* * *
I only have eyes for you, Sam xx
* * *
Cute. All the same, I won’t send you his photo until we’re back together xx
* * *
He might not fancy me xx
* * *
He already does. He saw your picture on the Mull ferry xx
* * *
Oh, so now we discover the truth. It amuses me that Sam is nervous that I might prefer his friend. This is too good a chance not to rib him.
* * *
Oh right, so Niven gets to see me but I don’t get to see him? How is that fair? xx
* * *
It’s safer this way, trust me xx
* * *
I’m just thinking of what to say to that when another message arrives. Must be something about being a fiddle player – he types so quickly!
* * *
I dreamed about you last night xx
* * *
How cute is that?
* * *
Did you? Hope it wasn’t a nightmare xx
* * *
Oh come on, how could it ever be bad? It was awesome. So amazing I spent an hour trying to get back to sleep so I could stay in it xx
* * *
That good? xx
* * *
THAT good xx
* * *
Wow. No pressure for the next time I see you, then xx
* * *
None at all. You’re a dream lady xx
* * *
His cheekiness is endearing but I need a minute to regroup. I leave my phone on the window seat and head into the kitchen. It isn’t that I don’t like the flirting – I do, so much – but I want to make sure that isn’t all we talk about.
It’s a battle not to race back to my phone, but I take my time making coffee. Is Sam checking his phone or has he gone back to his mum’s friend’s house? My drink is made and I have no more reasons for delay, so I return to the window seat. The courtyard below is looking lovely today. It’s tempting to go down there to message Sam again, but it was so stiflingly hot yesterday that I abandoned my attempt to write my travel journal after twenty sweaty minutes. At least here a small brave breeze is finding its way through the window.
There’s a message from Sam waiting on my phone.
* * *
Did I tell you I found a guitar at Ailish’s? Found it in the wardrobe in my room. It was her son Aidan’s when he was a teenager. Thought he’d impress girls with it but found out having a car was more effective and far less hard work xx
* * *
So girls like guitar, do they? xx
* * *
Yup. Well-known fact. Piano and guitar are like catnip to girls xx
* * *
How about violin? xx
* * *
Worked for you xx
* * *
Ah, but I’ve never heard you play xx
* * *
Crap. Better brush up my guitar skills, then… xx
* * *
Our messages make me feel like the whole of Paris can hear us flirting.
* * *
So you play guitar as well? xx
* * *
I do. Haven’t played for a while but I want to write some stuff while I’m on the Island. It needs new strings but I reckon I can get a decent tune out of it xx
* * *
You’ll have to send me a song, Sam. I’d like that xx
* * *
I will. Anything for you xx
* * *
You’re brilliant. I love you xx
* * *
I take a breath.
It’s what I’ve wanted to say for the last two weeks and I was going to wait until I knew for certain, but who am I kidding? I knew the moment we met. I’m in love with Sam Mullins. And while I probably should have built up to it a little, or waited until we next spoke, it’s said now. It’s why I’ve been restless today, why his messages have meant so much. I love him. Why wait a year to say it?
I wait for his reply, for the dancing dots that mean he’s composing a message. After a minute they appear on screen, then disappear. Another thirty seconds and they do the same. Why is he hesitating? How many times do you have to type I love you, too before you dare to send it?
The screen remains blank beneath my last message now. I stay where I am, convinced that he’ll message back, or call me. Maybe he had to go to the house to use the Wi-Fi calling thing he’s done before. It probably is something we should say out loud to each other. I must’ve taken him by surprise and now he’s making sure his reply is everything he wants it to be.
But what if I scared him?
My stomach twists.
What if – oh hell – what if he doesn’t feel the same?
My fingers ache and I realise I’ve been gripping my phone too hard. I let go, the blank screen falling to my lap.
Why did I tell Sam I love him?
An hour passes, then two. I move to my room and try to read but the lifeless screen draws my eyes back whenever I try to concentrate. The longer the silence, the more scared I become.
Reply, Sam. Or call me.
Three hours after my last message, I can’t bear it any longer.
* * *
Sam, are we okay? Xx
* * *
I wait. My heart leaps when the reply dots start to dance.
* * *
We’re fine x
* * *
Two words, one kiss. It feels cold. I know he probably typed it in a hurry and the lack of his usual second kiss is just a mistake, but I feel sick. I don’t want to be that person but I can’t let this go until I know how he feels.
I didn’t mean to scare you xx
* * *
Another painfully dragging minute. I steady my breath, try to distract my attention from the clock at the top of my mobile screen that seems to have frozen.
* * *
You didn’t x
* * *
This is what I hate about messages and emails – you have no idea what the other person is really feeling because you can’t see it in their expression or catch subtle changes in their voice. I could call him but I am not going to make this any worse than it already is.
* * *
Are you sure? xx
* * *
His answer is almost immediate, which should ease my nerves. But when it arrives it feels dismissive. Even the return of the elusive second kiss in his reply isn’t reassuring: