**”Lets Get Married”**
A lazy Sunday morningno rush, no plans, just the bliss of staying in bed a little longer. No one to make breakfast, no obligations. After lingering under the covers, Eleanor finally dragged herself up, showered, and sipped her coffee. Now what? How to kill the time? Her friends were busy with husbands and kids. Visit her parents? Mum would just launch into her usual lecture about how Eleanor had made the biggest mistake of her life.
A creeping sadness settled in. Deep down, she knew divorcing Victor had been a misstep, but it was too late to fix things now. In hindsight, he hadnt been a terrible husbanddidnt drink, didnt cheat, ate whatever she put in front of him. Hed barely notice if she served him cardboard, too absorbed in his computer.
He worked odd hours, slept till noon, and dragging him out of the house was a chore. At parties, he yawned; at the cinema, he snored; outdoors, he just wanted to go home. When he finally crawled into bed, Eleanor was already up for work. And when they *did* share a moment of intimacy, it was over in secondslike he was racing to beat his personal best. Three years of marriage, no children, though neither had any medical issues.
The lack of a baby wasnt the only reason she left. She was just tired of talking to the back of his headshe saw more of his hunched shoulders than his face. Might as well have adopted a cat. At least a cat would purr instead of grunting “uh-huh” while staring at a screen.
But to her mum, being divorced was worse than being miserably married. *”A million women would kill for a husband like that!”* Gran had chimed in. *”What more do you want?”*
No one understoodnot her friends, with their *normal* husbands who worked nine-to-five, shared a bed at night, and produced babies without a hitch. They bickered, made up, nagged about one too many pints, then nursed hangovers with a fry-up.
She and Victor had known each other since schooleleven years of shared history. Hed been the classic nerd, always buried in a book, then obsessed with computers. Eleanor and her girlfriends had giggled at the awkward, bespectacled boy who spoke in code.
Years later, they bumped into each other. Victor had grown into a decent-looking bloke, swapped glasses for contacts, and was oddly fascinating to listen to. And Eleanor? She was a *great* listener. They started dating. Three weeks in, he proposedclumsily, casually. *”Why are we acting like teenagers? Lets get married.”* *”Alright then,”* shed laughed.
*”Mum, hes clever, interesting,”* shed said, defending her choice.
*”But do you love him?”* Mum had asked.
Eleanor had been stumped. Theyd never said *”I love you.”* She assumed proposing meant he did. Didnt it? Their marriage felt more like friendshipjust with shared bedsheets.
Mum had never liked Victor, but the divorce shocked her. *”Youve lost the plot! Doesnt drink, stays in, earns good moneyand youre throwing that away? Wherell you find another like him? Shouldve had a baby. Then you wouldnt be so restless.”*
Eleanor stayed quiet. Shed have a baby *now* if she could. But “if only” didnt change a thing.
Victor had been genuinely baffled when she asked for a divorce. No arguments, just packed his bags and moved back to his mums. His mother promptly rang to screech about how *”ungrateful and dim-witted”* Eleanor was. She hung up mid-rant. The divorce was swiftno kids, no fights over the laptop.
At first, relief. Then, loneliness. Autumn arrived, and leaving the house felt impossible. The walls closed in, and ahead lay a long, solitary winter. She missed Victoror maybe just having *someone* to care for. But regrets were pointless.
Mum kept setting her up on blind dates. Eleanor refused.
Plenty of people divorced. Shed mope, then move on. Meet someone better. But how, when she never left the house?
Then a mate signed her up to a dating site. Forced her to pose for photos, *”smile sexily”*as if she knew what that looked like. At the time, shed played along, half-hoping to make Victor jealous.
Now, curled on the sofa with her laptop, she browsed the site out of curiosity. Men everywherehandsome, average, young, older. Take your pick.
The womens profiles were all the same: *”I cook like a Michelin chef, knit like a pro, keep a spotless homejust missing love.”* Eleanor had no such talents. Couldnt sew, hated the gym. After agonising, she wrote: *”Good listener.”*
Messages flooded in. All from *ridiculously* good-looking blokes. Why were *they* single? One stood outstubbled, intense gaze.
An hour of lively chat later, he suggested meeting.
*”Bit soon, isnt it?”* she typed.
*”Why waste time?”* replied Daniel. (Probably not his real name. Or his real photo.) His logic won her over.
*”How about tonight? Unless youre busy.”* She wasnt. *”Meet at The Copper Kettle in an hour.”*
She lunged at her wardrobethen stopped. Let him see her as she was. Jeans, a fitted jumper that hugged her curves (thank you, no pregnancies). A touch of mascara, hair down. Not bad.
He was waiting outside. Recognisable from his photo. The café was quiet. They took a window table. He ordered coffee; she skipped cake.
Daniel studied her openly. She shivered under his gaze.
*”Disappointed?”* she asked.
*”No. But I thought youd be older.”*
*”Prefer pensioners, do you? Like some washed-up rockstar?”*
He laugheda *proper* laugh, not the usual bloke-ish guffaw. She liked him already.
He told her about himself. Nothing extraordinary, but the more he spoke, the more she warmed to him. Confident, but not arrogant. Her own story was brief: job, divorce…
*”The interesting bits are ahead,”* she said.
He laughed again.
*”More coffee?”* he asked. *”Or my hotel?”*
*”What?”* (Shed heard.)
*”Were adults. Well end up in bed eventually. Why wait?”*
*”Is this a test?”* she wondered. *”Sees how desperate I am?”*
*”Alright,”* she said.
In the hotel room, he sat on the bed. She stood, coat still on.
*”Planning to keep that on?”* he teased.
*”Im not sure Im ready to”* She wanted to bolt.
*”Whyd you come, then?”* No annoyance, just curiosity.
*”Dunno. Curiosity. Thought you were joking.”*
*”Fair. Ill take you home.”* He stood. Close now. Awkward.
*”Youve paid for the room,”* she mumbled.
*”So were staying?”*
*”Hes toying with me,”* she realised.
She was drawn to himhadnt felt this in years. But shame prickled. She wasnt *that* kind of woman.
*”Weve just met! What if one of us has… something?”*
He laughed. His nearness, his gazegoosebumps.
*”Lets wait,”* she said, feeling ridiculous.
He drove her home, didnt ask for her number.
*”Arrogant git. And I acted like a nervous teen,”* she grumbled later.
Daniel didnt message. Yet hed gotten under her skin. After three days, she cracked. *”You mad?”*
*”Nope. When youre ready, youll text.”*
A week of turmoil later, she did.
*”Ill pick you up in an hour,”* he replied.
She froze, then scrambled to dress. Back at the hotel, she yanked off her coat, tugged her jumper over her headhe caught her wrists.
*”Sure?”* he asked, eyes locked on hers.
*”No. Its been years. Im terrified.”*
*”Shh.”* He pulled her close. His heartbeat steady against her ear. Then
Well. Lets just say the ceiling needed staring at.
*”If he asks if I enjoyed that, Im leaving,”* she thought, staring at the crumpled sheets.
*”Fancy a drink?”* he asked.
*”Youre driving.”*
*”Stay the night. No ones waiting, right?”
