Him

I spent almost the full next day wondering if I should demand some sort of an answer from Matthew.

Rationally, I knew he hadn't done anything more than being horribly disrespectful to his wife. We had barely even touched each other platonically, let alone kissed or done anything worse.

But there was a deep level of hurt that I was struggling to ignore. I had felt a genuine connection and I thought he'd felt the same. It sounded ridiculous. I had met men before who had faked an emotional connection to sleep with me only to dump me out of the blue a few weeks later. I had become accustomed to looking out for them.

This felt different, somehow. I didn't believe that he was trying to get me into bed. It felt too natural. And he'd made no attempt to ask me on a date or meet at my flat or his hotel room. So, what was it?

That question was the reason I eventually messaged him on Tuesday evening.

ME: Hey, any chance you'd have a spare minute for a coffee sometime soon?

MATT: Hi

MATT: It's late notice but I'm not needed on set tomorrow morning?

ME: Great, I'll take an early lunch. Can you meet me at 11am?

MATT: Just tell me where

I couldn't help it - a part of me felt elated that it was so easy to make a date with him. I wasn't being harsh on myself - I knew I was a good-looking girl. I had a good job, I was intelligent, I could be funny. I was a catch. But I was still a regular person. He was in a different league, filled with celebrities and people with crazy money. Matthew moved in circles that I had seen through my dad brushing shoulders with them but, even then, they felt untouchable to me. So having his attention felt... almost euphoric.

I made a mental note to look up therapists in my area after this coffee. And since I'd resolved to better myself then, it wouldn't hurt if I meticulously planned my hair, make-up, and outfit for tomorrow. Right?Right?

***

The next day I was outside the café we had settled upon - or rather, I had chosen since he barely knew Edinburgh - on Leith walk fifteen minutes early.

I could barely settle at work. Honestly, I had considered taking a sick day that morning because I was so anxious. As it was I'd woken up at 5.30am and was unable to get back to sleep. I had gone for a run - something Ineverdid - to try and calm myself.

Walking inside, I had expected to have the upper-hand. I could choose where we sat (preferably somewhere quieter) and order myself a tea and pay for it before he arrived. That way if I needed to leave in a rush, I could, without forcing him to settle my bill.

But the universe had a way of fucking best-laid plans.

Matthew was already sitting at a table. He'd chosen something towards the back, away from the windows, with few people around. Likely the table I would have chosen, actually, so... small mercies, I guessed.

He only had a glass of water in front of him and his head was down, reading a book. He hadn't bent the cover all the way back, like a heathen, and I could see the title from here.

The Yellow Castle.

My mouth gaped. That was one of my books - one that I had selected and worked with. It was a historical romance set in the court of James IV of Scotland. It followed a relationship he had with one of the ladies at court before he was married. It was a beautiful story, one of my favourites actually.

Where the fuck did he get it?

Matthew's head bobbed up and he smiled sweetly at me. I must have looked ridiculous - standing in the middle of a café gaping at him. Dear Lord, I had so little self-awareness.

I approached the table and he stood, moving around to give me a kiss on the cheek. It was casual - a completely normal thing for two adults to do - yet it both electrified and horrified me. 'Do it again' warred with 'don't touch me'.

"I haven't ordered yet," he told me as I put my coat on the back of my seat. "What would you like?"

"Oh, it's alright, I'll come up with you-" I began but he cut me off.

"I insist," he smiled gently, holding his hand out so I wouldn't stand.

I always hated arguing with people over who got the bill. Besides, I had a fiver in my purse. "A breakfast tea, please. With milk on the side."

"No bother," he moved over to the counter. As soon as his back was turned, I slipped the money from my purse and stuck it in the pocket of his jacket.

Unable to help myself, I picked up the book he had been reading, careful not to lose his place. He was roughly two thirds of the way through. If he was reading in between filming then he was quite a fast reader.

I didn't believe in coincidences, so I assumed he had begun reading this after meeting me. It wasn't a long-shot - when my name was googled it came up with a profile about me on the publisher's website, as well as a few notable books I'd been involved with. This was one of the best received works I'd developed, so it wasn't surprising he'd picked it. I wondered if he had known that it was a romance when he'd bought it.

"They'll bring it over," he said as he sat down in front of me again. I deflated a bit at his choice of seat. If I had been here first I would have chosen the seat that faced the café. As it was, I had nothing to look at but him. Most distracting.

"Thank you," I smiled a little, forgoing mentioning the five pound note he had in his jacket. "Interesting book choice," I remarked as he picked it up and folded the corner of the page down. Ugh.

He had the good grace to look a bit abashed. "It's good," he replied. "I understand what you saw in it. Is it an accurate historical representation?"

"I have no idea," I admitted, shrugging. "I'm not very good with history."

"I love history," he told me. "I studied classics at university, actually, so if you find a book about Greek tragedies you should definitely publish it."

I watched him apprehensively. He was behaving differently from the first few times I'd met him. He was still being flirty but it was gentle. He wasn't being arrogant or teasing me.

I nodded and we fell into a small silence.

How are you supposed to bring up whether or not someone you fancy is married?

"You're looking at me funny," he said, dipping his head.

I knew my eyes were wary. I had my arms folded and I was leaning back in my chair. I remembered what I'd learned about body-language in drama in secondary school. This was considered 'closed' and it indicated that I was upset or didn't like the situation I was in. Clearly, I wasn't worried about being subtle.

"You seem different," I told him.

Our drinks arrived then and we thanked the waitress before turning back to each other. He had a flat white. I felt like I could have guessed that was his order.

"How so?" He asked, stirring sugar into his coffee. I allowed my teapot to sit for a moment so the leaves could soak.

"I'm not sure," I admitted. "You seem almost shy compared to when I saw you last."

Matthew breathed out a laugh. "That's fair. I'm a little bit nervous."

"Nervous?" My eyebrows inched up. "Why are you nervous?"

"I-" he looked up at me from under his lashes and his cheeks were tinged pink. It was adorable. "I get a bit socially anxious. I've been thinking about how I would act and what I would say since last night. I've over-thought this whole thing, really." He ran a hand through his hair and smiled at me. It was self-depreciating and I could see how genuinely uneasy he was.

How endearing, I thought before immediately chastising myself. But it was too late.

I'd come to do battle with the other version of Matthew - the inflated-ego, talented-actor version. Instead, I got this. If I went off on him now it would feel like shouting at a puppy.

"I'm sorry," he said when I didn't speak. "This must be quite pathetic to watch. A man so much older than you getting this worked up over meeting for a coffee."

He looked at me so softly. The need to put him at ease overwhelmed me.

Oh man, I was so fucked.

"No," I sat forward, loosening my arms until they rested on my legs. "I'm sorry. I'm being stand-offish. I've been over-thinking this as well and I got a bit worked up, too."

"What were you over-thinking?" he asked. "If you don't mind me asking."

I poured my tea then, adding milk, before taking a sip. When I looked at him, he was smiling comfortingly.

"This is going to sound silly, but I told my friends about you," I felt my mouth twitch a little. It was like a switch flipped in him - his eyes brightened and he leaned forward.

"You did?"

"Yes."

"Please tell me every sordid detail," he smirked, his voice low. He spoke quietly, to the point where the words were almost just a rumble in his chest.

Much better,I let go a breath of relief. This was the Matthew I was used to. This was the Matthew I came here to fight with.

"They were all thrilled, of course. In fact my friend Emma has you on her hear-me-out list," I knew Emma would want him to know that.

"What's a 'hear-me-out' list?" He asked, puzzled.

"It's a list of people that you'd shag but you have to defend that choice to other people. Like, if you fancied someone who's not conventionally attractive and your friends need you to explain what you see in them."

Matthew fought between laughing and looking horribly offended. "Hand on a minute," he held a finger up as I began to chuckle. "How am I notconventionallyattractive?!"

I laughed louder at the look on his face. "It's because of that Waitrose advert - the one where you play all the people. She fancied you as the mum picking out cereal."

"Ugh," he groaned, leaning back. He ran his hands over his face. "I'll never hear the end of that advert. My friends take the piss out of me all the time for it."

"As they should," I nodded, taking another drink of tea.

"Right, what else?" he asked, getting over the humiliation quickly.

"Hm?"

"What else did they say about me?"

I gulped my tea.

"They, uh, tried to help me draft a message to you," I felt my cheeks heat. The conversation was naturally turning to what I'd found out. I kind of wanted to dig my heels in and stall it.

"Really?" He asked. "And all they could come up with was 'do you want to go for coffee'? Poor show," he grinned. "My friends would have sent something devastating and you never would have spoken to me again."

"Well, not exactly," I admitted. "We couldn't figure out what to send so we Googled you to see if that helped."

Matthew's grin dropped just a little. He was still smiling but the teasing quality was gone.

He didn't say anything. I think he knew.

Say it,the voice said at the same time a new, and much hornier voice saidDon't you dare!It seemed my mind was splitting, attempting to allow me to break all moral and ethical codes just for a shag. Interesting.

"Who's Hannah Little?" I asked, hating how my voice came out breathy and weak.

"My wife," he simply stated. His smile kept slowly slipping, though not in a guilty way. He didn't look like I'd caught him red-handed or anything.

"So, you're married," it was somehow both a statement and a question.

"Yes."

A beat passed as I processed this information. "How long have you been married for?"

"Six years."

Ok, so not a new thing. I knew it wasn't something that maybe happened since I first met him three days ago. But the picture on Wikipedia had shown them together a year ago. Not that it helped anyway.

"Does that-" he stopped himself.

"Does that what?" I asked, curious where he was going with it.

"Nothing," he said instead, looking down at his coffee.

A moment of silence passed.

I wasn't going to say anything more. I was just going to wrap things up nicely, tell him it had been good to see him but I had to go back to work, and not speak again. I could have done that. I maybe should have done that. I was just going to chalk all of the flirting up to me being a bit naïve. Maybe I'd misunderstood - maybe he hadn't been flirting. He admitted to it all so casually, though, it made me wonder if it had all been in my head.

But then I remembered the text he had sent to himself from my phone and I knew that it wasn't all in my head at all. I thought about the way I had gushed to my friends. If it hadn't been real, they would have said something. If it hadn't been real, he wouldn't have been so nervous coming here.

"What was the plan here?" I asked, genuinely curious. I was mindful to keep my voice down. "Were you going to try to get me to sleep with you and then ghost me?"

"No!" Matthew looked appalled, his eyes meeting mine once again. "No, Jesus, I wouldn't. I-" He ran his hand through his hair. He looked flustered.As well he should.

I made a disgusted noise in my throat and went to grab my bag, shrugging my coat back on. I should have left it. I could have left with a bit more dignity. There was still time to save face in fact-

"Wait," Matthew grabbed my sleeve to stop me from leaving. My leg jolted the table, spilling some of the tea left in my cup. "You have no reason to believe me but please let me explain myself. I have never behaved like this before."

"What - like a lying, cheating dick?"

"Yes," he admitted, nodding emphatically. "I've never lied to anyone about my marriage, even by omission. And I'venevercheated. What's happening here," he gestured between the two of us, "I've not done this before. It's not some sort of well-rehearsed routine to get younger girls into bed."

"Well, it seems like it," I looked away from him, trying not to sound hurt. I didn't want it to be rehearsed. I wanted him to wantmeand that made me feel even worse.His poor wife, I thought.

"Look, I don't expect you to trust me. I've crossed a line and I'm genuinely sorry. I shouldn't have asked for your number, or flirted, oranyof this. I can't rationalise it to myself, let alone to you."

I looked at him disbelievingly. "You're the one who just asked for a chance to provide an explanation - have you actually got one?"

Matthew swallowed. He took a breath and then looked me in the eye. He seemed to be searching for something. "I like you. That may seem really banal, and it is, but it doesn't happen often for me. I don't likeanyone. When I said I get socially anxious, I really meant it. So, when I met you and my first instinct was to try and make you like me, too, I was shocked. And then when it seemed to work, I was even more shocked. It just all seemed so natural, I suppose, so I kept doing it. I rationalised that because we weren't crossing a line, it didn't really matter. I had - andstill have- no plans to cross that line, Maddy. I just like being around you. For some reason I feel really confident when I speak to you. I-" he stopped himself, eying me warily. "I'd like to be friends."

"Friends?" I echoed.

"Yes," he searched my face. "I mean, are we actually doing anything wrong?"

I frowned. His hand was still holding my sleeve from where he'd stopped me from leaving. I pulled it back gently.

"The flirting would have to stop," I stated. I don't know why I did. Wasn't I resolved to cut all contact?

"Of course," he agreed, nodding his head.

Besides that did I have any actual stipulations? I knew I didn't want to stop being around him.

Because you fancy him, that moral voice in my head reminded me. Did that mean I wasn't allowed to be friends with him?

If I didn't cross any lines and we stopped flirting, would it all just be ok?

"It's a lot to ask," he sighed. "Look, I'm in Edinburgh until the second week in November. We have a lot of filming to do but I'll also have quite a bit of down time. I'd like to have someone I can do stuff with that doesn't either fawn over me or won't shut up about work."

I watched him as he spoke, and he seemed sincere. "What kind of stuff?"

"Anything," he smiled a little, looking hopeful. "Touristy rubbish like visiting castles and climbing Arthur's seat. Going for a drink, getting coffee, anything."

"Ok," I sighed, taking my coat back off, as though I were resigned to my fate. "We can give it a go."

If I were being honest with myself, this was exactly what I had hoped for. I needed a reason to be near him. I needed a logical, ethically-sound reason - something that smoothed out all of the guilt and worry and left me free of blame. If he said he could be my friend without all of the flirting, then we could try.

My friends were going to kill me.

***

The next day I got a text from Matthew.

I couldn't help the little thrill that ran through me at seeing his name when my phone buzzed. We had stayed at the café for another forty minutes before I was forced to head back to work. He walked me back to the office before saying goodbye - no hugging, nor kissing on the cheek.

It had been lovely. Really wholesome and very sweet. We had spoken about his family - he grew up in Bath with his mum, dad, and two younger brothers. His mum was a primary school teacher and his dad was an engineer. He said it was a very normal childhood until he won a grant from a private secondary school when he was eleven. Apparently his parents fought about whether or not he should be allowed to go, since his brothers might not get the opportunity, but eventually they gave in and sent him. It struck me how different our upbringings were. The idea that parents would try and stop their child from benefitting from something was odd to me.

He really did love the classics and I listened intently to him speaking about Greek tragedies. I didn't understand a lot of it - it was quite hard to follow - but he was so animated and passionate that it was quite inspiring to listen to him.

In turn, I told him about my love of books and why I had chosen publishing over film. I explained that my dad had been trying to mould me into a mini-director from a young age. He would have even been happy with me acting, but I hated it. I hated how set and rehearsed everything was. I thought that maybe it was because my mum's line of work held so much opportunity for imagination - the stories told in books were a different experience for everyone reading them - that I had followed her instead.

We did not speak about his wife. I knew it was something that friends could and would discuss, but I resolved that it was too soon. The disappointment was still too fresh.

My phone vibrated again and I opened his texts.

MATT: There's a spider in my hotel room.

MATT: Would it be childish to call reception to send someone to help?

ME: Absolutely.

MATT: Then what am I supposed to do?

ME: Make up an excuse that you need to move rooms.

MATT: Now there's an idea.

ME: Or grow a pair and kill it yourself?

MATT: It's too big for that.

ME: What a baby...

MATT: [picture of very large spider]

MATT: Would you go near that?

ME: Disregard my previous messages.

ME: Grab your things and burn the room.

ME: It's the only way.

MATT: It's run under the bed. Fuck.

ME: It's waiting for you to step off the bed. Then it'll jump.

MATT: Fuck you.

I giggled to myself.

MATT: Want to grab coffee and walk up Calton Hill on Saturday morning?

ME: Sure. I'll pick a place and message you tomorrow.

I put my phone down, still smiling.

We weren't flirting. I would have said any of that to Isla, Emma, or Craig.

But it still lit up this glowing feeling in my chest. If that's what being friends with Matthew felt like then I was happy to just let it happen.

***

"So, you're just going to be friends?" Isla asked, a little shocked. A little wary. I tried not to blame her.

We were in the flat she shared with Craig, sitting around the dining table, playing monopoly. It was Friday evening and they all wanted an update on the 'situation'. We'd only been playing for twenty minutes. We could have been there for another five hours - it had happened before.