23750932750

“Well … thank you for the water and for your concern. But I’m feeling better. So I’ll just head back
to work.”
She pushed up her sunglasses, grabbed her purse, and just at the moment she stood to leave,
Matilda arrived. They awkwardly engaged in the “you first, no, you first” dance around the crowded
patio table. The woman smashed into Matilda’s left shoulder, then her right. Finally free, it seemed
she couldn’t get away from us fast enough.
Matilda and I watched her as she headed into the Funky Monkey next door. Matilda lowered
herself into her chair, patting down her hair as though she’d just survived a small tornado.
“Who was that? Or what was that?”
My eyes stayed glued to the door of the store.
“I don’t know. Just a woman … I thought she was ill, so I checked on her,” I said. “But guess
what?” I changed the subject with a grin. “I just asked a guy out. And the best part? He said yes!”
“Well, Happy Birthday to you, indeed!”
“Yeah, and that woman, she treated me like I was some kind of celebrity just for asking a guy for
his number. It was weird. She looks nothing like me, yet she reminded me a little of me last year. Kind
of timid. Kind of sad. Anyway, I feel like my confidence is really growing. I think I am ready to be a
Guide. Here,” I said, reaching in my bag for my pledge. “Signed, sealed and delivered.”
“Thank you for this,” she said, putting away my pledge. Her expression was suddenly thoughtful. “I
wonder if perhaps we’re looking at a possible S.E.C.R.E.T. candidate.”
“You mean that woman?”
Matilda nodded.
“I don’t even know if she’s single.”
“That’s easy to find out.”
I felt my nerves fire up. “You think I should approach her? What if she thinks I’m crazy?”
“Everyone’s entitled to their opinion. You look great, by the way.”
I looked down at my outfit, nothing too “out there”—slim jeans that rested on my hips and a grey
tank top under a cream corduroy jacket. I was never going to be one of those dolled-up babes who
crammed Frenchmen on a Thursday night, drunkenly navigating the pocked street in treacherous heels.
And I couldn’t for the life of me understand why I should put on mascara to go grocery shopping. But
a year of being told I was beautiful and desirable by some of the best-looking men I’d ever laid eyes
on made me want to put my best face forward.
“After lunch let’s go next door, talk a bit with that woman.”
“Today? Now?—” It was happening so fast. Why was I so nervous?
“Don’t worry, Cassie, I’ll take the lead, you follow,” Matilda said, scanning the menu.
Oh dear. Here we go.