“Morning.” I move to walk by him, but his arm flies out, blocking me.

“Hey, what’s wrong? You seem off.”

I wipe my forehead and drink some more water from the bottle I’m holding. “I’m tired. I just cycled about twelve miles.”

Jay whistles. “Did you work it off?”

“Huh?”

“Whatever you were trying to work off,” he elaborates, reaching out and running a finger down my neck. “Sweat suits you,” he murmurs, almost absently.

“I’m not sure what you mean by that, but it was a good workout. Did you say something about breakfast? I’m starving,” I prattle on, and walk around him, going inside.

He sets a plate down in front of me, and it looks delicious. My stomach rumbles at the sight. “You’re being awkward, and you need to stop it,” he tells me firmly.

“I’m not being awkward.”

“Oh, yes, you are, and I’m not having it. So you tried to kiss me last night. You were drunk, Watson. It’s fine. Everybody gets a little kissy when they’ve had a few.” He winks.

“Yeah, well, I apologise for getting kissy,” I say, scowling, and he laughs, pulling a chair out and sitting down. My phone goes off then, vibrating with a message. I pull it out of my pocket to find it’s actually an email alert. I check it out and see that it’s from Owen, the chef. He responded to my message! My heart lifts. He wasn’t avoiding me like I thought.

A smile shapes my lips as I read what he’s written. He wants to meet up today for lunch. Oh, wow. That’s so soon. Then again, what with the current Jay situation, it’s probably the ideal distraction.

“What are you grinning like a fool for?” Jay asks as he chews.

I send Owen a quick response telling him I’ll be there and then slide the phone back in my pocket. All the while I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience. I can’t believe I’ve agreed to meet up with a stranger. “Uh, I just agreed to go on a date,” I reply shakily. “Today.”

Jay doesn’t say anything for a while, just silently watches me while he eats. “Is this an online thing?”

“Yeah.”

“You should let me check out his profile, make sure he’s not some creep.”

“Eh, I think I can determine if he’s a creep or not on my own. And he’s not. He’s a chef.”

“Well, la di f**king da. I still want to check him out, Matilda. He’s a stranger. It’s not safe. On second thought, why don’t I be your escort?”

I laugh out loud at that. “Okay, I’ll just ask my dad along, too, make it a big family day out,” I reply with sarcasm. “You’re not escorting me, but if you like we can exchange numbers, and I’ll call if anything goes wrong. We’re going to be in a public place, though, so even if he is weird, I can easily slip away.” I don’t bother to point out that Jay was a stranger to me not too long ago. In fact, I still don’t know that much about him.

“Fine, give me your phone,” he says, holding his hand out for it. I hand it to him, and he pulls his own out. As he programmes his number in, I carry on eating my breakfast. He’s taking a little long, though, and when he gets this smug look on his face I know he’s snooping.

“Give me my phone back now, Jay,” I say, reaching across the table. I swipe for the phone, but he holds it out of my reach.

“This guy is a complete douche, Watson. He talks to you like he’s trying to arrange a business transaction.”

I jump out of my seat now, determined to get my phone back. I grab it, but he pulls on it, swinging his arm around, and I go flying, landing smack bang on his lap. “Give it back, Jay. You’re being invasive,” I plead, getting upset. I really don’t like him reading my messages. It was funny at first, but now it feels like he’s laughing at me.

Frowning, he hands me the phone, and I swiftly jump out of his lap.

“I actually find him very gentlemanly compared to most of the perverts who’ve written to me,” I sniff. The hangover has me extra emotional. “And just because some of us find it more difficult than others to meet someone, it doesn’t mean you have to go making fun.”

Jay leans across the table, taking my hand in his. “Hey, I was only joking around.” His thumb rubs over the inside of my wrist, and I pull away. The contact makes me feel too much.

“Whatever. You were being mean, and you know it.”

“That wasn’t my intention, but I’m sorry all the same. God, you’re too f**king cute, aren’t you?” His voice is low, making something stir deep in my belly.

“Stop trying to console me with fake compliments.”

“You’re cute, Matilda. Real f**king cute. Now, can we backtrack a second? Who says I don’t find it just as difficult to meet people as you do?”

I roll my eyes. “Oh, come on. I doubt you’ve ever gone through a dry spell in your life.”

“Just because women approach me a lot doesn’t mean I always go for them. We all find it hard to meet someone who fits us. If you hadn’t guessed from my occupation, I’m not exactly normal.”

I stare at him, surprised by how he just opened up. He’s getting serious now, and it’s making me feel weird. I want to go and give him a hug and make friends, but I don’t have the courage. Instead, I glance at my watch and make like I need to go get ready.

“Okay, well, I’m sorry for insinuating that you have it easy, Jay. Thanks for breakfast. I’m going to take a shower.”

I leave the room, and I can feel his eyes on me the entire time.

Selecting an outfit for my date is harder than I anticipated. I try to call Michelle for advice, but her phone goes straight to voicemail. I suppose she’s probably trying to sleep last night off. So I’m on my own. It’s times like this that I could do with a female parent.

I settle on a pleated pastel blue skirt that reaches past my knees and a white short-sleeved blouse that buttons up to the neck. The look is very fifties preppy, and I finish it off with a pair of white and navy boat shoes. I blow-dry my hair, curling the ends and putting it up in a high ponytail. I’m feeling confident that I look good. I just hope that Owen is impressed.

When I come downstairs, Jay and Dad are in the living room, chatting. I step inside, and their conversation quietens.

“Where are you off to, chicken?” Dad asks, smiling, his legs crossed as he lounges back in his armchair.

Scratching at my arm nervously, I answer, “I have a date.”

“A date? Well, isn’t that just wonderful. You look very pretty.”

I give him a small grin. “Thanks, Dad.”

Jay’s been staring at me silently the whole time. I hitch my bag up on my shoulder and turn to leave.

“I’ll walk you out,” he says then, hopping up from his seat and following me out. I walk to the door and step outside before turning to face him. He places his hands on my shoulders and looks down at me, studying my face.

“Don’t be nervous. The douche chef is lucky you’re giving him the time of day. Tell yourself that. Repeat it in your head over and over. Be the confident Matilda who’s hiding in there somewhere, the one who never stopped smiling,” he tells me, his voice a little strained.

I take a deep breath, and his words actually do make me feel more confident, like I can handle this. “I’ll try. Thanks, Jay.”

“You’re welcome,” he says, then runs his hands over the fabric of my top and teases, “Look at this f**king outfit, so angelic, puts me in a mood to do some corrupting.”

I look at him, my mouth hanging open. He leans down and places the softest, most feather-light kiss to my cheek. I put my hand to it as I walk away, heading for the bus stop. God, how I wish it was him I was going to lunch with instead of Owen. Not that there’s anything wrong with Owen. I’m sure he’s not a douche, as Jay puts it. It just seems like all men pale in comparison to the illusionist under my roof.

When I get to the restaurant, a stylish bistro, I hesitate outside for about five minutes. My heart is pounding way too fast, and my hands are shaking. I breathe in and out, needing another pep talk from Jay. He’s not here, though, and I have to go inside sooner or later. I’m definitely not going to allow myself to chicken out and leave.

When I finally walk in, I spot Owen sitting at a table for two outside on the terrace. Every step feels like a mile as I walk toward him and he lifts his eyes to mine. He stands when I reach the table, coming and giving me a kiss on the cheek. I’m disappointed that it doesn’t give me butterflies like Jay’s kiss did.

“You’re Matilda,” he says.

“Yeah, I am,” I reply stupidly.

He smiles. “I’m Owen.”

He pulls out my chair for me, very politely, and I sit. There’s a menu on the table, so I pick it up just to have something to do with my hands. A waiter goes by carrying a tray of drinks, and I wonder why I didn’t think to have one or two myself before coming here. Being tipsy would make my nervousness less obvious. Although being obviously drunk probably wouldn’t look so good, either.

“So, you’re the chef. What would you suggest I order?” I ask, trying to sound mature and confident. My voice sounds weird, even to my own ears.

Owen smiles. “Well, I don’t work here, but the chicken main sounds good.”

“I like chicken. Although, not the fake processed kind. It has the consistency of rubber.”

Did I just f**king say that? Kill me now.

It’s not a complete disaster, though, because Owen makes noises of agreement. “Yeah, that stuff is awful. I refuse to believe it’s actual chicken.”

That makes me laugh. “Oh, my God, what could it be? Do you think they’re feeding us spices and glue?”

Owen leans in, whispering, “It could be anything. But let’s not talk about it here. The walls have ears.”

I laugh even louder this time. This is actually going well. Colour me surprised. We talk for a while about our jobs, and I tell him all about my dressmaking. He seems alert and interested, which is a good sign. I’ve often gotten stuck talking to men in bars with Michelle, and their eyes would completely glaze over when I spoke about myself. And most of those glazed eyes were focused on my chest rather than my face.

Just after our food arrives, my phone beeps loudly with a message. I decide to ignore it, but Owen insists I check, since it could be something important. It’s not. It’s from Jay.

Sherlock Holmes at your Service: Watson, where do you keep your lawnmower?

Yeah, that’s what he programmed his name in as. I immediately correct it to a simple “Jay.”

Matilda: It’s in the shed. I’m not even going to ask what you want it for. P.S. I’m not keeping your name like that, you big geek.

Jay: In the shed now. Can’t find it. I want to mow the lawn, what else? Keep the name or face the consequences.

Matilda: Why are you bothering me with this? Can’t you ask Dad? I laugh in the face of your consequences.

Jay: He’s gone out. Laugh at my consequences, will you? I should spank you for your insolence.

I don’t know what to say to that, and I’m actually blushing. My finger hovers over the screen, trying to think of a clever response, when another message comes in.

Jay: I forgot to ask how your date’s going…?

Matilda: It would be going better if you weren’t so rudely interrupting it!

Jay: So it’s going good. Is he being a gentlemen? He better be. I don’t wanna have to go over there and whip out the fists of fury.

Smirking, I shove my phone back in my bag now, deciding I’ve left Owen waiting long enough. We continue with our conversation and our food, and my phone beeps several more times with messages. In the end, I turn it off. Whatever Jay wants, it can wait. Owen seems a little perplexed that I’m ignoring my phone. Great, now he probably thinks I’m a bitch who ignores her friends’ messages.

Our date ends, and Owen walks me to the bus stop. It turns out he walked to the restaurant since he lives close by. He quietly suggests we do this again sometime, and I smile at him as I agree. Then we exchange numbers. When my bus comes, he moves in for what could either be a kiss or a hug. My nerves get the better of me, and I hop quickly onto the bus, furiously waving goodbye like a dope.

God, that was awful. I think I might have just ruined the semi-success of the date with that stellar move. I’ll just have to wait and see if he calls.

As I ride the bus, I finally decide to check Jay’s messages.

Jay: Oh, come on, Watson. Don’t leave me hanging.

Jay: Still waiting…

Jay: He better not try to touch your boobies.

Jay: Fine. I know when I’m not wanted.

Jay: Only joking. Everybody wants me ;-)

When I get home, I see that the lawn hasn’t been mowed, so I know that Jay was either lying or he couldn’t find the lawnmower. The possibility that he couldn’t find it is ridiculously low, since our shed is tiny and the lawnmower is a huge orange contraption. This makes me annoyed, so I march my way up to his room, preparing to give him an earful. I don’t bother to knock; instead, I bulldoze my way in.

I should have knocked.

What I find is a topless Jay, sprawled out on the top of his bed, asleep. I stand there staring at him for longer than would be deemed appropriate. He has one muscular arm thrown up above his head, while the other rests along his torso, his hand on the cut “V” of his hip bone. I shiver just looking at him, a work of art in tattoos and muscles.

Pure pornography.

I close the door and walk to the edge of the bed, breathing slowly, my eyes drinking him in. His phone is beside him on the pillow, which makes me think he must have been messaging me while he was like this. Barely clothed and sleepy.