Just The Way You Are - Lynsey James

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on, I can’t take this any more!’

      I took in a deep lungful of air and prepared myself to look at what was written on the page. Every fibre of me told me not to, that I should put this Pandora’s Box of words back in my bag and forget about it. However, Fran’s expectant stare and the niggling questions at the back of my mind made me look. When I did, my breath caught in my throat. In front of me was the most beautiful love letter I’d ever read.

       Dear Ava,

       How do you start writing a letter to someone, six years after breaking their heart?

       It may seem strange that I’m writing to you again after so long, but I can’t ignore how I feel any more. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the last six years, it’s that life’s too short not to go after what you want. And Ava, all I want is you.

       Since that day I was supposed to meet you in Heaton Park, I’ve kicked myself for being such a coward. Seeing how upset you were afterwards killed me. Every fibre of me pulled me towards you that day but my stupid self-doubt stopped me. I was scared of not being enough, of disappointing you. Little did I know that by convincing myself to stay out of the picture, I ended up doing the very thing I was trying to avoid. Words can’t express how sorry I am for hurting you; I hope you can forgive me.

       After trying to convince myself to forget you and telling myself to move on, I’m still totally and completely in love with you. Spending the best part of a decade thinking about what we could’ve had together has been torturous. It could’ve been me holding you tight or kissing you or showing you how special you are. Now, it’s finally time for me to do something about it. I know you could have built a whole life with someone else, but I’ll regret it forever if I don’t at least try. I’ll let you know who I am soon: for now just enjoy the magic of the letters. If anyone deserves a fairy tale, it’s you. Keep smiling, beautiful.

       Love always,

       ?

      A stray sob escaped from my throat; it was a happy sob, full of joy at what I’d just read and the chain of events it could potentially set in motion.

      ‘Who’s it from?’ asked Fran.

      ‘It’s from my secret admirer,’ I replied. ‘He’s back!’

      Before I knew it, it was time for my date with Greg. The contents of the letter had made me a bit reluctant about going – amazing secret admirer versus dubious blind date picked by my scatter-brained best friend – but I didn’t want to let Greg down.

      I got to Café Rouge just as the lunchtime rush was about to start. It was a small, smart-looking café nestled between an independent bookshop and a dry-cleaner’s. The air was warm for mid-October so I took a seat at one of the little metal tables outside. A huge red parasol emblazoned with Café Rouge rose up from the centre, protecting me from the sun’s rays. Since I was a bit early, I took the opportunity to have yet another mint and fix my ponytail. My hair had dried now so the whole thing had gone very bushy and I looked like a badly groomed poodle.

      Greg arrived shortly after. I saw a tall, slender figure walking down the street and instantly knew it was him. His fitted blue shirt, black trousers and smart shoes, plus the way he carried himself all screamed “male model”. His hair was closely cropped and, as he drew nearer, I spotted a cheeky glint in his eye. Maybe this date wouldn’t be so bad after all.

      ‘Ava Clements?’ he asked in a thick Liverpudlian accent.

      ‘That’s me!’ I stood up too quickly and knocked my chair backwards. Smooth Ava, really smooth.

      I picked it up and offered my hand to him, which he shook firmly.

      ‘Nice to meet you, I’m Greg Williams,’

      He smiled and we sat down. I picked up a menu and peeked over it to look at him. Gwen wasn’t wrong; he really was a good-looking guy. I could just imagine his face gracing some high-end men’s fashion campaign. He caught me looking at him and flashed a half-smile. My cheeks began to burn and I dropped my eyes back to the menu.

      ‘You know, when Gwen told me she had a mate to set me up with, I didn’t expect someone who looked like you,’ he said.

      ‘Oh, I hope I’ve exceeded your expectations then!’ I allowed a slight barbed edge to creep into my response. I couldn’t tell how he’d meant that remark so decided to be on my guard.

      ‘I don’t know yet, I think I’ll reserve judgement until after the meal.’

      Ouch, that stung. I drummed my fingers on the table and took quick glances at the menu in front of me. I knew I couldn’t let one slightly off remark ruin a whole date; I had to be open-minded and see what Greg had to offer. If I didn’t, I could well end up knee-deep in cat litter and tins of Whiskas.

      After a few minutes, a waiter came to take our order.

      ‘I’ll have the steak and chips and a pint of Coke please mate,’ said Greg.

      ‘Can I have the penne carbonara and a mineral water please?’ I handed the menus to the waiter and smiled as he took them away.

      Out the corner of my eye, I saw Greg raise his eyebrows sceptically.

      ‘What’s up?’ I asked. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know the answer but felt it was polite to at least ask.

      ‘Nothing, nothing…’ He trailed off and folded his arms, causing the delicate material of his shirt to strain at his biceps.

      ‘Are you sure?’ I didn’t feel comfortable with the atmosphere that had developed between us. It was obvious I’d done or said something to offend him but I couldn’t think what.

      Greg shook his head and curled his top lip in a very unattractive way then sat forward so he could see me.

      ‘I just… I thought you would’ve ordered a salad instead of pasta, that’s all.’

      The comment took me aback. I certainly hadn’t been expecting that; since when did your choice of food matter so much on a date? I’d clearly been out of the game too long.

      ‘Oh… OK, forgive me for sounding stupid here but why does what I have to eat bother you?’

      He let out a sharp breath and glared at me like I’d asked the most stupid question ever.

      ‘Well look at me, Ava. I’ve modelled for Calvin Klein, Burberry and Primark; I’ve got a certain image to maintain.’

      You certainly have if you’re modelling for Primark, I wanted to say.

      ‘Right…’ I said slowly, not quite understanding what he meant.

      ‘What I mean is,’ he continued, seemingly having read my mind, ‘I can’t just be seen with any old heifer. My agency’s looking to get me into acting and presenting so who I’m seen with is everything. Don’t get me wrong love, you seem nice enough although your face is quite plain and you could be doing with losing about a stone. A big bowl of pasta isn’t going to do you any favours; I’d have gone for a salad if I were you.’

      I sat opposite him, open-mouthed and scarcely able to believe what I’d heard. He’d called me ugly and fat and critiqued my food choices; he’d only known me five minutes! Cheeky bastard.

      ‘Goodbye Greg.’ I calmly got up and walked away from the table as fast as I could.

      Just before we wound up for the day, Paddy and Miranda called a surprise editorial meeting. As usual, they’d sprung it on us on a Friday evening, when everybody was too busy thinking about the weekend ahead to contribute good ideas These meetings almost never happened at the start of the week when people were refreshed and full of energy.

      ‘Right everybody, I know it’s

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