1
There were many things Joe did that confirmed he was the one. Painstakingly picking out all the red M&Ms for me whenever we went to the cinema. Always leaving the light on for me in the hall if I came home late from a night out, a clingfilm-wrapped plate of something waiting in the microwave. The way he’d reach for me subconsciously in his sleep, pulling me tight against him as though unwilling to be apart from me for a single second. And how he always,always, let me have the last spring roll.
‘You’re just seeing what you want to see,’ Joe declared, his chopsticks hovering territorially over the one remaining spring roll.Myspring roll.
You wouldn’t dare, my narrowed eyes screamed silently across the dining table.
Oh, I would, his cornflower-blue irises winked back at me behind their tortoiseshell frames.
‘Joseph Andrew Carter, I’m telling you, I know what I saw,’ I insisted, brandishing my weapon of choice. A prawn cracker.
‘So, let me see if I’ve got this right.’ Chopsticks lowered, Joe leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head, elbows splayed. He had that look on his face. That annoying, I’m-just-humouring-you-but-I-know-I’m-right look where the corner of his mouth hitched and his right eyebrow shot so far up his forehead it disappeared into his hair line. ‘Ryan Reynolds was in front of you in the queue at Mr Hau’s? As in THE RyanReynolds?’
‘Green Lantern himself.’
‘Did you speak to him?’
‘Well, no—’
‘See his face?’
‘His back was to me, but I’d know the back of that head anywhere.’ I swooned with the confidence of a woman who could quoteThe Proposalword for word. ‘And that voice.’ I shuddered, something inside me melting like butter on hot toast. ‘Never have the wordsSet Menu Asounded so sexy.’
‘Aha!’ Joe mic-dropped his chopsticks, a look of smug satisfaction spreading across his face. ‘Even if we overlook the impossibility of Ryan Reynolds knowing that Hove exists, let alone having a reason to be here, and then the added one-in-a-million chance of him fancying a Chinese from our local, I think we both know he’s not a Set Menu A kind of guy. Had you said the holy grail that is Set Menu D on the other hand, with its prawn dumplings and deluxe appetiser sharing platter, you might have persuaded me.’
‘You’re just jealous because he’s on my list,’ I huffed, going to fetch the plates from the kitchen. The plates that every Friday Joe placed on the table and we duly ignored, choosing to eat straight from the containers before stacking the clean plates back in the cupboard, ready for the process to be repeated the following week. It was part of our routine. A routine that started with me picking up our usual order from Mr Hau’s on my way home from work. When I closed the front door of our flat behind me at 6:30 p.m., my shoes would join the pile of mismatched lefts and rights that formed a small mountain in the corner of our hallway, my handbag and jacket dumped on the bench beside them, the latter normally sliding down onto the floor where it would remain until Joe rescued it later.
‘I thought that was Brad Pitt?’ Joe frowned, a look of surpriseflashing across his face at the unexpected addition to my celebrity hall pass list.
‘Yes – Brad Pitt, that guy from the Italian cooking channel, and Ryan Reynolds.’
I made a show of setting the plates down with a dramatic clatter, sliding a wine glass across to Joe’s side of the table, not removing my fingers from the stem until he looked up. Setting the table, albeit a pointless exercise, was Joe’s job. I picked up the food, he set the table. It was like an unwritten rule.
‘Ryan would never forget to set the table,’ I said pointedly, pouring us both a generous glass of wine.
‘Ah, but would he willingly offer up the last spring roll to his gorgeous fiancée? Now if that doesn’t scream true love, I don’t know what does.’
‘You always did know the way to my heart,’ I grinned, popping the surrendered spring roll in my mouth with a triumphant smile. ‘I knew there was a reason I agreed to marry you.’
‘Really? Just the one?’ Joe chuckled, his eyes twinkling mischievously across the table at me. I took a long sip of wine, twiddling my engagement ring round and round my finger as I made a show of racking my brains.
‘Hmm, you also make an excellent spag bol.’
‘Go on.’
‘You always hold my hand when we cross the road.’
‘This is true.’
‘And you bring me ice cream whenever I’m a raging hormonal nightmare.’
‘Your words, not mine, but you’re right, I am literallytheperfect man. Maybe I do stand a chance with Emma Watson?’ Joe’s gaze drifted to some faraway place as if picturing their date, before settling back on me, grin spreading at my raised eyebrows. ‘Nah, she’s got nothing on you, my love,’ heconcluded, his eyes suddenly serious as they locked with mine, the intensity of his scrutiny making my body tingle with desire in at least four different places. My heart gave a little flutter.
I grinned back at him. ‘Is the right answer.’
I left Joe to clear up whilst I padded through to the bedroom in search of comfy clothes. It’s never too early for PJs in my opinion, although that stomach-sinking feeling when the doorbell goes at 5:30 p.m. and you find yourself having to justify your faux-fur John Lewis onesie complete with bunny rabbit ears to the Evri delivery guy can almost make you regret it. Almost.
I breathed a sigh of relief as I unhooked my bra, everything that had been unwillingly held in all day finally allowed to relax and be where it naturally wanted to be. Men would never put up with this shit.
