Chapter Thirty-Seven Soundtrack: What If I Love you by Gatlin

Fuck Nas. Not in the way Mei wants me to. In a real, 'Fuck off to this man, and to everyone else who crosses me tonight,' kind of way. I make it halfway across London on the momentum of my determination and a Chappell Roan album before a thought breaks into the noise.

I'm going on a date.

With a man.

Something giddy and gentle flutters in my chest. Finally, it says, it's time to feel something. It's been lonely in here.

I'm going on a date.

A huge grin breaks across my cheeks as I step off the tube and I can barely resist doing a little dance. Okay, I don't resist. I do the little dance.

And, of course, of course, Tomas is on the platform on the other side, crossing to the stairs, and his matching smile reveals that he saw me wiggling my hips.

Despite infinitesimal odds, our tubes let us off at the same time. By even narrower odds, this man seems to find my excitement charming, or at least his smile suggests that.

Will these odds carry me through my date?

He hasn't looked away from me since our eyes met. I pause. Swish, there's my skirt against my legs, but he definitely doesn't notice my stockings because he's still watching me smile.

Hi, he mouths.

I wave.

With another smile—don't his cheeks hurt?—he bounds up the stairs on his side. A nasty little thought occurs to me: dating him might be like dating a golden retriever.

Nope. No sarcasm tonight, I remind myself. This is a man who's charmed by my excited dance and makes PowerPoints about plants. I can rein in my cynicism for an evening. Who knows? It might be good for me. Help my circulation, or something.

I don't bound up the stairs, because I'm not an athlete, but I hurry up them to meet him in the middle of the bridge atop the platform. Around us, the commuters push past and another train whistles down the tunnel, but we just stop in front of each other and smile. I can't lie: it feels pretty fucking magical.

'Hi,' he murmurs.

'Hi.'

He reaches out and takes my hand and then, inexplicably, shakes it. We both watch this happen and then burst out laughing.

'Sorry, I don't know why I did that,' he admits. 'I must be nervous.'

'I admire your honesty.'

'Then can I be honest about something very embarrassing?'

'I'm so used to embarrassment that it's impossible to shock me.'

'I don't know your name.'

I wait for him to wink but he's completely earnest. 'Really?'

'Really! You left so quickly after the talk.'

I just assumed he'd stalked me on social media, like I was doing last night, Googling Tomas + Orchids + Serial Killer. Luckily, no hits.

He must not know anything about me. I feel like a sexy enigma.

Tomas pulls out his mobile. It's, no lie, a flip phone. Who is this man?

'I saved you as Dendrobium. Because you had golden hair and red lips, like the orchid.'

I touch my lips, painted red again for courage, and feel the blush burning my cheeks. That might be the sweetest, cheesiest thing I've ever heard, and a horrible part of me finds it a bit corny. But why shouldn't I have a romantic gesture? Why shouldn't a hot scientist think I'm his sweet bouquet?

'And how did you plan to squeeze my name out of me?'

'I just asked.' He blinks at me. Okay, so he isn't sarcastic. That's fine. I can just never make a joke again. Maybe positivity will be good for me.

I take pity on him. 'It's Ellie.'

'Hi, Ellie.'

'Hi, Tomas.'

'Can I take you to dinner?'

'Please. I'm starving.' He loops his arm through my elbow—what a gentleman—and escorts me out of the station. He only releases my arm as we exit the barriers and I feel, for that moment, the loss of his warmth.

*

He's booked the restaurant and we're there ten minutes early. If I wanted to be a bitch, I would find his choice a little predictable. It serves overpriced Mediterranean tapas and everything looks slightly mushy. Then again, I can hardly boil water for pasta, so who am I to judge?

It's troubling to realise that I am a slightly bitchy person. I have never overcome an obstacle that I didn't complain about. Not once have I assumed the best about someone. So why am I on a date with a walking ray of sunshine?

I need someone to roll my eyes with. Or at.

'Would you like a drink?' Thank God, Tomas snaps me out of my thoughts, and one look across the table reminds me why I'm here. This is a gorgeous man who, yes, has a flip phone, but who also has a cheeky look in his eyes and who almost certainly wants to sleep with me. I am going to see this through.

Celibacy has lasted long enough.

So has the silence after his question.

'Wine!' I shout, and then, more softly, 'I would love a glass of wine.'

'Okay,' he responds, and I feel my cheeks burn again. He gestures to the waiter with two fingers which, yes, this is sexy. We're back on track.

Focus, Ellie. Sex. You can do this.

'So Ellie,' he says, with a little extra emphasis on my name. Gold star for him. 'Obviously you have heard me talk about orchids for an hour, so I think you owe me a PowerPoint about your job, too. The least I can do is listen.'

'Ah, let me grab my flashcards,' I respond, and thankfully he laughs. 'Honestly,' I tell him, 'it's the best job in the world. I know you'll want to argue with me but you will lose.'

'My friends tell me I'm a pushover. I'm sure you'd win.'

'Really? It feels like, with your job taking you all over, you'd have to be pretty firm about what you need.'

'Stop changing the subject,' he scolds me. 'If I start talking about phytology I won't stop. So please, tell me something about you. Doesn't have to be your job.'

I'm touched by this thoughtfulness. I mean, I do want to talk about my job. But it's nice to have the option.

'I make TV. Well, kind of. I commission and produce shows.' I tell him the name of the streamer and he looks blank. Okay. That's kind of weird. Like, not to brag, but everyone knows it. My grandma has an account.

He shrugs apologetically. 'I spend a lot of time in the jungle. These are my only non-hiking shoes.'

'I like them.'

'Thanks. I basically emerge once a year to give a talk, beg for some more money, and then retreat to the rainforest.'

'Well, then you'll have to take my word for it that my job is very cool.'

He raises his glass. 'To very cool jobs.'

And I ignore the part of me that thinks, Who the hell doesn't watch TV?, and I toast him. 

*

do we like the flower nickname? do we think it's sickening? let me know! and as always, thanks so much for reading ❤️