Blades

Chapter 17

Chapter 17

The compromise I made with Charlie was that I'd ask Sandy to meet only just before The Pride would. I sent him a text saying 'Meet at 4? Xx', plus a Google maps link to a little café near Hyde Park Corner. I'm walking there from the tube station now, trying my best to focus on my music rather than my manic inner dialogue.

What happens now?

I'm not just nervous, I'm excited too. Jumping-up-and-down, butterflies-in-my-tummy kind of excited. I knew I must be when I spent at least half an hour deciding what to wear, which is unusual for me. In the end I settled for a denim skirt, some fur-lined boots and a baby blue pea coat that I love so much it never seems to leave my cupboard. It never quite feels special enough to wear it. Today it does.

It could be the start of something new.

I instantly regret the thought because I now have High School Musical stuck in my head. For some reason the cheesy pop song ('...it feels so right to be here with you, uh-oh...' ) drives my heart rate up a notch. There's no use denying it really. I am one hundred percent in panic mode right now.

Maybe panic makes it sound too unpleasant, actually. I'll go with freak out mode instead. Either way I power-walked all the way past the Harrods' Christmas window displays on my surge of adrenaline and barely even noticed how beautiful they were.

I see Sandy before he sees me. He's standing outside the café, hands in the pockets of his navy duffel coat and chin tucked into his scarf. The cold has tinted his nose and cheekbones a rosy pink and it looks almost unbearably adorable. His gaze flits restlessly between the people and cars passing him, void of any particular emotion. And then he catches sight of me through the crowd and his entire face lights up.

I can't tell what song I'm listening to. The people I'm weaving through fade into insignificance. There is only this: the flush of Sandy's cheeks and his dark eyes blazing into mine and the memory of him kissing me. Walking those last ten metres to him takes an age, my legs working mechanically. He doesn't break eye contact the entire way.

"Hi," I say, stopping at arm's length from him. I want to hug him, to touch him, more than anything but I'm afraid that if I do I'll ignite on the spot.

"Hi." His smile is small, but it's the realest I've ever seen. "Can we get a drink? I'm freezing."

I grin, "That's why I suggested a café."

"Of course," he chuckles, "one step ahead as always." He opens the door to the café and it dings in a satisfying way. "Ladies first." I am very aware of his hand on the small of my back, despite the layers of clothing between our skin. "What do you want, then? They don't do caramel hot chocolate here, I'm afraid." That surprises me.

"You checked?"

He shrugs, "I was waiting." But I can tell he knows it matters to me. I'm not sure I actually need a hot drink anymore. I'm warm and fuzzy enough as it is.

"Hmm," I say, scanning the board above the counter. It's written in chalk and set on a rough wooden plaque – very rustic chic. I have to keep re-reading it because he's watching me and it's distracting. "They do Christmas specials. I think I'll have a white hot chocolate instead."

"You weren't joking when you said you had a sweet tooth, were you?" We've got to the front of the queue and he gives the barista a charming smile off the back of his laugh. "One white hot chocolate and one cappuccino, please. To go." I start rooting around in my pocket for my purse and Sandy shoots me a look I can't identify. I think it's embarrassment. "I'm paying, Freddie." He looks genuinely petrified for some reason. "I mean, if you'll let me?" His eyes have gone big and puppy dog-ish, the ones I can't refuse. I remove my hand from my pocket.