Something Borrowed by Louisa George Page B

around her age and, preferably, in possession of an iron. And a lint roller. A comb needn’t be mandatory but perhaps brought out on special occasions. Like a first date.
    The fifteen-minute get-out-of-date-quick text couldn’t come soon enough.
    ‘I see.’ She looked him up and down. ‘So where is it?’
    ‘The dog?’ Drew gave her another sheepish grin and pointed to his rucksack. ‘He’s asleep. Don’t say anything; they don’t allow pets in here.’
    For a reason! He was breaking a zillion health and safety rules, although he looked as if he didn’t care about anything other than his dog’s happiness. Kind of cute. He was, at least, a man with a heart. ‘You couldn’t just leave him at home?’
    By this time, Drew had taken a seat opposite her, but he recoiled in horror. ‘Hell no. We go everywhere together.’
    ‘That’s very… nice.’ The second of what she imagined would be quite a few alarm bells during this meeting started to ring in her head. He’d used an old photograph—or someone else’s—to con her into thinking he was somebody he wasn’t. And he was a dog devotee, which was fine and she loved them, all waggy tails and sniffing bottoms, but she had a bad feeling dogs would not be permitted at the wedding on Saturday, and that was the name of the game for her. Plus-one hunting. Saving face. Building business.
    ‘So…’ Still lost for words, she stared at him. Why would anyone lie with a photograph? Surely he must have known she’d be expecting a younger, fitter version? And it wasn’t that she was disappointed—well, okay, she was a little—but actually, he’d outright lied. Surely he was breaking the Trade Descriptions Act? She put on her best polite smile. ‘Drew, see, the truth is, I’m not good at this.’
    ‘Oh.’ His shoulders sagged a little. ‘First time?’
    ‘Second, actually.’ And definitely the last, because nothing would ever entice her to do this again. ‘I’m a little out of my depth.’ Drowning, actually.
    ‘Well, relax. I don’t bite.’ The rucksack started to move, and she could have sworn she heard a growl.
    ‘That’s good. Does he?’
    ‘No. But he is very protective of me. We’ve been through a lot together. He was my rescue puppy—and I was his. We met when we both needed someone. We’re both victims of abuse. Him physical, me verbal.’ He smiled, his eyes were kind and sad. And it was okay. He looked okay, although crumpled in a sort of mad professor way. And about fifty years older than her. But still, for some woman he’d be the perfect guy. Just not her. This was hopeless. ‘He’s a softie really. He likes to lick my feet.’
    ‘Oh.’ She closed her eyes for a moment as she swallowed back the bile in her throat. ‘Look, I’m not sure…’ God, this was hard. ‘Er… I don’t think…’ No wonder Carl and Jason had run off instead of facing her because this was actually too bloody difficult. Even more so because it felt so trivial. Hi, I just met you. You’re not my perfect man, so I’m going. It seemed so callous. At what point, she wondered, had Jason sat opposite her and realised he wanted out of their relationship?
    At what point had he swallowed back the bile too? ‘So, tell me, what’s with the profile photograph? You look very different.’
    Drew shook his head but laughed. ‘I admit, it’s a few years old. Maybe ten. Or, perhaps fifteen. I mean, look at me, d’you think I’d get many dates if I put a picture up of how I look now?’
    ‘Actually, I think you’d get a lot more second dates if women knew who they were meeting from the get go.’
    ‘Believe me, I’ve tried. No one even clicked on me. I used to be all right, eh? I’ve let myself go a bit. Since the divorce. Well, before, really, if I’m honest. I think it was the medication I was on. It made me put on weight. Aww, look he’s trying to see who I’m talking to.’ He reached a hand into his bag and made a soothing noise as the rucksack began