Half of me was fantasising about the idea of Joe just throwing me, caveman style, on that pool table and having his wicked way with me, while the other half was already realising how hard it could be to get over him if that did happen.
Maybe the mom...
Joe clearly thinks I haven't noticed he's dodged my relationship question; he thinks he's gotten away with it.
But he hasn't. I one hundred percent knew what he was doing when he distracted me, I could tell he was stalling and was unwilling to give me any information about his love life.
Fair enough, that's his perogative not to share with a girl he barely knows. I get it.
I would like to know for sure that he's single though. Despite what Kate told me earlier, I keep thinking he's possibly in a relationship, but maybe one of those ones that would be described as "It's complicated" on Facebook. Maybe it's new, maybe it's secret. Or maybe they're "on a break".
Look, I don't want to know for my own ulterior motives. (Don't shake your head at my delusion please!) I just want to be sure there's not some girl somewhere who would be unhappy that he's currently spending his time with another girl. I've always been a girls'-girl through and through and I'd hate to be in that situation myself. And with that thought in mind . . .
"Are you single?" I ask abruptly. We're nearly at Fiskardo and we've been quiet for the past ten minutes or so. And I need to know.
"Yes," Joe replies without hesitation. He doesn't even seem surprised that I asked.
"Good." I feel myself blushing. "Sorry, just realised I would have felt really uncomfortable if you had an other half and were still helping me out like this."
"In the nicest possible way," he says, keeping his eyes straight on the road. "I wouldn't have been comfortable with that either and if I did have a girlfriend who wasn't here I wouldn't have suggested this arrangement."
"I'm glad to hear that." My voice sounds strange to my own ears.
"Like I said before though, you have nothing to worry about with me. This is strictly platonic."
His voice is gentle, and his words tactful, but he looks pissed off. The dimples are virtually nonexistent, his chiselled face hard, his lips set in a straight line.
"Of course." I clear my throat and rub my face uneasily. I've made things awkward. And forced him to remind me, once again, that he's not interested in me.
We pull up in Fiskardo in silence again, although it's less comfortable, less companionable, than it was before. I think Joe senses I'm a bit hurt as when we walk away from the car he throws an arm over my shoulder and hugs me to him briefly. It's the first proper physical contact we've had since we first met, I realise.
"Listen, I'm sorry if I came across a bit blunt there," he says softly into the side of my head. "I was concentrating on the road and I'm a guy - you know what we're like at multi-tasking." His warm breath tickles my ear and, despite the temperature being in the mid-twenties, I struggle not to shiver.
I also force myself not to point out that he was multi-tasking fine when the conversation wasn't quite as loaded. But I resolve to myself to keep it light from now on.
"Don't worry about it," I say breezily, glancing up into those dark-lashed green eyes and trying for a carefree smile. I'm not sure it quite makes the grade, but it's a relatively decent effort, perhaps worthy of a C+.
I extricate myself from his arm and step away. I've known the guy less than 24 hours, Idon't know anything about him, I remind myself furiously. And he seems kinda reluctant to tell me too much.
"How about we have a drink first, then have a wander?" He suggests. A drink sounds like heaven right now. Maybe I'll even have two. He's the one driving after all.
We find a restaurant next to the harbour and order drinks. I thought he might get a beer but he sticks to a Coke. I of course opt for a wine. We're back to relatively relaxed silence again, even though we've both discovered neither of us have any Internet signal on our phones. But we're happy to people-watch. It's not even quite midday yet (don't judge my wine, I'm on holiday, okay?) but the small harbour area is already bustling with tourists.
"It's nice here," Joe says finally. "I've read reviews that say it's a bit overrated, but I'm glad we came."
"Me too." I nod. I watch people pass us - in groups, in pairs, alone - hearing snippets of different languages in short bursts. "Do you ever think about all the people in the world that you'll never meet?" I ask, almost thinking out loud. "Like, all these people walking by, they all have their own lives, and we know nothing about their stories, and probably never will?"
Joe doesn't reply and when I look around at him, I am surprised to see him watching me with a crooked smile on his face, his eyes soft and crinkling around the edges."Do you literally just say whatever is on your mind all the time?" He asks quietly, a hint of laughter in his voice.
"I've been told on more than one occasion that I have no filter," I admit, blushing at his close scrutiny.
What I don't confess, however, is the fact that I'm only like this with a select group of people. Usually people who have known me a long time, like Kate, or my family, perhaps a few of my more likeable colleagues.
I'm not sure why or how Joe has already managed to slot himself into this category. Usually I'd be more likely to clam up around a handsome bloke than turn off my filter.
So maybe it's for the best that he's not interested in me. Because God only knows what my next unfiltered monologue will be about.
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Do you ever think about all the people in the world you'll never meet?
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