Sweet!
“So, can I see you tonight?” he asks just as I’m about to gush some more about how adorable he is.
My heart is instantly screaming, YES, but my brain—the more rational part of me—lets me down with a bump.
“I can’t,” I sigh. “Heather is coming over tonight for some girl time. Thursdays are always BFF days.”
“Every Thursday?”
I nod. “Yep, Tequila Thursday. It’s a tradition Heather and I have. It started when we first moved out together. We were totally skint, and our local pub used to do a happy hour on a Thursday—two shots of tequila for the price of one. We’ve been doing Tequila Thursday for years, though it’s evolved a bit now.”
“Evolved?”
“Yeah. Did you know the main ingredient of a margarita is tequila?”
He chuckles. “Right, got ya.”
“Sorry. Rules are, you can’t cancel a Tequila Thursday unless you’re out of the country or dead. Since I’m neither, I’m afraid I’m busy tonight.”
He laughs, and I head to my bedroom, carrying my cup of tea. I set it on my dressing table before heading to the bathroom and turning on the shower to warm up.
“I’m free Friday night though,” I add. Even I can hear the hopeful tone to my voice.
Jared groans. “I can’t on Friday. We have these extremely important clients over this week from Japan. I’ve been roped into taking them out on Friday for dinner and drinks on the company,” he explains. “What about Saturday? We could meet for lunch and spend the afternoon together, go bowling or something? Maybe you’ll invite me to stay over again; you never know,” he flirts.
I blush from my neck to my hairline as my skin tingles with excitement. “Whoa, you’re jumping the gun a bit there, Jared Stone. I’d need to see your bowling skills before I can decide if you’re worthy of third-date sex,” I joke. And it is definitely a joke. He is so being invited to stay the night!
“Amy, I don’t think I was worthy of second-date sex, so I’m just taking each day as it comes,” he replies.
“Literally,” I joke.
He laughs, and the sound makes my tummy flutter. “Yeah, literally,” he confirms.
“Saturday then,” I agree.
“Great. I should really go back in my meeting and see if I need to break up any fights,” he sighs.
“Okay. Well, I hope your day improves.”
“My day started on a high. Can’t get better than waking up in bed with a gorgeous girl, so it was always only ever going to go downhill from there.”
I grin. “Well played.”
“Thanks. See you Saturday then.”
“Bye.” When he hangs up, I grin at my phone and bounce on the balls of my feet.
Saturday seems so far away. I am addicted.
That night, I’m more than ready for girls’ night. I already showered the day’s crappiness from my skin and changed into my loungewear and have taken off my bra. Now, all I need is my bestie to show her face, so I can start on the huge blender of frozen margaritas I just finished making. My mouth waters as I set the jug and our two glasses—salted edges and all—down on the coffee table, ready. I pick up the bowl of crisps and start munching, frowning when my doorbell rings. Heather usually just lets herself in.
I push myself up from the sofa and head over, yanking it open, expecting my best friend. But it’s not Heather standing on the other side; it’s a guy barely out of his teens, chewing gum with his mouth open and wearing a black vest with Hugh’s Hampers stitched on it.
“Delivery,” he announces, barely looking at me as he thrusts a brown box towards me.
I frown and take the box. It’s slightly heavy, and I hear something shift noisily inside. “I haven’t ordered anything,” I mutter. “Are you sure it’s for me?” My eyes search out the address label as he looks at the little plastic gadget in his hand.
“Amy Clarke?” he asks, looking at the number 5A on my door.
I nod.
“It’s for you.” He shrugs and holds out the contraption for me to sign for it.
I use my finger to scribble something that doesn’t resemble my signature in the slightest.
The guy barely waits for me to withdraw my hand before he turns and starts for the stairs. I frown down at the package as I head back inside, pushing the door closed with my bum. The label emblazoned on the top of the package also says Hugh’s Hampers.
I frown. I’ve never heard of it, so it’s definitely a mistake.
Curiously, I head back into the kitchenette, grabbing a knife and carefully sliding it along the tape.
As I lift the lid, I see a card on the top—white with black printed type.
Dear Miss Cheese Is Life,
I thought you’d enjoy this more than chocolate or some other lame romantic gesture. A little something for you and the BFF to enjoy during Tequila Thursday.
Jared x
My mouth pops open in shock. He bought me a present? And his note mentions Tequila Thursday. I only told him about it this morning, so he had to have ordered this hamper today. Same-day delivery probably cost him a fortune.
I reach out and remove the layer of tissue paper, eager to see what it is. In the box are several types of cheeses, two packs of crackers, some tiny jars of chutney and preserves, all nestled in paper shredding. I take each item out, inspecting it with a massive grin on my face. Underneath all the produce are a wooden cheeseboard and a cheese knife.
“Holy shit.”
A moronic grin slips onto my face as I carry it all over to the coffee table and lay it out. I set the typed note next to it, so I can show Heather. This is the most thoughtful thing any guy has ever bought for me. I would have been ecstatic with chocolates or “some other lame romantic gesture,” but this is perfection. He is perfection.
As I’m gushing over the present and reading the card for the third time, Heather lets herself in my flat. “I’ve arrived! Make mine a large one. I need to pee,” she calls to me as she drops her coat and bag and heads straight for the bathroom.
I grin and pour two drinks.
“Wow, you’ve gone all out,” Heather says a couple of minutes later as she motions to the cheeseboard and plops down onto the sofa next to me. “How come?”
I laugh and nod. It is decidedly more extravagant than my usual spread of stale peanuts and whatever they had in the reduced section of my local supermarket on the way home from work. She leans forward and picks up the knife, slicing off a chunk of Stilton and adding it to a cracker, hungrily stuffing it in her mouth.
“Jared sent me it.”
She raises one eyebrow, chewing quickly. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.” I pass her the card, watching as she reads it. “I said, ‘Cheese is life,’ on our first date when we went for dinner,” I explain, nibbling on my bottom lip as a warm feeling spreads across my tummy.
“Wow.” Her eyebrows rise into her hairline. “That’s seriously thoughtful. Not only did he actually listen to you, but he also then sent you a corresponding gift? I have no choice but to stan.” She sighs deeply. “I wish Tim still did stuff like that. His idea of a thoughtful gesture nowadays is brushing his teeth before he comes to bed if he’s been eating cheese and onion crisps.”