The Reluctant Roadtripper (A Romantic Comedy)

Chapter 11

Sometime in the past . . .

Summer dragged after seeing Owen again on the night of my 19th birthday.

He'd sent me a text that night, in the early hours when I'd just got home from The Garage and was getting ready for bed.

It was so nice to see you tonight. You looked gorgeous, by the way. xxx

I could feel the delighted blush heat up my cheeks; the butterflies in my tummy waking up and fluttering themselves into a frenzy. I re-read that message over and over, recalled the accidental lip brush, felt hope ignite in my heart. This was the first time - to my knowledge, anyway - that I'd had a crush that truly seemed to be reciprocated.

I tried not to overthink my reply too much.

Thanks. You're not so bad yourself. ;-) xxx

This felt like the right level of flirty without being too much. In reality, I didn't really have a clue what I was doing.

A response came almost immediately.

:-) I hope I didn't put you on the spot, just accosting you and asking you out like that. I was so nervous and just kinda blurted it out without really thinking. I've been replaying it in my head and wishing I'd been smoother. :-( xxx

His vulnerability was absolutely adorable, and I found myself liking him even more for admitting this. I was quick to reassure him that he had in no way put me on the spot, and that I was glad he'd asked me out. I loved how honest we were at this point - there were no mind-games, no need to second-guess . . . We were just young and sweet and into each other.

I should have really known at this point that it was all too good to be true, shouldn't I? The path of true love rarely runs that smoothly. There are usually potholes, muddy puddles, and random rocks strewn about for you to trip over. And eventually, in my case, I just ran into a massive wall blocking the way forward.

A few days later, Owen checked in at Glasgow Airport on Facebook. I, of course, hit "like" on the post, supportive future potential date that I was. I did not stalk the profiles of every other girl who also liked it. (I'm lying. I totally did.)

I knew the plan; he was to be out in Lanzarote for six weeks, returning mid-September, a week or two before university started again. He had planned to go earlier and stay there longer, but his plans had changed at some point in June - he'd been pretty vague about that actually, simply saying that the couple he was working for had changed the dates on him. And, to be honest, I didn't query it too much as the changed schedule had allowed him to pop up on my birthday!

I knew those six weeks were going to seem more like six months, but the contact I got from Owen made it easier. He would send me photos of his surroundings - pretty beaches, the bar he was working in. He would tell me he wished I was there to share it with him. And he'd frequently refer to how much he was looking forward to our upcoming date.

Then, one day, a few weeks into his working holiday, the contact just .  . . stopped.

I didn't really think too much of it at first when 24 hours passed and I hadn't received any message from him. But then the clock started heading towards the 48-hour mark, and I began to worry.

Is everything okay with you?x

I'd eventually had to ask. (Only one kiss, you'll notice. I may have been concerned, but I was also pissed off.) He replied almost straight away, which actually annoyed me more.