Happy Hour (A Romantic Comedy)

Chapter 3

"So 15 years since you last saw him, that's intense." Paige takes a long sip of her Bacardi Breezer. Her taste in alcohol is that of an underage teenager. If we ever go to a bar devoid of alcopops she goes into immediate panic mode.

"It's blown my mind." I shake my head, glancing down into my massive gin and tonic. This is my second since we ditched the camera equipment and ballgown at our flat and came straight to the pub. I barely tasted the first one going down; I think I might be in shock.

Of course, I'd always known there was a chance I might see Chris again. Glasgow isn't that big a place after all. But I genuinely don't run into that many familiar faces, despite working two jobs in customer-facing environments which you would think would somewhat increase the chances.

But I certainly didn't expect to run into him in Glasgow Green while photographing my best mate in a ballgown.

And I absolutely wasn't prepared.

Hence me panicking and hiding.

Not my finest hour. But then, when it came to Chris, I had never had any chill whatsoever.

"I hadn't actually thought about him in so long either," I muse, twirling the stripy paper straw around my glass.

He comes up in my thoughts every so often, granted. The same way my first boyfriend at university occasionally pops up, or that holiday rep I had a crush on while on an 18-30 holiday to Zante in 2010. I briefly wonder where they are these days, what they're up to, and then it files itself back away in some distant drawer of my memory.

I have to admit Chris does let himself out of the mental filing cabinet more than the others though. He was always a contrary arsehole.

"I've always wondered why he kissed me that time," I say, looking up into Paige's concerned wide blue eyes. "It was just so . . . Weird."

"Maybe he had liked you all along and just wanted to see what it was like before he left?" Paige smiles. "It really could have been that simple."

Ah, Paige, the ever-optimistic romantic. She's like a sixteen year old me.

"He barely tolerated me," I shake my head. "It made no sense."

"Well, probably no point in dwelling on it now anyway, you lost your chance to even ask by running away from him."

"Like I would even ask anyway," I scoff. But I can't deny that part of me is wondering "what if?"

What if . . . I'd not hidden?

What if . . . I'd actually approached him?

What if . . . No, I can't think that way any longer. It's not like he was going to fall into my arms, declare how he'd been trying to track me down for years and how much that tiny kiss had meant to him.

Yeah, I'm sure the toddler with him would appreciate that. Not to mention whoever the little girl's other parent was.

"Anyway, it was a nice blast from the past," I shrug. Inside my head I pick up the Chris file and slot him neatly back in his compartment.

I mentally lock it up and throw away the key just to be on the safe side.