Of course, being nervous was understandable. Until I met Josh and James, my romantic history was a series of train wrecks. No doubt, some part of my unconscious mind was bleating, “Run away! Run away!” like King Arthur in Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

At exactly 8:00pm, a black town car pulled up in front of the building and my phone rang inside my clutch. I didn’t bother answering it. Instead, I walked outside and when the driver climbed out of the car, I called out, “Hello, it’s me.” He looked confused, so I started waving. “Hi, I’m Sarah. You’re here for me.” Okay, calm down, Sarah. You’re not going to the Oscars.

He smiled politely and walked around the car to open the back door for me. I got in by sitting on the seat and swinging my legs around—a trick I’d seen on TV—and settled back against the dark leather seat. The car was immaculate and smelled of new car and fancy air freshener. I hadn’t expected anything less.

“Would you care for some bottled water?” asked the driver, as he pulled away from the kerb. If I had been in an Uber on the way to dinner with my girlfriends, I would have said yes. But I was nervous. If I said yes, I would either A) spill the water down the front of me, or B) successfully drink the water without spilling a drop, but have to pee the moment I arrived at the gallery. I wasn’t chancing either.

“Uh, no thank you.”

“We will arrive at the gallery before 8:40pm, madam.” Madam? Isn’t “madam” reserved for older ladies? I’m only thirty-six, for crying out loud.

“Is there a type of music you would prefer to listen to?” he asked. I hadn’t realised I would have so many decisions to make during a forty-minute car ride.

“Um, sure. How about Adele?” Now I was asking him, as though we had to come to some sort of consensus. I silently thanked him for having the good manners not to make me feel like more of an idiot. Adele started singing at a moderate volume and I took a deep breath.

Geez, Sarah. Anyone would think you’ve been living under a rock. You’ve been in a limo before—twice!—and those are way fancier.

It was cute how I was tricking myself into believing that the car ride was making me nervous.

I looked out the side window, focusing on the beauty of London at night. I know Paris is considered the City of Lights, but London is a close second in my mind. When we drove past the Houses of Parliament, they reflected their twinkling, golden lights onto the Thames.

It was a calm, still night, without a cloud in the sky—another rarity in London—and I hoped to steal some of that calm for myself. I knew I just needed to be myself—but the brilliant, funny, and brave Sarah, rather than the dork who loved cat photos.

I saw the driver discreetly text someone as we pulled up outside the gallery and when he opened my door, James was waiting for me on the footpath, offering me his hand. I took it and as I stepped out of the town car, the slit of my dress revealed my recently tanned thigh.