by Adam Croft
Closer To You
Adam Croft
Copyright © 2020 by Adam Croft
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Contents
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Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Untitled
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Untitled
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Untitled
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Untitled
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Untitled
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Untitled
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Acknowledgments
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Tell Me I’m Wrong
Her Last Tomorrow
In Her Image
The Perfect Lie
Only The Truth
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Prologue
I always knew you’d be out there somewhere. They say there’s someone for everyone. And I’ve found you. Again.
A needle in the haystack, a shining diamond amongst the dirt. And there’s plenty of dirt out there, believe me. You wouldn’t believe the amount of dross I’ve had to wade through to find you. These days the world seems to be filled with trout pouts and Snapchat filters. But I knew you wouldn’t care for any of that. It’s just not you.
It’s been a long time coming. You don’t know how much I’ve gone through to find you. The sacrifices I’ve made. If only you knew. One day, you will.
It was always meant to be this way. Sooner or later you’ll realise that. There were times where I could have given up, could have thought it would never happen. But I didn’t. And then I saw you.
That first photo was enough. The smile. Those eyes. Your face shape was ideal. But that wasn’t what I noticed first.
I don’t know how long I held my breath for. I think I thought I was dreaming. I recognised it immediately. It transported me back, made me smile, made me happy. You made me happy. It almost seemed too good to be true, but I knew that wasn’t possible. You were always true. You were always there.
In that moment, I knew I had to have you. I knew it was you. It was perfect. Almost too perfect.
1
Thursday 14 November
The whole ‘dating’ scene isn’t something I ever thought I’d be involved with.
There’s a part of me which thinks dating apps are somewhat crude and soulless. After all, all you see is a name, age and a photo and you’re asking to swipe right, indicating you’d totally marry this guy based on those three things or swipe left, consigning him to oblivion as not even worth speaking to because he’s six months too old or dared to wear sunglasses while having his photo taken.
Another part of me realises that’s the way things have been done for years, anyway. If you spot someone in a bar or pub you know nothing about them. Even less than you do on these apps, in fact. At least with the app you know their name and age before you talk to them. And who wants to date a Kevin?
Maybe I’ve just been out of the game too long. It’s definitely easier than going out to meet people, and means I can at least vet them before having to come face to face with them. That’s something I’ve been grateful for on more than one occasion recently.
I’ve been using Tinder for about three weeks now. I’ve not met up with anyone from it, but I will. There’ve been plenty who’ve managed to rule themselves out of the running, though. Guys who open with cheesy chat-up lines get unmatched immediately. Anyone who mentions sex inside the first three messages meets a similar fate.
I’m talking to two at the moment. Finn is 32. He calls himself an ‘Irish stallion’, but the conversation is dull. I didn’t realise he’d be as scintillating to talk to as an actual horse. Ryan is 29, apparently, although I’d put him north of 35. The age thing doesn’t bother me, but the lying does. Still, he reckons he’s 29 and I’m not about to ask for his birth certificate. In any case, he’s started to get sleazy and ask about my bedroom preferences, so he won’t last much longer.
I decide to go back to the main screen on the app and see who else is about. The first few are definite left swipes. Topless photos are always a no-no, as are people called Gary. But I swipe right on a couple, too. I’ve got a thing for nice eyes. I think you can tell a lot by looking into someone’s eyes. I guess there’s a reason they call them the windows to the soul. There are some guys who have those ‘serial killer eyes’ that you can’t quite explain, but which everyone recognises. And others have a cheeky little glint, almost as if the niceness is trying to push through.
Tom’s eyes are warm, inviting. And there’s a definite cheeky glint. I swipe right on him, and a new screen pops up telling me it’s a match. Tom had already swiped right on me in the past. That means we’re now able to talk to each other.
I think about what to say to him. I’m not good with openers. I don’t want to go down the boring ‘Hi’ route, but what else is there to say to someone you don’t know but are expected to speak to? This is why us women tend to let guys make the first move. They seem to know what to do. Well, some of them do.
I have a closer look at his profile for some inspiration. Maybe there’s something on there I can lead in with. It doesn’t say much, though.
Positive, open-minded and friendly. Still seeking the yin to my yang. I know she can’t be far off. Maybe it’s you?
Perhaps a little cheesy and unoriginal, but there’s something I like about that. He doesn’t come across as tryin
g to be something he’s not, unlike 90% of the guys on Tinder who claim to be surfing vegan martial artists who visit sixty countries a year and go to the gym every three hours. If that was the case, local leisure centres and the departures lounge at Luton Airport would be reclassified as zoo exhibits for the male of the species.
While I’m still thinking of what to say to Tom, a message pops up on the screen. He got there first. That’s no bad thing, and at least it shows he has some confidence in making the first move.
Hi Grace! Gorgeous photos, especially the one with the butterfly dress. It’s an Apricot one, isn’t it? x
I feel my eyebrows flick upwards, momentarily and voluntarily. This guy knows what he’s doing.
I’m impressed. So which are you, fashion designer or drag artist? x
He’s keen. I see the three dots appear on the screen almost immediately, which tells me he’s already composing a reply. After a few seconds, it appears.
Haha - neither I’m afraid. I was a friend of mine’s ‘shopping buddy’ for a while and I think I’ve probably memorised every dress in that shop x
I have a little chuckle at the thought of him being dragged around shopping centres, laden with bags while his friend tries on every dress in sight.
Always on the lookout for a bag carrier. So is it a good thing or a bad thing that I reminded you of your friend? :P x
Can’t go wrong with a cheeky little tongue-sticky-out face. At least it shows I’m only teasing.
She’s got a boyfriend now so I’ve been relieved of my duties. And relieved is definitely the right word! You remind me of lots of things, but I’m not about to wheel those old lines out. I’d put you off your breakfast. Much planned for the day? x
Just work, I type. I’m not sure whether that’s preferable to listening to cheesy chat-up lines or not. It’s a tough one… What do you do for a living? x
I lock my phone for a moment or two and make another cup of tea. Glancing at the clock, I reckon I’ve got plenty of time for another before I have to leave and catch my train.
While the kettle’s on, I decide to do a bit of washing up. The little boiler on the wall creaks and groans like a teenager I’ve just woken up and asked to warm the water by hand. Still, I can’t complain. The cost of this place is actually pretty good for this part of the south east. Even though I’m just outside of London, not too far down the road they’re renting out cupboards for two grand a month. It’s still far from being manageable on my own, though.
Since Matt and I split up, my parents have been covering his half of the mortgage. They didn’t need to, but they’ve always been incredibly supportive. They know I couldn’t get anywhere else near work for the same sort of money. Not in a million years. If I moved further north I’d spend my life commuting and would spend any money I’d saved on travel. Besides which, this is my home. I’ve always lived in the area, and I’ve become attached to my little house. Sure, I could take on a lodger or a housemate, but they’d be a complete stranger. Everyone I know is partnered off and has their own place.
This place was ours. Mine and Matt’s. Well, it was always mine on paper. His credit score was so shot to pieces, and his income so low, it was actually better not to have his name on the mortgage. But it doesn’t feel right moving a stranger in, even after what he did. Besides which, it’s a tiny one-bedroom house and I can’t ask someone to pay half the mortgage and then pop them on a camp bed in the living room.
I pour my cup of tea and check my phone. There’s another message on Tinder from Tom.
I’m a sales manager for a tech security firm. We provide computer security gear for companies all over the world. All pretty boring, but good fun x
I think that’s the first and last time I’ll see the words ‘computer security gear’ and ‘good fun’ in the same paragraph.
Nice! Does that involve lots of travel? x
As soon as I send the reply I start to question myself. Will he think I’m trying to work out whether he’ll be around much? I don’t want to sound as if I’m already sussing him out for long-term relationship potential. Before I can worry too much, the reply comes in.
Some, but nothing too heavy. What do you do? x
In a way, I’m glad Tom didn’t tell me he was a fireman or a brain surgeon, because I always struggle to make my job sound interesting. I love it, though, and I guess that’s the main thing.
I work in events management. Again, pretty boring but good fun ;) x
I don’t know what made me wheel out the winking face emoji, but it felt right. Again, I worry that he’ll get the wrong end of the stick and associate it with the ‘good fun’ comment. Oh well. If he starts to get randy I’ll kick him into touch with the others.
Sounds interesting! By the way, if you want to move to WhatsApp or something at any point, I’m on 07700 900624. Tinder can be a bit unreliable with messages sometimes! No pressure though x
I smile at this. He’s not the first person to suggest swapping numbers fairly early on, but he’s got a good point. The app does have a habit of crashing or losing access to messages. And anyway, he seems alright. I save the number in my phone as a backup but decide to stick to Tinder for now.
Thanks - will save for future reference ;) Anyway, better dash now. Long day ahead. Chat later? x
The reply comes within a few seconds.
Definitely. Looking forward to it already xx
2
Monday 18 November
I love my job, but it definitely has its stressful moments. Today has been full of them. I’ve been working on a launch event for a new art gallery in town — the sort of thing which should be fairly straightforward. Unfortunately for me, the client loves changing her mind every five minutes, which makes the whole exercise a thousand times more tedious than it needs to be.
At one point, she even wanted to change the location of the event. The official opening of an art gallery, held somewhere that isn’t the art gallery. How do you square that one? Thankfully, I managed to talk her out of it, but that came at the expense of having to give in to other, almost equally ridiculous, demands.
She was determined she wanted some form of celebrity to do the opening, but there was nothing else attached to that particular instruction. She claimed to know plenty of celebrities, but they’d all be attending as friends and couldn’t possibly be the ones to cut the ribbon. She didn’t tell me if she wanted a musician, actor, politician, artist, reality show star, sportsperson or what constituted a suitable level of celebrity for her precious gallery.
In the end I phoned up a couple of agents I knew, asking if they had anyone in town on that date who might be willing to turn up for a couple of hours for a reasonable fee and some bubbly. Ultimately, we settled on a TV personality who presents a daytime antiques programme and was willing to take five hundred quid for popping in to cut the ribbon.
It infuriates me to have to do it, but we need to try and keep her sweet. Work’s been slow for us this year, particularly after a rival company set up in the area.
Pelham-Saunders has been trying to aim itself at the same high-end clients as we’ve traditionally chased, and for some reason they’ve been winning them. We’ve been losing pitches to them left, right and centre, and there’ve been rumours that we might have to let some people go. I’m fortunate enough to be well-liked by the bosses, and the buzz in the office is always positive and friendly, so I’m pretty sure we can pull through it. We’ve got through worse.
I’m working on updating the budget spreadsheet and trying to figure out where we might be able to lose a zero so I don’t have to make that awkward call to her to let her know she’s going to need to lower her demands or increase her budget. Just as I’m doing so, an email alert pops up on my computer screen.
It’s from her.
I sigh inwardly, my heart dropping a little as I know exactly what sort of thing it will be. She’s either changed her mind about the celebrity, had a brilliant idea to make the party dragon-themed or has decided
to turn the art gallery into a shoe shop.
I open the email and read what it says. All of a sudden, my previous thoughts don’t seem all that funny or outrageous anymore.
Hi Grace,
I’ve been having another think about the launch event and I think we might be going down the wrong road with the colour theme.
I was reading an article in Cosmo which talked about the implications of colours and the psychological effects they can induce. I know we talked about purple being quite a regal and upmarket colour, but the article said it’s also seen as pompous and conveys emotions of loneliness and desperation — NOT things we want to be associated with, as I’m sure you agree!
