He comes back in, carrying a black sports bag. His body is covered in worn jeans and a white T-shirt. He throws a stylish brown jacket over the top. “Come on then, gorgeous. Let’s blow this joint,” he says, holding out his free hand.
“Your place is amazing,” I gush, threading my fingers through his.
I secretly hope I get invited to stay here one day. I’m intrigued by what his bedroom might look like. My mouth waters as I imagine the scent of his bed, and I get a pang of longing to sink down and get tangled with him in his sheets.
He smiles and heads for the door, tugging me alongside him. “It’s a nice day. Instead of bowling, how about we do something outside?”
“What do you have in mind?” I ask, happy just to do anything where I spend time with him.
He smiles down at me. “I have an idea.”
I sigh at how romantic this is. I’ve lived in Cambridge for the last five years and sampled many of its attractions … but I’ve never been on a punt before. When Jared hops down into the small wooden boat and turns to hold his hand out for me, I grin from ear to ear.
“This was a great idea,” I congratulate, slipping my hand into his as I cautiously step down into the boat.
I laugh as I stumble, and Jared has to catch my waist to hold me steady.
We settle on the padded green seats, his arm around my shoulders, my hand on his knee, as the driver guy steps onto the back and pushes us off from the side, using what looks like a huge wooden pole.
The slow, lazy float on the river is breathtaking, and I’ve never really appreciated how pretty my city is until now, seeing it from the boat. Jared sits at my side, and we chat about the buildings, the trees, the stunning views. When some swans and ducks glide over and poke their heads over the side of the boat, Jared is ready with the purchased seed and hands it to me. It’s then that I decide this is the best date I have ever been on.
After the chilled boat ride, we agree on a picnic and find a secluded spot by the river in the shade of a willow tree. He was right; it is a nice day. Although it’s nearly the end of September now and we’re in the very last dregs of summer, it’s still warm. The sun is bright, and there’s not a cloud in the sky. Perfect picnic weather.
“So, what else are you planning on doing with your two weeks off work other than visiting your family?” he asks, forking in a mouthful of his chicken salad.
I shrug noncommittally. “I don’t know. Sleeping in mostly. Maybe a bit of decorating. Binge-watching Netflix. Nothing specific. I just haven’t taken any time off all year and had to book some, or I’d end up leaving it too late and losing my holiday entitlement.”
He nods, chewing on his food, his eyes thoughtful. “Sounds nice. I can’t remember the last time I lay in and didn’t have any plans.”
“You should pull a couple of sickies and come binge some Netflix with me,” I joke.
One side of his mouth quirks up into a smile. “Maybe I should.”
I swallow my squeal of delight. I would love that. The eye contact holds for longer than necessary, and I feel my insides thrum with happiness. The air around us is thick with the sexual tension, and he looks away just as I’m about to unceremoniously toss my sandwich and jump him on the bank of the river with all the ducks and swans watching.
“My job has been hectic lately. I’m definitely owed some lieu time after last night,” he says, rolling his eyes.
“Have the Japanese clients gone home now or …” I ask. When he nods in answer, I tilt my head to the side, intrigued. “What is it you actually do that you had clients come over from Japan to meet with you?”
He blows out a big breath and scrunches up his nose. “It’s pretty boring.”
I shrug, moving until I’m sitting cross-legged and facing him so I can give him my undivided attention. “I don’t care. I want to know.”
A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Okay, so say you’re a company and you have a million pounds you want to sink into advertising to grow your business.”
I raise an eyebrow at the figure, but he doesn’t bat an eyelid, as if he’s used to working with sums that large on a daily basis.
“So, you’d come to me as the advertising strategist and tell me about your business and what you hope to achieve through advertising. I then take that information and go away, researching your business and businesses similar to yours. I’ll check market trends, see what’s working and what’s not. I’ll see where investment ads of your product type are making the most impact for the lowest price—that’s called return on investment. I then combine all that information and create a recommended portfolio of where I think your money will be best spent and who to target based on their likelihood to buy the product. After you agree on the portfolio, I then liaise with our marketing and art departments to create the graphics and materials, slogans, copy—everything we need. Then, my team and I implement the ads and serve them, checking progress in real time, tweaking and amending to make sure they’re fulfilling the proposed potential. It’s tough but rewarding. I love it.”
Throughout his whole speech, I watch him, more than a little impressed and proud of him. His job sounds incredible and hard!
I playfully purse my lips. “So, you’re responsible for those ads I see on Facebook and Instagram?”
He lets out a laugh that makes my insides flutter. “Guilty as charged. But I don’t just do ads on socials though; sometimes, it’s TV adverts or radio, event sponsorships, supermarket end caps, billboards, bus stops or the underground. Depends on the product and target audience. And budget, of course.”
“Impressive. And the Japanese clients?”
“They’re trying to break into the UK market with some of their technological gadgets.” He skirts around, giving no details.
“And you’re not allowed to talk about it,” I guess.
He chuckles. “And I’m not allowed to talk about it,” he confirms. “What about you? Are you living your dream job on the trains, or is there something else you’d rather be doing?”
“It’s hardly a dream job, but it gets me out of the house and pays for my Dr Pepper addiction,” I joke. “When I was younger, I actually wanted to be a continuity editor. I even got a media studies A level in preparation.”
He raises one eyebrow. “And a continuity editor is …”
I pick a blade of grass with my free hand and roll it into a little ball between my fingers. “You know when you’re watching a movie and the camera changes angles, you suddenly notice someone’s drink that was half-full is now full again?”
He’s watching me, interest clear on his face as he nods in understanding.
“That’s what a continuity editor’s job is. Basically, I thought I would just get to watch movies all day and point out the mistakes. Imagine my disappointment when it turned out that there was more to it than that. Dream crushed. There wasn’t anything else I was ever interested in, so I just started applying for full-time jobs. I bounced around from job to job for a while, but I quite like this one. I get to chat with people all day, so there’s that. It’s a bit boring and repetitive though.”
He laughs and reaches for my hand. “Oh, well, at least you have a couple of weeks off you can enjoy before you have to go back. So, tell me about your mum and dad. What are they like?”