“Send me a picture,” he says, which makes me sit up immediately.
“Of…my sofa?” I try.
“Ha, no. Of you.”
“You’ve already seen one. Plus, I’m in weekend mode,” I say by way of an exit from this idea.
“What does that mean?”
“You know, jeans with a rip in them, T-shirt that looks a bit slubby, hairmightneed a little wash.”
“Send me a picture,” he repeats.
“Ugh, no! I’m going to have to go and put on a lot of makeup if you pursue this idea.”
“I’ll bet you don’t need it.”
I really do. It takes a lot of makeup to look as if I’m wearing no makeup. “You send me a picture first. How do I know that initial one you sent was really you?”
He’s silent. “Why wouldn’t it be me?” he asks eventually, curiously.
Because you’re so flipping gorgeous it must have been stolen from the internet. “Just because,” I say instead.
“How do I prove to you the next one I send is me?” he says.
I think. Davey has a point.
“Hang on. I have an idea how I can prove it,” he suggests.
He takes a selfie and sends it. In it he’s holding up his iPad and is staring longingly at a picture of Kirstie and Phil.
I feel my shoulders shake with laughter and I come back to the phone. “Clever. Also funny.” I’m so relieved. It really is him. He genuinely is as handsome as his first photo. And I like his silly sense of humor.
“Now it’s your turn,” he says.
“Hmm,” I say reluctantly. “Fair’s fair, I suppose.” I turn the phone around and take a picture. I’m grateful I’ve only got the table lamps on, and the twinkling fairy lights shine softly behind me. I hit send. It’s not perfect. But then I’m not perfect.
I go back to the phone and wait.
“You look nice,” he says. “I like weekend you.”
“And weekend me likes weekend you,” I say. I’m sure I can actually hear him smiling. “Davey?”
“Mmm?”
“What’s your last name?”
“Carew. What’s yours?”
“Gallagher. Carew isn’t a very American name.”
“It’s Cornish,” he reminds me.
“I’d forgotten about that. I love Cornwall,” I say. “Those clear blue seas and cliffs, white sand and fishing boats.” I’m dreaming of holidays again.
“I’ve only been a few times,” Davey says. “Mom and Dad took me to see my grandparents when I was a kid. But then they started to come here for visits, since Dad could barely ever get away from his job. The only other times I’ve been back were for their funerals.”
“I’m so sorry.”
