Skye and the City (A Romantic Comedy)

Chapter 19

The whole concept of "dating" has always been something I've been fascinated by . . . But not necessarily in a fun way. I'd liken it to maybe being unable to stop yourself from gawking at an accident or watching animals tearing each other apart on a nature documentary. When friends used to tell me stories about their numerous dating disasters, I would be thinking, "Thank god I don't have to deal with this!" . . . while lapping up the details, of course!

I can barely remember going on dates with Eddie. There would have been the occasional cinema trip or dinner back at the start, which more often than not involved us having to get a bus to Inverness, given there was feck all in the village apart from the pub and the hotel. More often than not, though, we just hung out at one of our houses, watching TV or doing things we probably shouldn't have been doing out of sheer boredom.

So I haven't been on an actual "date" for years. And I haven't had a first date for over a decade. Or been on a date with anyone who wasn't Eddie, for that matter.

This means that as Friday approaches, I'm becoming increasingly anxious. It doesn't matter that we've already got that first kiss out of the way, and that it was amazing; it's also irrelevant that we've exchanged multiple emails and texts and WhatsApps and memes over the days between. I'm still terrified that I'm going to muck things up somehow.

I play over countless "What if?" scenarios in my head, my imagination running wild. What if I spill on him again? What if I spill on myself? What if the waiter or waitress is as clumsy as me and spills on both of us? What if something ends up on fire again?

What if we just discover we don't really have anything in common or run out of things to talk about?

That is probably the question that scares me the most.

Because I like Ross. A lot. I didn't expect him to come into my life, but now that he has, I don't want to lose him. He's already somehow worked his way into my heart, forged a little area for himself without even having to try too hard. If this date is a disaster and we realise we're not compatible after all, then I'm afraid that he'll vacate that space he made and possibly accidentally rip out extra parts of me in the process.

So yeah, maybe I'm a bit of a weirdo; and perhaps I'm being more than a tad over-dramatic . . . but it seems I can't approach dating in a remotely casual way. At least when it comes to him.

"I have nothing to wear," I wail in Orlagh's direction. Friday evening has rolled around, and my date with Ross is less than an hour away.

She looks pointedly at my open wardrobe, which admittedly is practically bursting at the seams. "Seems you have plenty to choose from," she says dryly. She definitely thinks I'm being over-dramatic.

But it just feels like there's so much riding on this, and I need my outfit to be perfect. I just have no idea what that entails.

Orlagh huffs out a sigh. "I have an idea." She leaves the room and returns a few minutes later with a bundle of pink fabric. "I think we're about the same size," she says as she tosses the item towards me. "Try this."

I don't know how she knew, but it is indeed perfect! It has a bardot neckline and falls just below my knees, and the dark pink colour looks perfect with my colouring. "Oh my god, this is the one!"

She nods approvingly. "You can keep it. It clashes terribly with my hair; I don't know what I was thinking when I bought it."

Okay, now that's sorted. . . What's next? Shoes. It's a warm spring night, so I opt for a pretty pair of white sandals. Flat - I'm not risking high heels because I probably would fall over. With straps and buckles to hold my feet secure because I don't want to accidentally kick one off. I am trying to mitigate every possible bad luck scenario here. Can you really blame me?