High Heels & Pink Glitter (the heavily edited version)

A wee bit o' writing

March 2016

The city centre coffee shop window was dark enough to offer a full-length reflection to anyone hovering outside, as it did now. Kelly blinked, half-hoping that when she opened her eyes the view in the glass might change.

Go on, she urged it, present a sleek, chic woman in a skin-tight black pleather dress, instead of the stuffed-into-a-sausage-skin vision that is in front of me at this moment. The image shimmered, briefly changing to match the thin, sophisticated picture in her head, until it reverted to the more mundane fat reality.

She pushed the door open, spotting Nate straightaway. He sat at a booth towards the back, fiddling with the sugar packets, his expression so forbidding she had to take deep breaths. As befitting his personal trainer status, he wore tracksuit bottoms, a T-shirt and scruffy trainers.

The opposite of her overdressed status. Oh, this had been a stupid idea. When Nate sent her a message, suggesting they meet up to discuss his PR needs, she replied, Fine, when? out of surprise. She should leave now before he noticed her and text him, saying a family emergency had sprung up.

A waiter made the decision for her.

"Oh, hello!" The young woman, her hair pulled back into a ponytail that exploded from its band, had one of those open faces that made it impossible not to smile back when they addressed you. "What can we get you? Latte, cappuccino? Espresso? Cake?"

Remembering Nate's comments about Glasgow people and their carbs, Kelly directed her attention to the fridge, home to platters of cakes, some of them whole, others with substantial chunks missing.

"That one," she said, pointing at what looked like a carrot cake, thickly spread with cream cheese icing. "And an espresso, please."

By this time, Nate had noticed her. He patted the seat beside him, and she sat down. Velvet-lined booths offered choices—you sat close, or you parked your bum as far from the other person as possible. She and Nate opted for the latter.

The waiter appeared once more, espresso in one hand, cake in the other. She deposited them in front of Kelly, along with two cake forks.

"We only need the one fork," Kelly piped up. "Nate doesn't do cakes."

The waiter's mouth dropped open. "Gosh."

"Actually, I wouldnae mind a wee bit. If that's okay?" Nate gave Kelly a sheepish smile, which transformed his features from stand-offish to someone you could have a conversation with.

"What happened to the Keto diet?" she asked, as the waiter moved off.

"I've had a shit week," he replied, using one fork to break off a neat quarter of the cake. "And cake's always cheers me up."

They were meeting as professionals, not friends, so Kelly didn't follow up with an inquiry as to what that shit might involve. When he wolfed down his quarter portion of cake in record time, she cut him another bit.

"Thanks. That icing's fucking amazing."

A tiny bit of it clung to the corner of his mouth. She brushed her own mouth, and he wrinkled his brow before realising what she meant, and wiping it away, sticking his finger in his mouth.

For a mad second there, she found herself wanting to do that herself.

Stupid.

"Right," she said, folding back the cover on her tablet and propping it up in front of them. "Nell told me you want to offer workouts on YouTube, attract enough of a following to make money there and offer a complementary diet app alongside that people pay for?"