, I pull out my phone again to try Nick’s number. Before I get the chance, a powerful hand slips into mine and gives it a reassuring squeeze.
Startled, I glance up and see Nick towering over me like some kind of dark angel. My heart slams against my chest, and my pulse skitters all over the place. For a second, we stand in a timeless dimension of euphoria, just smiling at each other. I’ve never felt so happy to see someone.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” I stammer. “I lost my phone and then I—”
“Sssh …” he whispers. “You don’t need to explain. All that matters is you’re here now.”
His grip tightens, sending a shockwave through me. I’m so starved of affection, so chronically untouched, I relish even the slightest contact. I smooth back a stand of hair that’s fallen in my eye. “We’d better hurry. The show’s due to start in ten minutes.”
“Lead the way.” Nick releases my hand.
My smile drops.
Oh. I was enjoying that.
He links his arm through mine and I start smiling again. We walk up the street at a steady pace, blending flawlessly with all the other couples out for Saturday night. I feel so proud to be on his arm. This is the first time a man has ever shown me affection in public. When I was dating Andrew, he refused to hold my hand and always walked a couple of feet ahead of me, like he was embarrassed to be seen with me.
Nick has no such hang-ups.
Cautiously, I study him from the corner of my eye. He’s wearing an elegant, black coat with a high Mandarin collar and the scarf I made for him. My heart melts at the sight of it.
What a gent. Even if he’s just humouring me, it’s nice that he remembered.
“I still feel so bad for making you wait,” I mumble. “I promise I’ll make it up to you. Perhaps I can take you for a coffee after the theatre.”
Nick smiles but doesn’t say anything. There’s real tenderness there, and—I hope I’m not misreading this—he seems delighted to be with me.
We reach a crossing and wait for the lights to change. The Arts Theatre is located on Great Newport Street, sandwiched between a comic shop and a fancy-looking art gallery. As we approach, a small crowd is gathered outside and men in baseball caps are handing out flyers. We enter the foyer. To our left is a bar with a long queue of people waiting to buy refreshments, and to our right is the box office.
“I’ll pick up our tickets,” I say, pulling out the receipt I printed off the Internet.
Nick nudges his head toward the bar. “Fancy a drink?”
“Yes, but I don’t think we have time. The show’s due to start any minute.”
I grab the tickets from the box office and we follow the ushers through to the auditorium. As we scramble to find our seats, a booming voice announces that the show is about to start. Then the lights go dim. Gently, Nick slips his fingers through mine.
“Do you like being frightened?” he whispers.
I giggle and shake my head. His warm breath is making my nipples stand to attention.
God, I want him.
And then the curtain rises and the show begins. Over the next two hours, the story that unfolds on stage is both terrifying and filled with surprises. On more than one occasion, I let out a little shriek, and each time this happens, Nick glances over at me, suppressing a chuckle. Clearly, he finds my cowardice amusing.
When the lights go on, the actors take their bows to rapturous applause from the audience. The show has been a huge success.
