The First Date: A heartwarming and laugh out loud romantic comedy book that will make you feel happy

by Zara Stoneley

  I’m sure it’s not actually his infectious laugh that’s the issue here, more the fact that I am now in the ‘desperate’ arena when it comes to my man-drought. And his off-the-wall idea, though bonkers, is all I’ve got. I mean, who knows? This dating lark is completely beyond me, so maybe something as whacky as this could work.

  A few pointers and I could discover my inner man-killer.

  And then, voilà, I will have my pick of boyfriends to take to the party!

  Noah was amusing and quite good company, but also slightly infuriating. He seemed too flirty and fun for me to imagine him hunched over a computer creating 3D perfection, and surely a professional like him is far too busy to have any spare time to teach a girl how to seduce other men? And, I have to admit, though I know one should never generalise and stereotype, I always imagine architects to be serious and family-minded, living in large bespoke Grand Designs-style posh creations, with perfect wives and possibly a very clean cat, or house-trained child who does not leave dirty fingerprints on the polished surfaces.

  But I feel that not only do I need Noah to help, I would also like to see him again anyway just to get some answers, and to find a way to banish him from my head, even if his seduction training techniques turn out to be a waste of time.

  I wipe the palms of my hands down my jeans and pick up my mobile. What have I got to lose? I can do this. I am not my mother. I am not going to let him into my actual heart. Or my knickers. Or my head.

  No harm in just one little chat, is there? I mean, it’s not like I actually fancy him, or he fancies me. It will be like taking acting lessons.

  Ahhh … The plan has just hit a snag! What if he wants paying?

  I put the mobile down.

  Although surely an architect will be too rich to want paying?

  Or he values his time so much he will bill me by the second.

  Sugar.

  Oh, to hell with it. I hit dial and he answers so quickly I don’t get chance to change my mind.

  ‘Bloody hell, you’re a toughie! Do you realise it is, hang on, nearly twenty hours since you met me, and you’ve only just rung – you’ve set a new record!’

  ‘Haha.’ I try to keep a straight face and ignore the tremor in my stomach that starts up about a millisecond after his chuckle. I was feeling surprisingly nervous about talking to him again, and the fact he might not even remember me – but strangely enough his warm voice on the other end of the line is comfortingly familiar. ‘You do know who I am?’ Just to be sure. He might know a lot of Rosies.

  ‘Of course, I do, Rosie!’

  ‘The Rosie, the one who was,’ I close my eyes briefly and concentrate on not clenching my teeth, ‘stood up.’

  ‘Yeah, the ghostie-ghosted one who walked for miles in her shoes, drank gallons of prosecco, spent hours defuzzing—’

  ‘Hours thinking about it, not doing it!’ My God, does he think I’m like a monkey?

  ‘Mates for life and loves jerky.’ He carries on, ignoring my interruption. ‘The gorgeous Rosie Brown!’

  I am quite impressed at his recall, but I suppose this is a seduction technique. I’m not sure I can master this aspect; my memory is a bit random at the best of times.

  ‘Were you being serious?’ I spit it out before I change my mind and hit ‘end call’.

  ‘I’m always serious where beautiful women are concerned.’

  I sigh. ‘No, you aren’t! Can you quit messing about just for one second? You know flattery won’t get you anywhere!’ If he doesn’t stop flirting, I will chicken out, I know I will.

  ‘Oh Rosie, Rosie, Rosie, you are such a breath of fresh air! A bit like an icy wind at times but refreshing.’ He chuckles again. I can imagine him sitting on the couch, with his feet up on the table. All chilled and casually sexy. Oh, gawd, Rosie, stop! ‘Yep definitely refreshing.’

  ‘Have you any idea how hard it was to call you?’

  ‘Nope.’ His voice drops a tone or two, loses a bit of its humorous edge. ‘I’m not hard to talk to, am I?’ He sounds concerned, and I instantly want to reassure him.

  ‘No.’ He’s not. ‘It’s not hard to talk to you.’ I blink as the realisation hits. He is not at all difficult to talk to, though the subject matter is. ‘It’s just,’ take a deep breath Rosie, ‘were you serious about teaching me how to …’ Oh God, how do I put this?

  ‘Date?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘You’re not too busy?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have offered if I was. It will be a change.’

  ‘From what?’ I can hear the note of suspicion in my voice.

  ‘Proper dating.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘That might not have sounded good. Rewind. Honest, I do want to help.’

  ‘Oh.’ This is nice, he sounds sincere, and it would be easy to wriggle out now if he had just been messing. But he’s not trying to. ‘You don’t have lots of houses to design?’

  ‘Ahh, somebody has been surfing the net. You’re a stalker, too, I knew it!’

  ‘No, I’m not! I just needed to know you weren’t, well, weird, or a murderer, or bigamist, or …’

  ‘What did you find out?’ He sounds genuinely interested. Which I suppose I would be, if somebody told me they’d been googling me.

  ‘Not a lot.’ I try not to groan. ‘You are so annoying! How am I supposed to vet you, to know what you’re like if I can’t find anything out!’

  ‘Have you learned nothing from gorgeous Gabe? The World Wide Web knows nothing, Rosie. Throw away your passwords, take the reality challenge! Meet me, ask me in person; you know the old-fashioned way.’ I can practically see him, grinning, his eyebrow raised.

  ‘Okay, fine, I will!’

  ‘What?’ He chuckles, and it’s a rich, chocolatey sound that makes me squeeze my hands together, hunch my shoulders and want to rush round in circles laughing like an excited cartoon princess. I don’t, you’ll be pleased to know. I try and act cool.

  ‘I will meet you, but we need rules!’

  ‘Ahh, rules of engagement.’

  ‘Or non-engagement,’ I say, as seriously as I can, trying to keep a lid on the nervous anticipation that seems to have made me wobbly and inclined to grin like a loony. Nerves can have a funny effect on a person. ‘I’m also very busy so I thought I’d combine activities.’

  This can be translated as ‘I’m scared shitless of being in a proper date situation because I’ll freeze up and Noah will agree that I am a lost cause, not even he can teach me seduction’.

  ‘Please, just this once?’ I cross my fingers behind my back: survive the first lesson and the second might be fine.

  ‘You, woman, are like nobody I have ever known!’

  ‘And what do you mean by that?’

  ‘I’ve never been called an activity before.’

  ‘Have you ever done this before?’

  ‘Well no.’

  Phew, that makes me more relieved than it should. Why should I care if tutoring women in the art of seduction is an everyday occurrence for him? But I do. ‘So,’ I am determined to get back into my flow, my pre-prepared script, which he keeps diverting me from, ‘I am combining you with Hugo.’

  ‘Oh my God, a threesome! Skipping straight to lesson 73!’

  ‘Seventy-three! I’m so crap I need seventy-three lessons?’

  He ignores me. ‘Can I pick who we have next? I’m not sure Hugo is going to do it for me.’

  I sigh. ‘You are so rude! He’s a dog, not a man.’ I think I’ve cocked up a bit. Before I met Bea for brunch, I had decided that my plan was to abandon seduction lessons, but to get out more by offering to walk dogs. So I signed up and offered to walk Hugo. It is now far too late to cancel. I can’t let him down, can I? Combining my activities seems the best of both worlds. One, I won’t have an awkward not-a-date OMG-what-is-he-going-to-teach-me encounter with Noah in some bar: we’ll be relaxed, out in the fresh air. And two, he can give me some hints and tips on how to meet
my perfect first date whilst out walking (my preferred, relaxed, approach to dating). See, I have devised a lesson plan! ‘Anyway, what do you mean, lesson 73?’ I can’t let it drop. ‘How many lessons are there?’ What am I committing to here?

  ‘I was joking!’

  ‘Thank God for that! Can you warn me when you’re being funny, please?’

  ‘I’m that unfunny?’ He laughs. He’s not unfunny, it’s just this feels so intense I’m finding it hard not to take everything he says literally.

  ‘You’re brilliant face to face, it’s just hard on the phone when I don’t know you! You’re hilarious, dead funny, is that enough ego stroking?’

  ‘More than enough, I feel all manly and admired again.’ I’m not sure if he’s being funny in a dry way, or serious now. ‘But I wasn’t really planning on woo-ing in wellies.’

  ‘Wellies is how I roll,’ I say firmly. ‘Are you in, or out?’

  ‘Oh I’m in.’ He chuckles again, in a very seductive way. Men like Noah just have it too easy; one chuckle, or cheeky grin, or compliment, from a man like him and I’m thinking of rolling over to have my tummy tickled. Life is so unfair. ‘You haven’t got all this on a list, have you?’ His voice is tinged with suspicion.

  I ignore him and don’t answer.

  ‘Thought so. Well that’s one thing I’m going to have to fix! Right then,’ briskness has taken over, which means any second now he’s going to hang up, which strangely enough makes me feel like I want to keep him talking just a little bit longer, ‘what time and place does your list say?’

  ‘Are you free on Saturday morning?’

  ‘I certainly can be!’

  ‘Oh.’ Despite the urgency of the situation, and my determination to try this out, he replies so quickly I am wrong-footed. No way out now!

  ‘Ten o’clock in the park?’

  ‘Fantastic, just around the corner from my place. Look forward to it. It’s a date!’

  And he disconnects before I have time to correct him and point out that it is not actually a date, it is more of a business appointment.

  Which reminds me. There is one aspect I have to be totally clear about before we meet.

  I redial.

  ‘Bloody hell, woman, you’re keen!’

  If any other man said this, I would be embarrassed and tongue-tied. But this is Noah and I’m getting used to his teasing ways.

  ‘I need to ask you something.’

  ‘Fire away.’

  It needs to be said, before this goes any further. ‘You’re not expensive, are you?’

  ‘What?’

  I cringe and hold the phone away from my ear; he said that with some force.

  ‘Bloody hell, Rosie! What do you think I’m offering here? I’m not some sort of gigolo you know!’

  ‘Sorry, sorry, sorry!’ I suddenly feel very hot and bothered and have to waft the bottom of my jumper. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean that, I didn’t say you were!’ What am I getting into? ‘Gigolos do sex! I don’t want sex! I told you!’ Even on a phone, when he can’t see me, this is embarrassing. I am worse at this than I ever imagined.

  ‘I gathered that last time we met.’ His tone is dry but has dropped to a gentler level. ‘Of course, I don’t want to be paid. Hang on, that’s something else I need to put on the list.’

  ‘What list?’

  ‘You aren’t the only one with lists, my girl. This is going on the things Rosie needs list, diplomacy, tact, you know sneaking in there and not being quite so direct. I can take it, but,’ he does a low whistle, ‘not every man can. We’re a sensitive lot you know.’

  ‘Oh yeah, I thought you said something about this being easy?’

  ‘It is,’ his warm voice has a hint of laughter in it now; he’s obviously forgiven me for my blunder about payment. ‘Dating is easy, look at all the dorks that do it! You just need confidence,’ he pauses, ‘great looks, sense of humour, smart clothes, toned body, stamina, witty repartee, the ability to look interested in the dumbest people, the—’

  ‘Oh God, I told y—’

  ‘Haha, gotcha! I’m kidding, Rosie! But you do need to tone down the whole direct, honest to the point of blunt thing … you just need to …’ he pauses as though he’s wary of saying it, ‘lighten up a bit?’

  ‘Lighten up! You do know telling somebody to lighten up has the opposite effect? It’s like ordering somebody to enjoy themselves!’

  ‘Okay, it came out wrong, but you need to sneak in under the radar, soothe, caress …’

  ‘I think I need a lie down.’

  ‘Really?’ There’s a hopeful edge to his voice.

  ‘On my own! This is exhausting! Are you sure about doing this?’

  ‘Totally. Stop asking.’ The way he says it, it’s almost like he’s here, putting his arm around my shoulders and giving me a reassuring squeeze. Spooky. ‘Are you going to bugger off and leave me to lesson plan in peace now then? I’ll see you and your chaperone, Hugo, on Saturday.’

  ‘Certainly.’

  ‘Oh, and Rosie.’

  My end-call finger freezes mid-air. ‘What?’ I whisper, afraid he’s going to back out or worse, set some rules I can’t work with.

  ‘You’ve picked Hugo, so I get to pick what we do for lesson 2. Okay?’

  ‘Okay.’ I can hear the tremor of anticipation in my voice and sincerely hope he hasn’t. I end the call and can’t help but smile. This could be fun!

  Chapter 6

  My phone is buzzing again immediately, and my heart does a little flip. He’s forgotten to say something, or he’s changed his mind.

  Sound breezy, like I don’t care either way!

  ‘Hi!’

  ‘Did you do it?’ It’s not him. Something inside me takes an illogical dive. Why on earth should I be disappointed that it isn’t Noah?

  I clear my throat and try and smile. A smile shows in your voice apparently. ‘You are so nosy, Bea!’

  ‘Oh God, you’re upset. He said no!’

  ‘I’m not upset, this is my smiley voice! And why should he say no? What makes you think …’

  ‘You sound funny, sad. Oh my God, you sound funny because you did it, you did!’ I think she might be doing the Disney princess thing now. I’m sure she just clapped her hands. ‘You did it and he said yes!’

  ‘Might have.’ Bea knows me far too well.

  She laughs. ‘This is epic, Rosie! Wow! I am well jel. He is such a catch.’

  ‘One, I don’t want a catch; he’s teaching me not dating me, and two, you can’t know he’s a catch because we only found one photo of him online!’

  ‘Girl, I only need one photo! That man is hot, I know it! Admit it, he is HOT.’

  ‘Okay,’ I say grudgingly, ‘I will admit he is attractive.’

  ‘Hot!’

  ‘Okay,’ I sigh, dramatically for her benefit. ‘If you say so, he’s hot.’ I suppose if I objectify him and think of him in terms like this, it might help. I can idolise rather than risk fancying him. Like you might fancy your maths teacher but would never, ever even dream about dating him. Because that would be weird.

  ‘You think so too! And you fancy him.’

  Bugger. ‘I don’t fancy him.’ It’s only a small, unimportant fib. I do fancy him a bit, but only in the way you can have the hots for some totally ripped movie star that you will never, ever meet. ‘But if he was actually my type—’

  ‘As in boring, predictable, safe …’

  I ignore her. She knows me too well. ‘—and he looked like that then I might do.’

  ‘You’d drag him off to your cave and have your wicked way, admit it!’

  ‘Well he’s not my type, so it’s irrelevant.’

  ‘Smokin’!’

  ‘Isn’t that sexist? Or objectifying him or something?’

  ‘Oh boy no, I’m interested in his brain as well. I bet he’s got pillow talk off to a T!’ She laughs throatily. Then there’s a pause. ‘But, hey, seriously, Rosie? He can’t be a total player, or we’d have seen loads more pic
cies of him splashed all over the internet. Serial daters like people to see their success, they put themselves out there, Rosie. He’d be king of the selfies!’

  She might have a point. Noah is rather low profile, unlike most unfaithful men (i.e. Dad) who thrive off attention. ‘I admit he’s good-looking, okay? I’m attracted to him. Satisfied? But he is a serial first dater. He told me.’ So, even if he likes to keep his private life quiet, he still isn’t the type of man I want to actually go out with. ‘We’re not going to be dating though, so I can handle him,’ I say airily, and suddenly realise I have my fingers crossed, so self-consciously uncross them. But I can handle him. I’m sure I can. I think.

  He might be the teacher, but I am controlling this – the where and when, the pace and just how far we’re going to go with the practical sessions.

  I must be crazy. The man is gorgeous, upfront, gorgeous, confident, gorgeous.

  Not my type at all.

  This could be like agreeing to enter a shark cage just because you want to look at the pretty penguins that they’re about to eat.

  ‘Course you can handle him! Can I come over and help you pick an outfit? Or we can go shopping?’

  I try not to sigh. ‘No, Bea. I know exactly what you’d try and get me to wear, and that leopard-print dress you convinced me would turn me into a feline wonder just makes me look like a constipated, overweight moggie. Anyway, I know exactly what I’m going to wear.’ Like I said, Bea and I are like sisters – but very different sisters. She is naturally exuberant, totally self-confident and a bit of a risk taker. And I am not.

  We’re not the type of sisters who would ever raid each other’s wardrobes.

  ‘You do?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Wow, whatever happened to indecisive dater Rosie? So, what are you going with? That black dress? Oh no, I know, that dress you bought for—’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Tell!’

  ‘Well, I’ll give you one clue. It involves rubber!’

  ‘Rubber!’ She screeches.

  I grin, put the phone down and go off in search of my very gorgeous Joules wellies which I haven’t had the chance to wear for ages.