“Where do you think I got that from?” She sipped her iced tea. “And he’s probably at home checking his phone every five minutes and wondering why you haven’t texted him already. He’s probably driving himself crazy overanalysing everything he said yesterday that might explain why you haven’t texted him yet.”

“Are you trying to guilt me into it? Because I will remain strong. Oh my God, that is a new low, even for you.” I stared at her; then I blinked. “Fucking fuck. Now I’ve left it too late. What if he is wondering if he did something wrong, and what if he thinks I don’t like him?” I started to sweat, and it was a bit harder to breathe. “Good God, Merry, what have you done?”

“I didn’t do anything,” she replied. We had somehow walked into a clothes store without me realising it. She held up a floral blouse. “Do you like this?”

“Yes. My Nan had curtains just like it.”

She grumbled and put it back on the rack, choosing a yellow one instead. “What about this one?”

“You look like a banana Paddle Pop.”

“I like banana Paddle Pops.”

“Then buy it, but if random strangers walk up to you on the street to try and lick you, don’t complain to me about it.”

She put the yellow one back and opted for a dark red one. She read the label, then held it up against her chest. “The tag says it’s merlot.”

“You look like you bathed in the blood of your enemies,” I answered honestly. “I like it. And it would go really well with your brown or navy tunic.”

She nodded thoughtfully and took the shirt to the counter. “I knew there was a reason I brought you.”

“Merry,” I whined. “What do I do?”

“Text him.”

I whined and stopped short of stomping my foot. “But what if—”

Merry turned to the young lady behind the counter who was ringing up the sale. “If you spent the day with someone and had a wonderful time and they gave you their number and asked you to text them, what would you do?”

The young girl shrugged. “Text them.”

Merry turned to me. “See? It’s two to one. You’re outvoted. Either text him or stop the whining.”

This was Merry’s ‘I’m so sick of your bullshit’ tone, so I was pretty sure I’d whined long enough. “Okay, okay.” I pulled my phone from my pocket, found his number, and sent him a text.

Hey, Hennessy, this is Jordan. Hope you survived the dinner party last night. I had a really good time yesterday, just thought you should know.