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

by Zara Stoneley

  ‘Last time I looked I was.’

  I ignore him.

  ‘So, you can tell me. What the fuck do men want?’ This is the question that has been bothering me since I got here. Well since Gabe didn’t get here. Well okay, since well before then. Since I realised that I don’t know how to date.

  If I knew exactly what they wanted, then I wouldn’t have been stood up, would I? I would also be confident about first dates.

  ‘Sex, beer, food, football?’

  I am a bit worried about the order of this list but will ignore it for now. ‘Can you be serious here, just for one teeny moment? I mean as far as a date goes. How do I find the right guy for me? How do I find a date? What do I say? How am I supposed to know how to do it?’

  ‘It?’ He grins. He’s gone twinkly again. A little dimple has appeared either side of the gentle curve of his mouth.

  ‘Date! Are you completely sex mad or something?’

  ‘You want me to tell you how to find a date? Really? A girl looking like you do?’

  ‘Really.’ I try and grin back, but it doesn’t work. My face won’t cooperate. I think it looks suspicious not happy. ‘What do you mean, looking like me?’

  ‘Cute!’

  I shouldn’t have asked. He’s got a flirt-setting jammed full-on permanently. ‘This is stupid. Forget I asked.’ I slip my purse out of my bag. ‘How much do I owe you for the drink?’

  He puts out a staying hand, which brushes against my arm and sets the goose bumps off. ‘You’re being serious, you want to know what men want in a woman, a date?’

  ‘I said forget it.’ I’m mumbling, and fidget so that we’re no longer touching; this is getting embarrassing.

  ‘But you found a date, he just …’

  I look him in the eye. ‘Didn’t show! Blanked me, ghosted me!’ I’m embarrassed because I feel stupid. What kind of crazy impulse had taken over my normally balanced mind and persuaded me that this could work?

  Okay, you don’t need to answer that. I already know. One word. Desperation.

  ‘People get stood up all the time, Rosie. It’s par for the course.’

  ‘Maybe your course, but not—’

  ‘You’re upset. Come on, let’s get another drink.’

  ‘I should go.’ Not talk to strange men in bars about my dating disasters. ‘I’m not upset.’ Well not much.

  ‘Stay, why go home and sit in the dark eating ice cream and watching people pretend snog on the TV when you can chat to me?’

  He twinkles at me, in a nice, not over-flirty way. I am tempted. And, how did he know I was going to do that? If he’s a mind-reader this could be useful, but also bad.

  ‘Come on, for my sake as well.’ He shrugs. ‘I’ve not got anywhere else to go. You’d be leaving me all alone.’

  ‘You’d soon pick up another girl.’ I grin back at him.

  He looks around. ‘Place seems pretty short of single women right now.’

  ‘True. I can see you’re really stuck!’

  ‘So I’ll sit here and bother you! Come on, Rosie, spill! If you want to that is, or we can talk about me, yeah me!’

  I laugh, I can’t help it. He’s funny. ‘Okay I’ll have a drink if it makes you happy, but it’s my round, okay? And I’m not upset, I’m angry.’

  He chuckles. ‘I’d never have guessed!’

  I roll my eyes and smile back. He’s good company actually, and another drink and a moan is a far better bet than going home and sulking with only a packet of crisps for company. And better than bothering Bea. It’s not fair on her, I can’t call again.

  Chapter 2

  ‘Now you mention it, you do look a bit angry. Feisty! Scares some men! Cheers!’ Noah raises his refilled glass and grins. He’s easy-going, cheerful, just what I need. And, despite the fact I still reckon he’s a bit of a player, he’s given up on making moves and I have to admit I do quite like him.

  And I know he’s just flirting, but the way he’s looking at me – intently as though he’s interested – is making me feel much better inside.

  Nobody looks at me intently these days. I hadn’t realised I’d missed that – until now.

  I can feel myself frowning. ‘Not sure I like feisty, that’s what Mum used to call the stray cat she left food out for.’

  He chuckles again. ‘It’s cute, I like it!’

  ‘I’m not trying to be scary, am I really?’

  He nods. ‘Assertive.’ His grin returns. ‘Quite a turn on, actually.’

  I sigh. ‘You can’t help yourself, can you? Just forget sex for two minutes.’

  ‘Yes, Miss. So, why the mood?’

  This is interesting. I never thought of myself as scary. Maybe because I’ve been nervous, and under pressure.

  ‘It’s just,’ I sigh. How do I explain to somebody I hardly know, just how important tonight was to me? Noah is the type of guy who has an endless stream of dates. ‘You won’t get it.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘Okay. You asked for this!’

  ‘Hang on, let me brace myself!’

  I punch him on the arm and realise that I don’t have to move forward to do it. We’ve got kind of close again, which is a bit worrying. ‘Funny! Haha slipping off my stool, hang on!’ I wriggle back. I don’t think that was an obvious retreat. Very sneakily done, Rosie! ‘Have you any idea how long it took me to get ready tonight? I tried on at least six outfits!’ That’s two hours of my life spent finding the right outfit that I’m never going to get back.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Don’t say it like that, as though you’re shocked! I wanted a bit sexy, but not too sexy.’

  ‘Oh God, no, heaven forbid! Too sexy!’ He plants his palm over his eyes. ‘Complete disaster on a date.’

  He’s making me laugh again. I’ve not laughed this much for ages – well since me and Bea thought that hiring a rowing boat and taking a dog she was looking after in it was a good idea. Bad idea. ‘And I wanted to look smart, but not like I tried too hard.’ I pause. ‘Why am I telling you this?’

  ‘Who knows, but carry on.’

  ‘I guess if I stop, we’ll have to talk about you?’

  ‘Spot on!’

  ‘Right fine, I’m good to keep going. Then there was the whole waxing thing. I spent ages thinking about it and it kept me awake last night: how far should I go with waxing?’

  He blinks.

  ‘Sorry, too much info.’

  ‘No, carry on. How far did you go?’ He’s doing the cocked eyebrow thing again.

  ‘I didn’t, so you can stop that! Just legs, armpits and eyebrows.’ It had bothered me, the whole ‘how much hair is too much?’ According to some stuff I’d read, a single hair anywhere but on a head was a hair too far these days. Not that I’d been expecting to leap into bed with Gabe, but be prepared has always been my motto – and I’d been thinking of this as a dry run for a second and third date. ‘But I don’t know what is right!’ I flap my arms. ‘I’ve never done it before!’

  ‘Waxed?’

  ‘No. God, I’m not hairy, am I?’ I glance down as though I’m half expecting to see tufts poking out. ‘I meant I’ve never had to get ready for a first date!’

  He frowns. ‘What do you mean, never had to—’

  ‘Well not never, ever, obviously. But not for ages, and last time it was different. It’s complicated.’ A rush of disappointment hits me, and I’d been doing so well at ignoring it. The whole splitting up, and it looking more and more likely each day that I am never, ever going to find another date. I babble to cover it up. ‘And it took ages to get here, and I don’t even like this place much.’

  ‘Here,’ he clicks his fingers and more drinks magically appear. Had I finished mine? I can’t even remember drinking it. The first sip, yes. But, after that? ‘O—kay. You’re not upset.’

  ‘I’m not upset.’ Okay, I am. But I sniff it up and refuse to give in.

  ‘But you did find a date, so that’s a good start, eh?’ He is looking at me encouragingly, li
ke my mother used to when I’d failed my driving tests but hadn’t got minors in absolutely every category.

  ‘I didn’t exactly find a date. Not in real life.’ I am never going to see Noah again, so I can admit it all to him in this moment. ‘I found him on Tinder. I’ve never actually met the guy. This was supposed to be our first date.’

  ‘And he’s blown you out? Wow, what a douche! You see, that’s the trouble with matching up with some guy on an app, he’s not met you in person.’

  ‘Er, that’s the point.’

  ‘But if he’s not met you then he doesn’t know what he’s missing!’ He leans in a bit, puts his hand over mine. ‘See, it’s a bit like when you’ve said you’ll go to a gig to support a friend, but not actually had to pay for tickets. Easy to do a no-show!’

  ‘You’ve done that?’ I roll my eyes. ‘What a slimeball.’ A tiny glimmer of something positive warms me up inside. Noah seems to have that effect on me. ‘I’m just a ticket Gabe never had to pay for, and he thinks he’s spotted something better? Like a good film on TV?’ I grin.

  Noah chuckles and shakes his head. ‘I didn’t say that! But I’m glad I made you smile.’

  I glance at my phone. I can’t help myself. Just to make sure there isn’t a message.

  ‘Forget him.’ Noah booms out loud, slamming his hand onto the bar right next to my phone sending it skittering to the floor. ‘You’ve just found a better gig!’

  I look at him and raise an eyebrow. There’s nothing wrong with Noah, he’s funny, but he’s not a date.

  ‘Okay,’ he puts his hands over his face, but is peeking through, ‘you can’t forget him, it’s too early.’ He does a fake sob.

  ‘God, you are such a clown!’ I laugh.

  ‘Go on then, tell me about this …’

  ‘Gabe.’

  ‘Gabe. If it helps. Not that I think he’s worth even thinking about, and not that I want to hear about the stupid twat, but if it’s going to help.’

  I frown. ‘Maybe it won’t help. It’s not actually Gabe that’s the important thing. You’re right he’s not worth bothering about.’

  ‘No?’ He looks confused.

  ‘It was the date. I just needed a date!’

  ‘Why the urgency?’ He suddenly grins. ‘It’s a bet! I get it, you’ve bet a mate you can hook him!’

  ‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘Who would do something like that?’

  He shrugs, looks a bit sheepish.

  ‘God, you’re impossible. You’ve done that as well, haven’t you?’

  He doesn’t answer. ‘Okay, you did it cos you need a hot date for some party! Am I right? You can’t go on your own because your ex will be there?’

  I sigh. ‘I thought you’d given up on thinking you were right? No, it’s not for a bet, not for a party, I just …’ I pause, then lean in a bit closer to him. He’s got very nice eyes. I think I’m a bit drunk. I have to be drunk or I wouldn’t be leaning in or telling him this stuff. ‘I haven’t had a date for ages and ages; I’ve not even had sex for ages! Well I’ve not touched a man, apart from you, of course, but that isn’t touching-touching, for eight months and nine days to be precise. Oh God, no! More!’ I sit back. Wow, I hadn’t realised just how bad this had got. ‘Robbie moved out six months and nine days ago, but I hadn’t seen him for weeks before that. Does that count as non-date time? It definitely counts as non-sex time.’

  Noah pulls a funny face and shakes his head. ‘Haven’t a clue what you are talking about.’

  ‘I’ve only ever had one boyfriend: Robbie.’

  ‘Wow.’ He does a low whistle, and doesn’t sound judgemental, but I ignore him and bat on.

  ‘And we split up, and now he’s gone.’ I wave my hands to make the point. ‘And I’ve realised I’ve never really done first dates and I just wanted to do it, you know, get it over with. A proper date, not somebody I’ve been set up with, or some weirdo stalker, somebody I picked myself because I liked them! I promised myself I’d do it, and now grunge-faced Gabe has ruined it! Will you stop laughing!’

  ‘Get it over with?’ He is still chuckling. Which is kind of annoying, but also kind of contagious. ‘Look Rosie, just walk up to a guy you fancy and, well, chat.’

  ‘I can’t! That’s the point! I walk up to somebody, and, well, freeze and don’t know what to say, and end up asking him to pass me a beer mat or something.’

  ‘You’re talking to me.’

  ‘That’s different, you’re not a date. I don’t fancy you.’

  ‘Not at all?’ He looks a bit put out. ‘Not even a tiny bit?’

  ‘Not at all, and I’m drunk or I wouldn’t even be talking to you.’

  ‘Wow, you know how to boost a man’s ego.’

  ‘You don’t need yours boosting! I can tell. Look,’ I study him carefully, ‘okay, you’re fanciable, right?’

  ‘But you don’t fancy me?’

  ‘You’re just not my type, that’s all.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘You can’t be everybody’s type.’ I pat his hand; I feel like I need to reassure him. ‘Oh, I need to go home before I say completely the wrong thing. You see, I don’t know what to say!’

  ‘No, you don’t, but you’re not shooting off.’ He pulls my stool closer to his so that our knees brush together briefly and I forget all about needing to shoot off. ‘I don’t see the problem.’

  ‘I’ve not had time to date since Robbie went,’ or the faintest clue how to find a boyfriend, ‘and, I mean, being serious, you can’t just march up to a hot guy and ask him out, can you?’

  ‘You can’t?’ He looks shocked.

  ‘Nope. You can’t,’ I say firmly. ‘Can you?’

  ‘Well yeah, that’s what people tend to do. Well not guys in my case, girls. But I’d be well chuffed if some hot girl came up and asked me out!’

  ‘Well I don’t do that. I just wanted to date, and Tinder seemed a good way to do it.’

  He shakes his head, suddenly serious. ‘Ah, so that’s why it’s such a big deal,’ he says softly. He really has got a nice voice, silky, warm, good for pillow talk. I blink and try and get rid of the picture of pillows, along with sheets and a massive bed, that is in my head. ‘You’re a first-date virgin. You thought this would work if you didn’t have to actually chat somebody up. You could sort it all at arm’s length. No risk of being turned down, no checking out for wedding rings,’ he’s counting things off on his fingers, ‘no chemistry, just hard facts.’

  ‘Exactly. Reduce the margin of error.’ My voice starts off crisp and tails off. It doesn’t sound brilliant now he’s put it like that.

  ‘And without knowing whether you’d actually fancy them in real life.’

  ‘But you see their photo.’

  ‘This is about looks then.’

  ‘No, it’s not!’

  ‘Yes, it is!’ He chuckles and taps the back of my hand. ‘You’ve already said he’s gorgeous.’

  ‘Well I wouldn’t talk to him if I didn’t fancy him at least a bit, would I?’ I try not to sound huffy.

  ‘Ahh, but fancying is more than looks, isn’t it? You know, the vibe, the chemistry the being with somebody. Trust me, Rosie, you need real.’

  ‘But you talk to people, you send messages!’

  ‘And he said what he thought you wanted to hear. It’s easy when you can sit there plotting it out on the sofa at half-time.’

  ‘Huh.’

  ‘Okay.’ He obviously decides it is time to change tack. ‘What gave you the idea in the first place?’

  ‘Bea. My friend. She came into the bookshop where we work with a dog in her handbag, a little fluffy pompom-like dog.’ Honestly, it really was like a pompom on legs, except it also had a cute button nose and tiny black eyes. And it was in her handbag, that’s how small it was. I found that hard enough to get over at the time, now it seems even more incredible. I wish I could remember exactly how many drinks I’ve had tonight.

  ‘And?’

  ‘She doesn’t have a dog. But,’ I
lean in confidentially, ‘she wants a dog.’ She positively pines for doggie cuddles and kisses; she never stops talking about it. ‘But Bea doesn’t have one because she works long hours, has got a very small apartment, and loves her holidays abroad.’

  ‘O-kay, you want a date. She can’t have a dog, but she’s got a dog. I’m not confused at all.’

  ‘I did wonder if she’d been dog-napping, but she’s really honest, you know, and then she explained about an app she’d discovered where you could borrow a dog for a day! Isn’t that brilliant! It’s genius: you sign up, fill in a profile about your perfect pooch match and all these dog owners do the same and they find you the perfect doggie date. You just borrow them, like a playdate, or a sleepover, or for a whole week!’ Bea doesn’t like big things. She likes cute, fluffy, clean, portable pups. She loves the idea of a glamorous meal out, with a tiny dog sitting next to her, awaiting morsels of food. This app had delivered exactly what she’d asked for.

  It was while she was explaining the genius of this app to me that it came to her. If she could find the perfect pup online, why couldn’t I find the perfect first date the same way? One I was matched carefully with, one that I could return the next day and mark as unsuitable if necessary, one I didn’t have to worry about house-training or commitment with. We laughed about it. She put her dog back in her handbag, and I went back to tidying bookshelves and forgot all about it for at least ten minutes.

  ‘And then my dad texted me cos he’d heard.’

  ‘What?’ Noah looks confused again. ‘He’d heard about your mate’s obsession with little furry dogs?’

  ‘No.’ I frown. ‘He’d heard about Robbie!’

  ‘Oh. And why would that make you …?’

  ‘He laughed at me!’ Normally I would not pass on any of Dad’s less than nice comments, but I’m drunk, and I’m never going to see Noah again. So, it’s fine. It’s like writing it down on a piece of paper and burning it. ‘Said it was bound to happen at some point he guessed, me being single.’

  ‘What?’ Noah looks indignant on my behalf, which makes me feel a bit warm and fuzzy inside (or that could be the alcohol, at this point I’m not sure).

  ‘He said I’m too loud, too outspoken. Men don’t like it. Even drips, his word not mine, like Robbie get fed up of it in the end.’ I need to shut up before I get carried away.