Right Number, Wrong Girl

“Sophie. He isn’t my type.”

I blinked.

Oh.

Oh.

“Oh,” I said after a moment, then shook my head. “I’m so sorry. It’s really none of my business and that was rude of me.”

She smiled. “Don’t worry about it. It’s no secret. But even if I were straight, he still wouldn’t be my type.” She winked. “What do you want to drink?”

“Sauvignon? Do you have it?”

Cait nodded. “I’ve got a great one. I’ll have it brought over to you in a second.”

“Thank you. And I’m sorry again.”

“Don’t be sorry.” She reached out and squeezed my shoulder with another wide smile before she disappeared.

Still.

I felt bad. Even if she didn’t think I had nothing to be sorry for, it still felt wrong that I’d practically baited her into explaining her sexuality.

This was why I needed to work in an office. Where I barely had to speak to anyone. It was definitely for the best.

My glass of wine was set on the table in front of me by an older woman, and after thanking her, I picked up my phone and opened the stupid messaging app again.

CAMILLA: You’ll be fine. I promise.

ME: You will be home in a couple of days, won’t you?

CAMILLA: I hope so.

ME: What the hell does that mean????

CAMILLA: The weather still isn’t great. If it doesn’t stop in the next 24 hours, I might be here an extra couple of days.

ME: Oh, Jesus Christ. You’ve sent an idiot to organise a party for people who are one step removed from royalty. Start swimming.

CAMILLA: Don’t be so dramatic. As long as I have the Internet, I can work virtually to help you.

ME: And what if you don’t have the Internet?

CAMILLA: …

CAMILLA: I’m going to add you to my Dropbox and put some detailed notes on the plans.

ME: I cannot adequately express how much I hate you.

CAMILLA: I love you. I’ll do that now while I have a connection.

I bit back a groan. This was the last thing I needed. I knew it wasn’t her fault and she couldn’t control the weather, but the idea that she might be there even longer? Leaving me to explain the situation because nobody was returning her calls? To potentially organise the whole frigging party?

I was going to have to spend my whole evening swotting up on the plans to make sure I sounded like I knew what I was talking about tomorrow morning.

Spoiler alert: I was not going to sound like I knew what I was talking about.

Never.