Styling Wellywood: A fashionable romantic comedy (Wellywood Series Book 2) (31 page)

My date with Hamish rolls around and I decide it’s high time I got back on the man wagon (that really is quite an image, isn’t it? What if there really
was
a man wagon you could just hop on and off at will? How fabulous!).

I
spend some time in front of my wardrobe and spot the dress I was wearing the fateful night at the premiere. Rejecting it outright and ignoring the now too familiar knot in my stomach, I opt instead for a beautiful short, blue dress from a fantastic Wellywood designer I’d discovered recently, highnoontea.

Although I’d half expected my bank manager to track me down and berate me for splashing out on it
, not only did it look gorgeous on me, but, I reasoned, as a stylist I need to look up to date at

I team the dress
with my now much loved dangly earrings from another hot Wellywood designer, Madame Fancy Pants, and feel a million bucks.

I spot
Hamish at the crowded bar as I walk in, a pre-determined fashionably ten minutes late. Having come straight from the office he cuts a dashing figure in a pale blue open-neck collared shirt which offsets his thick, dark hair perfectly, with navy suit pants and high-end looking shoes.

He flashes me a broad smile, beckoning me over, and it feels nice to know this attractive man is interested in me
, a feeling I haven’t had for some time.

“
You look stunning,” he says as he leans in to kiss me on the cheek.

This is our first actual physical contact, if you disregard my bag smacking him in the stomach, and it feels a little odd
.

“
Thanks. Not bad yourself,” I reply as he passes me a drink.

I look at him in confusion as he hands me a mojito.
Of course he has no idea what a bad choice of drink he’s made, but I thank him for it and take a sip, trying to push any thoughts of Ben from my mind.

“
It’s a mojito,” he says proudly, as though he’s the first man in history to discover it. “Ever had one?”

“
Hmm?” I ask, struggling with my brain’s insistence to think about Ben.

Come on
Jess, move on - he doesn’t want you.

“
I said, ever had a mojito? I’m definitely a beer man but on a hot summer’s day like today they really hit the spot, don’t you think?”

I take another sip and mock surprised pleasure.
“Oh yes, really great. Thanks.”

Smiling brightly he leads me to the only free table in the place
, which it seems he has had reserved for us.

“
Maimed any poor soul with that suitcase of yours, lately?” he asks once we’re comfortably seated.

“
Oh, ha ha,” I reply with a hint of good-humoured sarcasm.

He really is cute and funny
, but it’s taking me a while to vanquish the ghost of mojitos past.

“
I know you’re a threat in cafés, but what do you actually do?”

“
Oh, I’m a personal stylist. I run a business called Estil.” I smile as I think about how my newfound career is going. I still can’t believe I can get up everyday and get paid to make people feel good about themselves.

My memories of struggling to keep my head above water when Morgan first disappeared are
now thankfully just that - memories.

“
Not bad. Impressive,” he replies, smiling at me. “So, what can you do with me? I’m a typical bloke in the fashion stakes. Think I need some serious help.”

I laugh.
“I’d say you’re doing just fine there. Looking pretty good actually.”

We’ve barely started chatting when
my heart skips a beat as I spot Ben with a group of corporate types walking into the bar. Why does he have to turn up, ruining my first date since Scott?

I look
furtively around the group he’s with, but there’s no sign of Jia. I suspect she can’t be too far away, not if reports of how loved up they are these days are anything to go by.

After a few moments I notice him glance over to our table
. I smile weakly at him, giving him the limpest of waves.

He seems to hesitate
momentarily before waving back, but then turns to his friends to say something and walks over in our direction. I look down into my lap and try to get a grip on my breathing, which seems to be taking no notice of the fact I desperately want to appear cool, calm and collected right now.

All the good work I’ve just put in with Hamish has
evaporated in an instant. Trying to get over Ben has been utterly futile.

After what feels like an extremely long time
, in which I simply cannot muster the power of speech, despite realising Hamish is probably wondering why the woman he’s been happily chatting with has suddenly gone dumb, Ben arrives at our table.

To my surprise Hamish leaps up and shakes his hand warmly, asking him how he is and then introducing me to him.

“Yes, I know Jess. How are you?” He smiles at me and that old familiar feeling of warmth, excitement and desire zings around my body.

I stand up awkwardly, painfully banging my right leg on the table.

“Great!” I almost shout in an attempt to appear totally normal.

Appreciating
I sound shrill to the point of mania, I tone it down before anyone notices. “How about you, Ben? It’s been a while, are you keeping well?”

Are you keeping well?
What am I, a heroine in a Jane Austen novel? I’ll be asking him to come over to father’s land to join his shooting party next.

His smile broadens
at my odd turn of phrase as he replies, “I am
keeping well
. Thanks for asking. I didn’t know you knew Hamish.”

Before I can answer Hamish jumps in.
“Just met, actually.”

He winks at me and I
cringe inwardly, hoping against all things holy Ben didn’t see him do it.

But
sadly all such hope is dashed as I observe Ben looking uncomfortable, shifting his weight and running his hand through his hair, an action I know as well as my own face.

“
How about you?” Hamish continues. Thankfully he seems oblivious to the subtext being played out blatantly in front of him.

“
Oh Jess and me go way back. Varsity, London. Right, Jess?” Ben replies, looking directly at me.

Judging I’m now back in
enough control of my voice in order to speak at a socially appropriate volume I reply, “That’s right. How do you two know each other?”

“
Oh, Ben’s practice did some work for us recently,” Hamish explains.

Professional colleagues,
then.

We stand
in awkward silence for a moment, an odd trio, until Ben nods his head towards the group he came in with and says he should get back to them.

Although this is one of the most uncomfortable conversations I’ve been a part of in recent history, I’m strangely reluctant to let him walk away.

I don’t know what I want to achieve but it suddenly feels extremely important to me he know Hamish and I are not going out with each other, despite the fact my rational brain knows he’s chosen another woman over me.

Just as he’s turning away and Hamish is sitting down, I gabble,
“This is a first date, of sorts. That’s all. Just a first date.”

My heart’s pounding as I begin to seriously question my sanity. Why would Ben care? It’s none of his business who I see or sleep with now, is it?

He looks at me for a moment, searching my face, then smiles, the edges of his mouth barely lifting. “Have fun, Jess.”

My heart sinks and I’m certain it’
s written all over my face.

He turns and walks away and I slump down in my chair
in utter dejection and defeat. As if I really needed any further proof, this experience has been definitive in showing me I’m not ready to be out in public yet.

I’m sincerely thankful that
, in typical male style, Hamish is completely oblivious to any undertones between Ben and me.

I force myself to focus on him for the rest of
our drink, not once stealing a look in Ben’s direction.

By the time we
get ready to go I notice Ben and his friends have already left, and my heart sinks again as I realise he’s probably gone home to his girlfriend.

Outside the bar I thank
Hamish for the drink and he leans in to kiss me. It takes me by surprise, but it’s a very nice kiss. He pulls away slowly and looks into my eyes.

“
So…?” he begins.

I look at him, waiting for him to finish his sentence, but he pauses for a long time, looking at me with a cheeky grin on his face.

As I haven’t managed to respond, he speaks again. “Would you like to come back to my place?” he asks. “It’s not far,” he adds hopefully, as though brevity of travel distance could be the clincher in whether I have sex with him.

I’m taken completely by surprise. Although I’m not totally c
lueless about how dating works - I’m no Nineteenth Century heroine, despite the occasional archaic turn of phrase - it simply hadn’t occurred to me I’d go home with Hamish tonight. It’s not that there’s anything
wrong
with him per se - in fact there’s a huge amount right with him.

I
t’s just he’s not Ben.

“
Thanks, Hamish, but can I take a rain check? I’m a little preoccupied tonight - you know, work stuff.” I roll my eyes. “But I’d love to do this again some time?”

Hell, why not? He’s attractive, successful, witty and fun to be around, not to mention available and interested in me.

But although he’s good on paper I’m just not feeling the electricity.

I wrap my arms around his waist and kiss him again, full on the lips
, to show I’m serious. There’s no denying it feels nice, just not nice enough right now.

As I say good
night and turn to walk back through the throngs of revellers to my apartment, I glance back in his direction in order to check for traffic before crossing the road and I notice him pulling his cell phone out of his pocket.

It occurs to me
since he crashed and burned with me he might be after a booty call, but strangely the thought doesn’t bother me in the slightest.

I’d been convinced going out with a new, attractive guy would help me take my mind off Ben and it’d failed spectacularly. Damn him turning up as I was having a nice time! It feels almost like he’s purposefully sabotaging me, ensuring I don’t have the opportunity to get over him. If I do actually end up having sex with Hamish or some other guy he’ll probably pop in the room at the crucial moment, shouting
“Surprise!
”

I’d laugh if it didn’t hurt so much.

As I approach my apartment building I notice a dark figure lurking in the doorway and with a shock I turn on my heel and start to walk back in the direction I’d come.

I hear footsteps behind me so quicken my pace, thinking ironically a mugging would be the perfect end to the evening, when a familiar voice calls,
“Jess. Wait!”

I stop in my tracks, swing around and see Ben, standing in front of me, looking concerned.

“Thank god you’re alone. I had images of you arriving with that smarmy jerk, Hamish Black.”

I feel a
flash of anger. How dare he turn up on my doorstep in the dark, declaring how happy he is I’m not going to have sex with some other guy! I mean, it’s hardly his business, is it?

But
any anger I may feel evaporates as fast as it’s flared and I’m back to the malaise I’ve been wallowing in on my walk home from the bar.

Nevertheless
I try to appear bright and undeterred by his sudden appearance on my doorstep.

“
No. No Hamish Black. So… What’s up?” I ask.

He looks uneasy. Probably trouble with
Jia so he thought he’d come and hang out with a mate.

“
I haven’t seen your new place. Can I come in, check it out?” he asks.

I narrow my eyes at him.
“You want to see my new place at ten-thirty on a Friday night?”

“
Well, to be fair it was only nine when I got here.”

I do a double take.

“You’ve been standing out here for an hour and a half? Ben, what’s got into you?”

He smiles at me in amusement.
“Let me in, pour me a drink, and I’ll tell you.”

He’s very
cheerful and confident for a man needing to talk about his girlfriend troubles.

“
OK,” I reply dubiously.

Despite my better judgment my interest has been piqued. And besides, h
e’s pretty relentless when he goes after something, so there really is no point in trying to stop him.