Hey beautiful. Can’t wait to see you. What day should we get together? Jx

I took a deep breath and typed my response. Then deleted it, then typed it again. I followed this pattern twice more before settling on this:

Hi. Are you free today?

Before I could talk myself out of it, I tapped the “send” icon. Look at me, casually texting a super-handsome man to make plans for a date.

Who was I kidding? There was nothing casual about a text message that took more minutes to compose than it had words.

I heard Cat leave the bathroom and I grabbed my toiletries bag from my backpack so I could take the next shower. Along with tea and over-the-counter drugs, only a hot shower can complete the hangover cure trifecta.

When I emerged from the shower ten minutes later, feeling somewhat human again, I dried off, then ran some moisturising product through my hair. My plan was to let it dry naturally and I silently begged my curls to behave themselves. Then, wiping steam from the mirror above the sink, I made the joyful discovery that I looked like an extra from The Walking Dead. Thank god for makeup. Yes, Rimmel, I’d love the London look, thank you very much—way better than “zombie chic”. But makeup could wait. I wanted to see if James had replied.

Back in the living room, clad in Cat’s borrowed and far-too-short-for-me bathrobe, I picked up my phone, seeing that the battery was down to 8%. 8%? What the hell had it been doing while I was showering? Computing pi to a thousand decimal places? I needed to plug it in immediately, or it would chuck a huge wobbly, die, then need a two-hour charge before it would turn back on.

I did not want to spend the next two hours fretting over a text message.

I dug the charger and an adapter out of my backpack and looked around for an outlet. My phone buzzed at me angrily. 5%. Argh! Why was it being so infuriating? There! I hurriedly unplugged the kettle, ready to forgo a much-needed second mug of tea, and plugged in the phone.

When I opened my text messages, I saw that James had replied, and my stomach did a little flip.

I was hoping for today, so a yes from me. Where are you and what time can I come and get you?

My heart started racing and it suddenly occurred to me that James was a real person.

I know that must sound weird, but James was The Silver Fox—capital letters intended—and our brief time together had been more like an episode of Sex and the City than real life. He was my very own Mr Big, and all I had to do was send an address and he’d soon be standing at my door. Well, Cat’s door, but you know what I mean.

My little stomach flip evolved into a round-off followed by a handspring. I was beginning to FREAK OUT. Just then, Cat came into the kitchen and caught me looking at my phone as though it was covered in Ebola.