Lynsey James - Just The Way You Are

Oh great, I thought, first Max says it and now Gwen! If both of my best friends were suggesting this utterly mad, hare-brained scheme to find my secret admirer, maybe I should give it some consideration. I couldn’t deny I was tempted. Getting the opportunity to put my Miss Marple hat on in the name of true love appealed to me.

‘Maybe you’re right. I wouldn’t know where to start though,’ I protested. I folded my arms in defeat and sunk back onto my pillows.

Gwen shuffled her bum across the bed until she was sitting beside me. ‘Nowadays, if you want to find anyone you go on the internet. Make a blog or something; didn’t you say you had to write about an unusual love story? This could be it; how many women can say they received love letters from a sexy secret admirer at uni then again years later! You’ll trump anything Maddie could come up with.’

Excitement swelled inside me. Maybe this wasn’t as ridiculous as I’d first thought it was. I glanced over to my wardrobe and my breath caught in my throat. It was in there, wedged tight and hidden from view. Every single letter he’d ever written to me was stuffed into a shortbread tin. So much love had been crammed into that slightly bashed metal box. Was it safe to unleash it all again?

I took a second to think before addressing Gwen. It wouldn’t be easy to find him and I could be in line for a nasty shock if it all turned out to be a massive prank.

‘I think I’ll leave it up to Fate for now,’ I replied. ‘If it’s meant to happen, it will.’

Before I tackled the mountain of work that lay before me, I decided to devote some time to researching possible topics for my feature. I trawled the internet for quirky love stories, from bizarre meetings to ones that worked under unusual circumstances. I found the usual: met on a plane then saw each other again five years later, couples who lived on the other side of the world from each other and ones who only saw each other every few months due to work commitments. None of them had the spark I was looking for; I couldn’t find any fresh angle to take on any of them. They were quirky but not quirky enough. I remembered the amount of work I had to do to prepare for tomorrow’s wedding and decided to put my feature idea to one side.

Max’s earlier suggestion burned at the back of my mind: using my own unusual love story for the feature. Part of me began to think that might not be such a bad idea, but my practical side put the kibosh on it. To put my personal experiences out there in public for everyone to read was unthinkable; the thought made me feel sick. I imagined the elusive Mr Writer reading my diatribe and wondering why he’d ever loved me in the first place. That thought settled things in my mind: Mr Writer wouldn’t be gracing Sleek any time soon.

***

Over the next twenty-four hours, I pulled off nothing short of a miracle.

After thoroughly researching the happy couple – Giselle the bride was a model and the groom Aaron was a footballer who’d just signed for United – I quickly made up a batch of interview questions. I tried to make them fun and informal; after all I was asking them about the happiest day of their lives, not accusing them of phone hacking.

Thanks to my two best friends, I had a dress and a date for the evening. Gwen had “borrowed” one of her designer friend’s dress prototypes and Max agreed to be my chaperone.

‘Given your talent for trouble Munchkin, it’s probably a good idea to have someone around who can clean up the mess!’ he’d said with a chuckle.

The worst thing was, he was probably right.

I slipped on the midi dress Gwen gave me, feeling it hug my figure in all the right places. For the first time in a long time, I looked like I had a waist and hips. Being a journalist meant I was always on the move so comfort came before style, but this dress was something else. It was an off-white colour with black broderie anglaise detailing down the front and a sweetheart neckline. I felt like a catwalk model in it as I teetered in front of my full-length mirror in some black skyscraper heels. My hair fell in soft brown curls around my shoulders and my pewter eyeshadow complemented my hazel eyes perfectly.

‘You shall go to the ball Cinders,’ I said under my breath.

A knock on my bedroom door made me jump and almost fall over in my ridiculously high shoes.

‘Can I come in?’ came Gwen’s muffled voice from the other side.

‘Sure!’

She came in bundled up in a multi-coloured poncho with a pair of massive koala slippers sticking out from underneath.

‘Wow, you look amazing! Jessica Alba’s got nothing on you.’

‘Thanks. I thought you’d be off out to some posh restaurant or swanky party with Tom?’ I gestured at her outfit while fixing a few unruly locks of hair.

‘Not tonight, he’s working late. Got a big client to wine and dine or something. He’s taking me out next weekend and buying me a present to make up for it.’

I felt a little pang of jealousy. Although I’d recently declared myself a firm non-believer of love, I couldn’t help but feel envious of Gwen having someone who spoiled her so much. Aside from that, she said he listened to her, made her feel special and showered her with compliments.

‘Will I do then?’ I realised I hadn’t spoken for a while so I gave a little twirl to let Gwen see how her friend’s handiwork looked on me.

‘Um, yeah I think so! Your date’s in the living room by the way.’

My heart jolted a little until I remembered it was only Max and not an actual date. There was no need for nerves or butterflies or anything else that accompanied a first date with someone. I found that strangely comforting and a bit sad at the same time.

I walked through to the living room. I saw Max’s eyes widen and his mouth drop open.

‘Bloody hell,’ he murmured.

I blushed and pushed some stray hairs out of my face. The dress looked like something that some Best Actress nominee should be wearing to the Oscars. It was far too beautiful for a wedding reporter from Manchester.

‘You look smart,’ I said, looking at him. ‘Very James Bond.’

Max looked at his black tuxedo and gave a soft chuckle as he fiddled with his bow tie. ‘Why thank you Miss Moneypenny. You ready to go?’

‘Not bad for some!’ Gwen scoffed. ‘Now, it’s just the poor little match girl over here who isn’t going.’

‘Don’t worry; I’ll see if I can get you a piece of wedding cake.’ Max grinned and ruffled her hair, something he knew she hated.

‘Yeah, yeah, yeah, go on the pair of you! Off you go, Daniel Radcliffe!’

‘What?’ Max scrunched his nose up as he tried to decipher what she meant.

‘Isn’t he the one who plays James Bond just now?’

‘That’s Daniel Craig , you cereal box!’ I giggled. ‘Daniel Radcliffe played Harry Potter.’

Gwen shrugged and shook her head. ‘It’s all the same to me. Anyway, you two go off and have a nice time. A cup of tea and Netflix are calling me.’

Max put his arm out for me to take and we walked out into the cool autumn night to wait for our taxi. A delicate hum of activity resonated from the streets. A steady stream of people were beginning to venture out to see what the city’s nightlife had to offer. Even on a Sunday, there was plenty to do in Manchester. It never really stopped.

‘So where’s Amira tonight?’ I asked, regretting the question as soon as I asked.

‘She’s got a photo shoot,’ Max answered. ‘She has to get some new headshots done for her portfolio.’

The way he said it made it sound like she was off volunteering at a soup kitchen or declawing cats. My heart skipped when I heard she wouldn’t be there to make me feel like the third wheel. Which I was.