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

by Zara Stoneley

  Steve raises an eyebrow. ‘Maybe you two guys should actually get together.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘You and your gym buddy of course.’ Steve inclines his head to indicate further up the bar.

  ‘Oh Noah? Oh no, what makes you say that?’

  ‘The way you keep watching each other.’

  ‘We don’t! Well, he looks out for me, he’s just a bit …’

  ‘Possessive?’

  ‘Protective,’ I say stiffly, wondering why I’m defending him. ‘Sorry about the other day. He behaved like an arse, he’s not normally like that. He’s quite friendly normally.’

  ‘I’m sure he is. He could lighten up a bit on the bodyguard act though.’

  ‘Bodyguard?’ I frown.

  ‘Look, I’m not being funny, but being smiled at when you’re at the urinals is kind of off-putting.’

  ‘He followed you to the toilets?’ I don’t know whether to be angry or laugh. ‘He came up to you at that bar, and he followed you to the toilets? You’re kidding?’

  ‘Well, it could have been a coincidence.’

  I raise an eyebrow. ‘And he smiled?’

  ‘In a kind of, well not menacing, more warning, like “don’t mess with my woman” way. It made me a bit nervous if I’m honest!’

  After deciding he wasn’t being controlling – like Dad – but more caring – like Mum – and not possessive – like Dad – but more protective – like Bea, I am now cross again. There’s protective, and there’s ‘this is getting downright over the top’.

  Following my date into the toilets suggests the kind of quality control that is totally uninvited. Was he checking he measured up in all departments?! ‘Oh, you have to be joking me. And I’m not his woman, honest!’

  ‘I get that.’ Steve shrugs. ‘But maybe he wants you to be.’

  It’s not the same after that. The conversation doesn’t quite flow. It’s like going out with your dad in attendance. Well worse.

  Dad, when he was present, always gave my friends a bit of a once-over to see if he approved, but he was actually quite distant most of the time now I come to think about it. He kissed, cuddled, joked, called me his girl, but emotionally he was actually quite closed off.

  Which is weird now I come to think of it. Because I haven’t thought about it like that before.

  In fact, I’ve only realised it right now, because Noah is the exact opposite. He’s managed to get right under my skin for all kinds of different reasons.

  Steve leans in and kisses my cheek. ‘Honestly, I’d give it a go. That girl he’s with is well pissed off.’

  ‘I hadn’t noticed.’ I have though, and I know it’s totally horrible, but I’ve been pleased that they’ve not been all over each other.

  ‘Thanks for this evening, I’ve enjoyed it.’

  ‘Me too.’

  He smiles. It’s not a sparks-flying what-comes-next type of smile. It’s just, well, nice. ‘Maybe we could do coffee some time?’

  ‘I’d like that.’ And I mean it. I would. As homework goes, this date has been pretty good. Apart from the interfering-Noah bits. I obviously don’t want Steve to realise I’ve categorised him as ‘homework’ and not ‘red-hot date’.

  ‘You sure I can’t walk you to the bus stop or anything?’

  ‘She’s sure.’ Noah’s silky-smooth voice makes me jump. I could hit him! Or, I could go with Steve, just to spite him. Or I could be mature and stand my ground and give him a piece of my mind.

  ‘Okay?’ Steve gives me a questioning look.

  I sigh. ‘Sure. I’m sorry, I had a lovely evening, thanks. And I would really love a coffee sometime.’

  ‘Great. See you round! Keep up the training.’ He makes a running motion and I smile.

  ‘Will do!’

  ‘I’ll text you!’ He is watching Noah nervously, but then plucks up enough courage to kiss me on the cheek.

  ‘Great! See you soon!’

  ‘Is this seat taken?’ The instant Steve turns away, Noah points at his empty seat.

  ‘The standard of your chat-up lines has dropped dramatically.’

  ‘It can go either way after a few drinks. I’m either hilarious, suave and a total catch, or a bit cheesy. So, he had an early night?’

  ‘Steve? Yeah, he had to get off.’

  ‘Good evening?’

  ‘Great, he’s really nice.’

  ‘Reliable and considerate?’

  ‘Yep, and kind, easy to talk to.’

  ‘Boring then?’

  ‘I didn’t say that!’

  ‘Ahh but you didn’t have to,’ he waggles a finger, ‘go on admit it, he didn’t light your fire.’

  I sigh. ‘Just how drunk are you?’

  ‘Not that bad. Can squeeze a couple more in; are you game, Rosie-Posie?’

  He’s not exactly swaying, but he’s definitely had a few more than me. And all of a sudden, getting slightly sloshed with Noah seems like quite a nice idea. There’s been an edge between us since Steve asked me out, and I’ve missed our easy closeness. Noah and I just kind of slipped into a jokey double-act effortlessly from the first time we met. I can’t remember ever having that with anybody, not even Robbie.

  I’ve missed Noah.

  I’ve also missed the little fizz when his arm brushed mine, the lump in my throat when he held my gaze for just a nano-second longer than a casual friend would do.

  I’m stuffed, aren’t I? I think I might be in danger of rewriting my ‘suitable guy’ list so that he has a chance of sneaking in. Shit. Let’s face it, I am talking about fancying the pants off a guy who has just spent the evening with another woman. While I’ve been dating another man.

  ‘He was fine, we had a nice evening, but no, if it makes you happy.’ It needs saying, honesty is the best policy. ‘He wasn’t the most exciting guy I’ve ever been out with.’

  ‘Haha! I knew it! Didn’t I say that, was I right or was I—’

  ‘What do you mean, haha! Come on, Noah, it’s actually none of your business if I fancied the pants off him, is it? You’re just here to help me make guys fancy the pants off me. And he seemed to!’

  ‘He did.’

  ‘So, you got a result.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ he says slightly sulkily.

  ‘Anyway, what happened to your date? Was she pissed off because you were interfering with Steve at the bar, and following him to the toilets?’

  He flinches and pulls a funny face.

  Okay, maybe that didn’t come out right. ‘You know what I mean! Why did you have to stick your nose in? I didn’t come over there and give you advice, did I?’

  ‘Like what? I’m the teacher here!’ He smiles.

  ‘Like asking if that’s the way to go – full on brassy-blonde hair extensions. I could have found out where she had them done!’

  ‘Woah, woah, woah, my little Rosie!’

  I’m being bitchy. What is he doing to me? This is so not me. Shit, he is making me sound jealous. Okay, honesty time, he is making me feel jealous – and I hate it, because I’ve spent a large part of my life feeling it. I’ve watched Dad move in a little too close to other women, spend a little too much time with other women, and this conversation is reminding me of that.

  I must stop.

  I don’t want to be with a man who makes me feel like Dad did.

  ‘Don’t call me little! And I’m not yours.’ Take a deep breath, do not let him make you angry. ‘You really don’t need to keep an eye on me, you know!’

  ‘True, you’re not mine, are you? So you keep telling me! Anyway, for your information, delightful Daisy was not pissed off with me talking to your date. She started to ask about my job, my house, my five-year plan.’ He grimaces. ‘Boring. I told her I wasn’t the guy for her, and I had business to attend to!’

  ‘I’m not business.’ I can hear the sullen edge to my voice. This is why my ‘man requirement’ list must not allow a Noah-shaped spot in my life. Even if I am happy to have a few casual dates right now
, I’m a Daisy through and through. My question checklist includes all those details that Noah finds so boring. Why does he have to be so not-the-right-guy for me? Sometimes life is so unfair!

  ‘Yup you are. Saw he was about to go—’

  ‘You chased him off!’

  ‘Hang on!’ I suddenly feel slightly more cheerful. ‘You’re jealous!’

  ‘I am not!’

  ‘You are.’ I grin. He grins back and looks a bit sheepish.

  ‘Okay I admit it, a teeny-teeny bit jealous that a guy who is completely wrong for you is getting to spend the evening with you. When you could be sitting with me, making me laugh and helping me polish my ego.’

  ‘Oh yeah? So I’m your cheap entertainment?’

  ‘Not so cheap.’ He grins. ‘But definitely entertaining. I’d rather,’ the grin drops, and he takes my hand in his, ‘be here with you talking about Hugo and dating disasters, than be with anybody else in the world.’

  I know he’s taking the mickey, but it’ll do for me.

  ‘So here I am ready to help you reflect on lessons learned.’

  ‘Haha. So forgetting all the flannel, basically you ducked out because it got personal with Daisy?’

  ‘Ooo I’m being analysed!’

  ‘Did a girl break your heart, Noah?’ We’re still in jokey-mode, and the question has come into my head from nowhere, but it has suddenly hit me. Why else would he be keener to spend time teaching a girl like me to date, than actually getting stuck in with a girl who knows the score and wants to play by his rules?

  ‘Haha, amateur psychologist, Rosie.’ He slumps down beside me and gazes up. Then reaches out and strokes my cheek with the back of his hand. It’s so tender and deliberate all the antagonism between us disappears; it brings a lump to my throat. I must have drunk more than I thought. ‘Guys already fancy the pants off you, you’re beautiful.’ I shiver involuntarily, gulp. I should move, I should go now. ‘Look, Rosie.’ He puts a hand over mine and leans in even closer, confidentially. ‘Before we go any further, there’s something you need to know about me.’

  ‘What do you mean before we go any further?’ I whisper back, my throat all sandpapery.

  ‘With the lessons, before we get to the real nitty gritty and you fall madly in love with me.’

  The way he says it, so matter of fact, hits the intense moment on the head. It’s gone, just like that. I laugh. ‘I’m not going to fall madly in love with you! Big head!’

  ‘You are, unless you know. You see,’ he leans in even closer, until his nose brushes against my skin, lowers his voice to a very loud whisper, ‘love is horrible.’ He sinks back onto the seat as though the announcement has exhausted him. We’re still shoulder to shoulder, our fingers close enough to entwine, but he’s miles away. ‘A total ball-breaker. You never recover from it.’ He nods his head. ‘Honest, cross my heart. I know. It is evil, so,’ he taps the back of my hand, ‘don’t do it, Rosie-Posie.’

  ‘Oh, Noah.’ I want to hug him, but I resist. Is this what he was talking about, love that went wrong? ‘It can be evil, but it doesn’t have to be.’ I mean, I know exactly about the bad side of love, don’t I? The totally in lust, passionate, destructive type of love that can practically remove all common sense and replace it with a lack of impulse control and make a person put up with crap they really shouldn’t. This is what I’ve been trying to tell him – that safe, sensible love is a much better option. ‘It doesn’t have to be like that, not all kinds of love are evil. You just have to find the right one, who won’t hurt you, or cheat on you …’ My words drift off, he’s giving me a funny raised-eyebrow look. I’ll save that speech for another time. ‘Who did this to you? Who was she?’ I know it’s not really any of my business, but I feel like I want to know who’s hurt him so hard he feels he has to veer away from any woman he might fall for. Because maybe he’s not the same as Dad at all. Maybe he’s more like me. Afraid to fall too deeply for somebody who might hurt him all over again.

  ‘Who?’ He blinks.

  ‘The girl you loved.’

  ‘I didn’t love a girl!’ He frowns. ‘I’ve never been in love really, have you?’

  I am confused. Very confused. He looks confused as well.

  I take a big gulp of the drink he bought for me and decide to play along, then steer things back to him. Subtly. Although I’m not good at subtle when I’ve had a few drinks. ‘I thought I was, but it wasn’t proper love, it was—’

  ‘Safe! You went for somebody you just liked. Very wise. But,’ he looks around as though he’s expecting somebody to be eavesdropping, ‘I know somebody who was totally in love! Off his head, completely, doo-lally, bonkers in love.’

  ‘You do? It wasn’t you; it was somebody else?’

  ‘Oh God, yeah. And it ruined him. He’s ruined. Totally ruined, a mess.’ He shakes his head and looks genuinely upset. ‘Broken into little bits. That’s what love does. Do you want another drink? I’m parched. Back in a minute.’

  I watch him weave his way to the bar. I’ve never seen Noah drunk. And I’ve never heard him use the ‘L’ word before either.

  I feel a bit tipsy myself, but not so tipsy that I don’t need to hear the rest of this.

  ‘So,’ he plonks himself back down, and takes a swig of his drink. ‘Drink up, cheers!’

  ‘Cheers! This guy?’

  ‘Jed! It’s Jed!’

  ‘Jed?’ I frown. The name rings a bell. ‘Oh Jed!’

  ‘You know him too?’ He looks confused. ‘What a bloody coincidence. Miserable git, isn’t he?’

  ‘I don’t know him. The day we met, when I’d been stood up?’ He nods. ‘You said you’d met him for a drink.’

  He nods violently. ‘You sure you want to hear this? It’s sad. Very sad.’ He pulls a sad face, it’s a bit of a pantomime face, but there’s more to it than that. His eyes look sad. It’s important, I’m sure of it.

  ‘Tell me about Jed.’

  ‘O-kay.’ He draws the word out, swigs his drink and takes a deep breath. ‘I met Jed at uni and he was dating this girl he’d grown up with. Millie.’ He smiles. ‘She was lovely. Pretty and funny. Bit like you.’ He glances at me, twirls a lock of my hair absentmindedly then lets his hand fall away. ‘They were so good together, they got married as soon as we graduated, and they were still just as loved-up.’

  ‘What happened?’ I whisper. ‘What did she do?’

  ‘She died.’

  Whatever I’d expected him to say, it wasn’t that. Then I remember his comment before, about going out with Jed because it was the anniversary of his wife’s death.

  ‘She went and fucking died. Car crash. Over. Gone.’ He waves his hands around, then rests them back on the table.

  ‘Oh my God, no.’ I put my hand over his; there’s pure shocking bitterness in his tone.

  He nods. ‘I envied them, you know. They were so bloody happy together, properly in love. I watched them sometimes and it was the way he watched her, you know?’ He looks my way, but I don’t think he really sees me, he doesn’t seem to expect an answer. ‘It was like at times nothing else mattered; he literally only had eyes for her.’ He laughs, a short laugh, but it isn’t harsh, it’s fond memories, I think. ‘I used to tease him, but he didn’t care, he’d just shrug.’ He studies his hands for a moment. ‘When it happened, he seemed okay at first, he went through the motions, coped at the funeral; you know, one day at a time stuff. He coped, that’s the word everybody used, coped. I thought give him space, support him, don’t rush. You know?’ He looks at me properly now, his eyes darting as though he’s looking for answers in my face. I nod. ‘Six months after she died, we went to a footie match. We’d always gone to the football together and Millie used to come too. He cracked, completely,’ he shakes his head, ‘he wasn’t bloody coping at all. He fell apart, right there in the grounds before the game had even kicked off.’ He takes a long swig of beer. ‘And that,’ his voice is stronger now, his normal tone. Decisive. ‘Is what love does to you. To think I
was bloody jealous of him.’ He laughs. ‘Wrecked him. Never had a date since. Never been the same happy guy again. And that is why it just isn’t worth it. I am never going to be like that. Happens once, happens twice, never going to bloody catch me out a third time.’

  ‘Oh.’ I try to get to grips with this in my slightly drunken brain. Noah is a serial one-night stander because he’s scared? Scared of falling in love? Big, brave, confident Noah isn’t incapable of being faithful, he’s just frightened of what meeting the right woman might do to him? And what did he mean, it happened twice?

  ‘You don’t have to be madly in love though, you can just be …’

  ‘A bit?’ He guffaws, but then it gradually morphs into his normal deep chuckle – sending mixed messages to my tummy. He’s so gorgeous, he’s so nice, he’s so … wrong. He stops laughing and gazes at me, his face serious. ‘It’s the real deal, or nothing at all.’ He leans forward, intent. ‘How many songs do they sing about being a little bit in love? Or how many of your movies tell you to settle for the nearly-guy? Eh, eh? How many,’ he taps my hand, ‘settle for boring?’ Then he sits back triumphant while I wriggle uncomfortably. ‘All or nothing.’ Then he grins. ‘Though nothing can be pretty damned good sometimes.’

  Noah is never going to understand my version of comfortable love. How can he not see it doesn’t have to be total passion, it can be more about companionship, somebody you like. That you trust. I think that is a conversation for when I am sober and can think straight, and he is sober and might listen to my logic. ‘How is he now? Jed?’

  ‘Better,’ he pauses, ‘coping. But he’s never gone back to being the Jed I knew.’ He stares at me. ‘There’s a bit of him missing. There’s a bit of all of us missing.’

  ‘You were fond of her as well?’ I ask tentatively. This goes beyond him just feeling sorry for his friend.

  ‘She was gorgeous, just like you are. And she’s gone, just like, just like … You want another drink? I want another drink!’

  ‘Or shall we go back to mine?’

  ‘Will the nosy woman with the key be there?’

  ‘She hasn’t got a key, you took it off her, remember?’