Meg & Leo: Chapter 6
I didn’t get her phone number.
Idiot.
The most beautiful and fascinating woman I’ve met in ages, with whom talking for well over an hour felt like the easiest thing in the world and flew by in a blink, and who I was sure was as interested in me as I am in her – and I didn’t ask for her number.
Of course, perhaps she didn’t want to give it to me. She did end up running out of there in quite a hurry when her friend came over, so maybe she wasn’t interested beyond the coffee and conversation.
Which makes what I’m about to do sound like the perfect opportunity to make even more of an idiot of myself.
Yes, you guessed it.
I’m back on Oxford Street, heading towards the store where Meg works, and hoping she’s in today.
I’ve made it to Thursday before giving in.
But honestly, I’ve barely stopped thinking about her all week.
Part of me is heartily annoyed with myself for going all moon-eyed over a girl, especially at my age, and especially when it’s distracted me from all the work I’ve had to do this week preparing for the concert and some other stuff coming up.
But there’s another part of me that’s secretly revelling in this… I’m not really sure what to call it.
A crush? Infatuation? Curiosity?
Definitely attraction.
I’ve spent entirely too much time over the past few days picturing Meg’s face. Her smile. That pretty blush. The way her eyes sparkle and crinkle at the corners. How she uses her hands when she talks, gesturing and waving and fluttering her fingers to add colour and flavour to her stories. The way she seemed to be genuinely enthusiastic about hearing what I do – and I’m sure I went a bit OTT with my descriptions, but she sat there looking captivated. The way her glorious hair bounced and flew out behind her as she left the café arm in arm with her friend.
I just couldn’t let that be the last time I saw her.
So here goes.
Honestly, I don’t know why I’m doing this to myself.
I hate going anywhere near shops if I can possibly avoid it.
So why I’m voluntarily heading through the busiest part of London for the second time in a week is slightly baffling.
But if it means I get to see Meg again, I think it’s going to be worth it.
God, I hope she’s working today.
Or maybe I don’t. Maybe tracking her down like this is coming on too strong. Heading into stalker territory.
What the hell am I doing?!
I pause with the pretence of admiring one of the shop’s window displays, but really it’s a chance to take a deep breath and pull myself together.
OK. Am I doing this? Do I really want to see her again this much?
Another breath.
Yes. Yes I do.
OK then.
Here goes.
I’m probably not giving the best impression of a grown-up, independent, professional thirty-six-year-old man, am I?
Didn’t think so.
But apparently my heart has found something else it wants to chase besides music.
And that thought is equal parts terrifying and thrilling.
The store is heaving.
Where in the world do all these people come from? Don’t they have anything else to do on a Thursday afternoon?
Anyway, as I weave my way between all the dawdling browsers, heading towards the lifts to take me upstairs and past the brightly coloured, overpoweringly sweet-smelling cosmetics counters (why do they always have to put them so close to the entrance?!), I spot a familiar face.
It’s Meg’s friend.
Jas, isn’t it?
Her long curtain of black hair sweeps down her back, and I see that she’s got a fiercely graphic eyeliner situation going on, but somehow, it suits her.
Maybe this could work in my favour.
I swerve in her direction, and she spots me coming over, her eyes widening in surprise and a slightly unnerving smile splitting her face.
“Well hey there, if it isn’t the famous Leo Blake.”
She meets my eyes unflinchingly and her arms cross over her chest.
OK, this might be tougher than I thought.
“Hello again Jas.”
Her employee name badge confirms my memory – phew.
“Is…uh…Is Meg working today?”
I try to stand my ground, but she’s a little bit scary and it’s all I can do not to fidget like a toddler about to face a telling off.
“She is.”
Brief. To the point.
“OK, great, thanks.” I make to turn towards the lifts again, congratulating myself on ascertaining that I’m not on a complete fool’s errand.
“But she’ll be holding her knitting circle in the restaurant now, and I’m guessing you don’t want to have to face a dozen nosey nanas while you ask her whatever it is you want to ask?”
The smirk she flashes me thankfully reaches her eyes, so I don’t think she’s actually trying to sabotage me.
“Uh…no, not really…” I scrape a hand through the hair at the back of my neck, wondering what to do next.
“Well.” Jas takes another hard look at me before her gaze and smile soften into something kinder. “Seeing as you’re all she’s been able to talk or think about all week, I guess I could help you out…”
So help me but I barely manage to restrain myself from an excited teenager-ish ‘she’s been talking about me?’ because I know that would definitely lose me points in the best friend standings, but on the inside I’m practically dancing for joy.
Though the grin that explodes onto my face is all real.
“Well that would be very helpful of you, thank you Jas.”
If she wants to do smirky, so can I.
She’s onto my game instantly though, pointing a long finger tipped with a nail that could easily be classed as a dangerous weapon at me.
“Now there’s no need for that. If you want my help I’ll give it, but under absolutely no circumstances are you to do anything that might upset or harm dear sweet Meg in any possible way or you’ll be dealing with me, is that clear?”
I’m pretty sure a salute would be pushing my luck, so I settle for “Yes ma’am.”
“OK then. So tell me your plan and I’ll tell you how to make it better.”
I can’t help but laugh at that, and she grins back at me.
I think I passed the friend test.
Now it’s onto the next challenge.
Getting Meg’s phone number and inviting her out again.
…………………..
He didn’t ask for my phone number.
Of course, I didn’t actually realise this until later that evening when the girls and I were sat eating our lasagne and Jas had made me recall every single word we’d said to each other.
And OK, yes, I had practically run away from him at the end there, so he hadn’t really had a chance.
Fine, fine, and yes, I could have just as easily asked for his number. Modern, twenty-first century woman that I am.
But anyway.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him all week.
About how easy it felt to talk with him. The way he seemed to really listen to what I had to say. The way he looked at me with those dark eyes and that dimpled smile. The way I want to feel those strong, elegant, practised hands on my skin.
Me, who has barely more than glanced at a man in years, and now I’m obsessing over this one.
I’ve driven myself a little bit crazy, I’ll be honest. And I’m sure I’ve driven Jas mad every time I mention him again.
But it’s Thursday now, and I’ve finally come to a decision.
I’m going to see if there are any tickets still available for the concert he mentioned this weekend, and see if I can somehow talk to him again then.
I wrapped up my in-store knitting group a little while ago – thank goodness for that delightful hour of distraction, my circle are all such loves, and an hour in their company always brightens my week – and now I’m heading out, done for the day.
I figure I might as well bite the bullet and pull my phone out to start searching for ‘Leo Blake London concert’.
I pass Jas’s counter on my way out and she’s not serving anyone, so I pause to say goodbye.
“Hey, what time are you finishing today, do you want me to wait?”
She gives me the oddest smile.
“Oh, no, no, I’ll see you at home later, you go and have fun!”
Then she almost forces me away, shooing me off with a wave of her hands.
I look back over my shoulder at her questioningly.
She just shoos me again with that too-broad smile.
That smile worries me.
But I don’t have space in my brain to analyse Jas’s weird mood, so I shake my head at her with a smile, and go back to my phone.
Years of living in London have developed my senses for walking with my head in my phone, so I’m able to navigate the crowd at the doors without too much trouble, emerging into the…well, Oxford Street could never be accused of having fresh air, but at least it’s different from the often stuffy interior of the store.
I’m just about to turn towards the nearest road crossing when I hear someone call my name.
I stop and turn.
And find Leo pushing away from the wall by the door.
He looks gorgeous today.
His hair is windswept and falling over his forehead again, and he has on his grey wool coat. But it’s his smile that stops me in my tracks.
He’s looking at me like I’m the person he wanted to see most in the world.
And I can’t say I’m not feeling the same.
Like I somehow managed to conjure him up out of thin air just by thinking about him.
“Hi Meg,” he says as he reaches me, his tall frame blocking the flow of people so that they have to part around us.
“Leo, hi…what are you…doing here?”
His smile turns sheepish and he reaches up to run one hand through the hair at his nape, making me wish, not for the first time, that I could do it instead.
“I…uh…well…I was looking for you actually. Hoping to catch you…”
“…Oh…”
I don’t know what else to say to that.
Well, not out loud anyway.
On the inside I’m doing some mad dance for joy and grinning like a Cheshire cat.
“Yeah, uh…I had a really great time last week, and…uh…well…I wanted to see if you’d like to come and watch my concert this weekend? I have a spare ticket…”
Whoa.
OK. Freaky.
Had I literally not just been about to try and buy a ticket myself, and now he’s here, outside my work, offering me one?
Inside-dancing-me nearly keels over in shock before a swift recovery and the urge to hug him out of gratitude.
Oh boy, hugging Leo Blake. Wouldn’t that be something.
“Oh, wow, thank you!” The smile has spread from inside out onto my face.
“That would be amazing, I’d love to. I was actually just thinking of looking to see if there were any still available…”
The pleasure in his smile is obvious, and I’m sure I detect a slash of colour across his cheekbones, as well as the twinkle in his eyes.
“Great, well, here,” and he pulls the ticket from the inside pocket of his coat, handing it to me.
I look at the printed information, the title in a bold, flourishing script.
An Evening of Mozart with Leo Blake.
The paper is warm from being inside his coat. Next to his heart.
I swallow hard at that thought.
“It’s over in Greenwich, I hope that’s not too out of your way?” he asks, that little furrow of worry creasing his brows.
It takes me a moment, looking down at the ticket, and up at him again, before I answer.
“Oh, no, it’s fine, no problem. I’m really looking forward to it.”
We stand there in the middle of the busy street, smiling at each other.
It’s like one of those moments in a film when it all goes a bit hazy as if the crowd has disappeared, and the couple stand there with the camera slowly spinning round them.
Clearly, I watch too many rom-coms.
Leo blinks and breaks the moment.
“Wonderful.”
His voice, deep and warm, rumbles down into my belly again, settling into a molten pool in my pelvis.
“Oh, and before I forget – again!” he chuckles, “would it be OK to get your phone number? Obviously I won’t be able to see you before the concert, but I’d really like to catch up afterwards, hear what you think…?”
Inside-me is punching the air in triumph. Yes! He does want to see me again!
“Yes, sure, of course! I’d like that too.”
His phone is already in his hands, so I reel off my number from memory, and then he calls me so that his number flashes up on my screen. I quickly save it before it disappears.
We’ve lapsed into silence again. The kind that’s halfway between really awkward, and more comfortable than it should be for two people who’ve only met a couple of times.
This time it’s me who breaks it.
“Great, well, thanks again for the ticket,” I wave it between us before tucking it into my bag. Definitely don’t want to lose that.
“You’re welcome, I’ll see you on Saturday then?”
He makes this a question. One that I have no problem answering with an enthusiastic nod.
Parting ways, he turns and is swept away by the crowd, and I swivel on my feet too. As I pass the shop doorway again, I’m sure I spot Jas, not at her own counter, but standing at one nearer the door.
Has she been watching us?
Then a thought hits me.
That odd smile and the way she all but shoved me out.
Did she know Leo was there?
I’ll have to interrogate her later.
But for now, I’m going to float home with Leo Blake’s number in my phone, a ticket to his concert in my bag, and a very happy smile on my face.
Need to catch up on the previous chapter? Read here:
