When she uncovers his plan to lead an entirely uneventful life, Mia Evian is determined to teach Preston Maddox how to stop living like a ghost, but Mia and Preston have history, tension, and a lot of complicated feelings.
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I'd convinced myself that I'd grown out of being easily influenced, but last night proved me wrong in every way imaginable. I didn't want to kiss Preston, and I stand by that. It's just that when forced into a drinking game-induced corner, and then my best friend since forever insisting that I do want that, it's only natural that it messed with my head. I was confused. Plain and simple. It means nothing, and in the spirit of it meaning nothing, I've not uttered a word to Aiden–or anyone else–about it.
Last night also has absolutely nothing to do with the lunch date I've arranged with Nick, a guy on Hinge I matched with a few days back.
Okay, maybe it does a little.
I've not exactly been making waves on the London dating scene since moving here, and if last night's kiss tells me anything, it's that I'm desperate for non-platonic human connection. I'm confident that if I had something resembling a love life going on, all of this weird stuff–this tension–with Preston wouldn't even exist. This Hinge date will no doubt fizzle into nothing, but it's a start.
Before the date, though, I've got to deal with the letter. I've not left my bed yet this morning, and I'm not allowing myself to until I open it. I don't know what I'm afraid of; Preston's dad is hardly going to have written to say he has no interest in him whatsoever. I repeat that assumption in my head over and over again, and I continue repeating it as I unseal the letter and pull out an A4 sheet of paper.
With a deep breath, I begin to read, and I don't exhale until I've reached the bottom of the page. When I do, it's a huge sigh of relief.
'Okay,' I mutter to myself. 'Okay. Good. This is good.'
It goes without saying that Rhys wants to meet Preston. He doesn't give masses away, but he says enough to make it all seem real. He grew up in West Wales but now lives in Richmond, a fact Anwen must've already told Preston, and it was during a trip to Ynys Môn as teenagers that they met. He had no idea Preston existed until last year–shortly before he wrote this letter, by the sound of it. I'm less clear on if that's a fact Preston already knows. He doesn't have a family, nor is he married, but he has two dogs. At the bottom of the letter are his contact details.
I carefully fold the paper, then return it to its envelope before rummaging through my bed for my phone.
Hey, are you free this eve? I've read your letter (all good, don't worry!!)
He replies within minutes.
Next week? I'm in Cardiff.
Of course he'd wait until he was out of the country to ask me to read something he's been putting off reading himself for a whole year. I roll my eyes. I toy with suggesting I give him a call instead, but figure in person is best. I agree to next week, tuck the letter away into the drawers beside my bed, then refocus on the task ahead. My date.
I meet Nick, a second year History student, at Dolly's cafe. He's already there when I arrive, or at least I think it's him. That's the real peril of online dating: approaching someone you're deliberating fucking, marrying, or ideally both, only for them to tell you they have no clue who the hell you are. Thankfully, I get it right. Better yet, he's alarmingly attractive with neat, dark hair, striking brown eyes, and impeccable bone structure hidden underneath a cluster of freckles.
