First Dates

First Dates - A Short Story

'Polly, my darling, how are you?' He asks this so softly which makes me lean in that bit closer. I wish this wasn't all being filmed. This feels even more intimate than it should be.

I offer him a smile and say, 'Well, I didn't expect it to be you tonight.'

He grins back at me, his bee stung lips pursing together just as I remembered. 'Do you know what though? This has to be the best surprise ever.'

'Oh really?' I question, taking a sip of my drink, thinking back to the tears, the fight and throwing of objects the last time we met. All from me, I might add.

'Course, Polly. You've got to fill me in on three years worth of time.' He takes his beer from the barman and clinks his glass with mine.

When the table is ready, he gets off of his stool and offers me a hand, noticing or remembering my smaller demeanour makes it almost impossible to get off a bar stool elegantly without stumbling. Fox and I would spend every Saturday night out at a new bar at our university town of Edinburgh, drinking until the early hours of the morning and then cuddling in bed the next morning after a hazy mix of sex and alcohol.

I follow Fred through the restaurant, which looks smaller in reality. Fred untucks my chair for me as Fox mentions to him, 'Fred, I know Polly. She used to be my girlfriend.'

He looks between both of us and goes, 'No way!' In the sexiest French accent I've heard and I nod in agreement. 'Maybe it's fate,' he coos, and offers me a wink.

I settle myself into the chair and properly look at Fox for the first time since he arrived a few minutes ago. Still as gorgeous at ever. Age has just improved his attractiveness. His wavy brown hair droops slightly over his brow bone and his thick set of lashes frame his greeny-blue eyes. I'd spend hours just looking at his angelic face sleeping, counting the few freckles sprinkled across his nose and wonder how on earth that beautiful man fell in love with me in the first place. He's dressed in smart trousers and a crisp white shirt. Probably the sexiest I've ever seen him look.

I can't just sit and look at him the whole evening, without at least trying to come across as witty as I once was with him. We're on this date for the next few hours, so the least we can do is try to enjoy it.

'So stranger, where are you living now?' I ask, trying to start us on a conversation.

'Clapham. I moved back to London after graduation and house shared for a while before settling in Clapham with a work mate. And you? Are you back in the country?'

'No, I've just moved to Clapham too,' I say, in utter disbelief.

He grins. 'No way. Really? I'm surprised I've not seen you around the stations.'

I nod. 'Yes. Me too.'

'This is too funny, Polly.' He takes a sip of his beer and can't stop smiling. 'You look gorgeous tonight by the way. That's a really nice dress you've got on.' He glances down towards my little bit of cleavage and then back up to my eyes, a tinge rising to his cheeks. The funny thing is we rarely dressed up smartly. We spent most of our time in cheap pubs and bars and didn't do the whole fine dining and posh restaurant circuit in the whole three years we were together.

I accept his compliment and let him tell me what he does for a job now. I always found Fox fascinating. His degree was in music and his whole ambition was to play music for the world to hear. He tells me he is playing the violin in an orchestra at a West End theatre while he also records music for himself. I used to be like putty in his hand whenever he brought out one of his instruments to play to me.

I explain that I'm working as a receptionist at a law firm. Far from my dream, but a job means money and if I'm to make it in London, I have to work by doing anything at the moment.