Cheap escorts wrote a story about jealous love.
I’m used to being in love.
I have been in love before, more than once.
But this . . .
This is something else entirely.
I enter the cafe again, hoping that Nathan is there, hoping that his eyes will look at me and give me that little spark of recognition and connection and I’ll know that everything will be all right, that everything will end up okay.
But he’s not here.
My heart sinks and I almost turn around and leave again. Almost.
I slide into the booth and order a coffee and a buttered crumpet and I sit and wait and order and wait and order and wait and order and wait and order and-
“Five hundred and twelve crumpets later,” he says, sitting down across from me and smiling that mesmerising smile that lifts me off the ground and makes me feel as if I’m floating as he says, “I’m glad to see you like I like you. It’s a good sign because-”
“I love you too,” it comes out as a breathless alto.
“I know.”
“Are you a cop?” I ask, trying to make a joke of it.
“No.”
“Should I be worried?”
“I’m an artist.”
“I’m sorry?”
“An artist. From where I’m from, that’s the only way that I can afford to live.”
“Where are you from?”
“I did some travelling. I’d already moved to London by the time of our first conversation. Do you know of London?”
“Some. It’s where I live.”
“Yes. It’s an inspiring place. Would you like some pancakes or are you on a diet?”
“Pancakes.”
“Do you have celiac disease?”
What is this guy, Sherlock Holmes?
“What?”
“Military manoeuvres. You hold your breath before the order’s given. It’s part of basic training.”
“No, I don’t have celiac disease.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what it is. It was the first thing that came into my head.”
“It’s okay. But my name’s not Sarah.”
“What is your name?”
“It’s Madeline.”
“That’s a nice name. And you’re in publishing?”
“A bad one.”
“I like the hair,” he says, running his fingers over it.
“So do your fingers.”
“What colour is it? I can’t tell.”
“It’s blonde.”
He nods, satisfied.
“Do you like my restaurant?”
“I like it very much.”
“Do you like my face?”
“I like it very much. When are you going to leave me again?”
“I’m not planning on leaving you. Just not for awhile.”
“Is that wise?”
“I’m not planning on leaving you. Just not for awhile.”
We sat in silence for a few minutes before he said, “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“I missed you. The last time I saw you, you were kissing another guy.”
“I was kissing Nathan.”
“A grown man?”
I debated just telling him the truth. Or telling him the truth and seeing what he thought. It’s not too late to do either of those things. No, it isn’t.
“Yeah. He’s the love of my life.”
“I can’t believe you’re with him. Why would you do that?”
“I don’t think I’d explain it to you.”
“Can I have that in writing? I just feel that you are preventing me from being an integral part of this relationship.”
“I was just with him.”
“Will you answer my questions truthfully?”
“I will.”
“You’re not going to leave me, are you?”
“Nope.”
“Can I trust you?”
“Yes.”
“Can you stay?”
“Yes.”
“Good.
