Second Chances, Wild Romances

Book summary

In a world dominated by swipe-left dating apps and shallow judgments, Rosie's life is filled with cringe-worthy encounters. When her husband, Jack, drops the divorce bombshell, Rosie stumbles upon an extraordinary chance to rewrite her past. Yet, altering history comes with unexpected repercussions, forcing Rosie into a heart-wrenching choice she never anticipated.

Excerpt from Second Chances, Wild Romances

You would think that after being on the dating scene – unsuccessfully – for the past five years, I would be used to all the emotions that came with modern dating. Nerves. Hope. Disappointment. I wasn’t though. Every new date I went on brought on a fresh tsunami of the same emotions. Yet here I was again. Date number one of this month. Date number… actually I had lost count of the number of dates I had been on in this year alone. Never turning into anything substantial. Occasionally seeing them again, making the hope build even more, only to come tumbling down with an extra dose of disappointment.

Modern dating is brutal. Superficial. Judgemental. Shallow.

Too small. Swipe left.

Too fat. Swipe left.

Wrong hair colour. Swipe left.

Too many gym pics. Swipe left.

The whole process was exhausting. What was even more exhausting though, was the knowledge that hundreds of men were sat swiping left on your pictures for exactly the same reasons. You could have swiped left to the love of your life and never know it, just because they chose a less than flattering profile picture on Tinder. Even a good picture on Tinder has to be met with severe caution. How old was the picture? How much has this been edited? Is it even them? An absolute minefield.

Ted was immediately someone I swiped right too. With his blonde floppy hair, he wouldn’t have looked out of place in a ‘90s boyband, but there was something about his eyes which looked kind. His picture also showed him smiling, which was a bonus (the amount of people not smiling in their pictures was shocking!), and in a tailored, navy suit. I could never resist a man in a suit. This man looked fun, but not full of himself. A difficult balance to achieve from a photo. When my phone pinged indicating that a mutual match had been made, I waited. I waited and waited. Fourteen hours and fifteen minutes later a notification told me that finally, Ted had sent me a message. I never was the type of person who was able to play it cool. I knew the rules though. Don’t seem too eager. Don’t immediately reply, otherwise you risk coming across as needy and desperate.

And so, a game of Tinder tennis progressed. Messages were being exchanged back and forth until the time that we were waiting between replies had decreased to being almost immediate. It took months of talking before he finally asked me out on a date. Always dangerous. For months, my stomach flipped as soon as his name had flashed on my screen. I had grown to really like Ted, and I hadn’t even seen him in the flesh yet.

In the modern world where everyone can be reached immediately at a mere click of a button, fake attachments can be easily made. It is very easy to spend time carefully articulating your messages, asking friends for advice on what to put, and putting an idealistic (and not at all realistic) projection of yourself across. You can be anyone you want to be when concealed behind a screen. So yes, I had grown to really like Ted, the version of himself that he had put across through his messages, which I had then embellished and perfected in my imagination. Of course, expectation never matches with reality. I knew that by indulging the stomach-flipping, heart-racing, smile-bringing emotions for so long without physically meeting Ted was setting myself up for disappointment. Yet still, once again, as I always did, I found myself pulled in. Enticed with the notion of ‘this could just be the one’.

I was so excited when drawing on a previous conversation of our mutual love for steak, he had asked me to a well-known steak house just out of town. Renowned to be the best steak locally, with eye-watering prices to reflect it. I had been wanting to go to this particular restaurant for some time, so I had treated myself. I’d bought a beautiful green dress for the occasion.

I never usually bothered buying new outfits for first dates (I would be buying new outfits weekly!), but I just had a gut feeling that this would be different. That Ted could be different. Besides, green was my lucky colour. As I pulled into the car park of the steak house that night, I was feeling really confident that this time – this time things would go well. Maybe he really would be the one.

I sat in the car watching the time move painfully slowly. I always liked to show up to a date slightly later than arranged. There is nothing worse than sitting at a table, glancing continuously at the door, terrified that you may have been stood up, whilst everyone around you throws looks of pity in your direction. On several occasions men would offer to pick me up from my house and drive us to wherever we were going together… but I had watched far too many serial killer documentaries on Netflix to know that that wasn’t the smartest move.

I was staring so intently at the clock in the car, that when there was a loud tap on the window I literally screamed. I recognised those eyes instantly from the pictures. Ted. I tried to compose myself, forcing a smile as I placed a hand over my racing heart - which I’m sure had skipped a few beats from being needlessly startled - as he laughed comically at my reaction. Great. This wasn’t exactly the first impression for which I was hoping. Ted’s practical joke had thrown me off, and any flutter of nerves that I was feeling suddenly went off the scale… until I stepped out of the car.

What was he wearing? I tried so hard to keep the shocked look from my face as he leant towards me to kiss my cheek as a welcome. He looked like he had come straight from a fishing match or something. Muddy boots… or were they… wellies? Baggy khaki shorts which had an obvious tear down the front, and an off-white T-shirt which was begging to be put through the washing machine. I gave him the benefit of the doubt, thinking there must surely be a reasonable explanation as to why he would show up on a date at a nice steak house dressed this way. Except no explanation came.

What a pair we must have looked like going into that restaurant. Me, dressed up in a brand-new dress with my favourite sparkly six-inch heels… and Ted, who wouldn’t have looked out of place at a gardening club. Obviously, he felt no awkwardness over our mismatched appearance as his jokes and childlike humour dominated the conversation. He seemed so different in person. The deep and meaningful conversations we had been having over messages seemed long gone, as I struggled to even get a sentence out without him cutting me off needlessly. The connection I had been feeling through our message exchange was nowhere to be found in real life.

When it came to ordering, Ted was not afraid to order the most expensive things on the menu. His steak alone cost more than my whole meal. He didn’t even bother looking at the wine list, instead requested their best bottle of white… for himself. I would have commented on how unusual it was for a person to choose white wine over red with a steak, however my mind was too preoccupied doing mental maths. I had started to panic at this point. I always offered to split the bill. Most of the time, whomever I was on a date with would insist on footing all of it, trying to prove that chivalry really does still exist, but I always offered. Still… I wasn’t expecting this one meal to come to more than a month’s rent, and even split, it was far more than I could afford thanks to his extreme expensive taste.

We hadn’t even made it past the starters when I was willing the night to end. Ted definitely wasn’t the one. The spark I had felt obviously began and ended with the Ted behind the texting, not this version of Ted who seemed completely different. I began to doubt whether it was him I had been messaging at all, or somebody else entirely. Still, I forced myself to laugh at his terrible jokes, and ignore the fact that he hadn’t learned basic table manners such as closing your mouth to eat, out of sheer politeness.

After what felt like forever, Ted asked for the bill.

“Shall we split it?” I forced myself to say, willing him to respond with the classic ‘Don’t worry about it’.

“That sounds great,” my heart sank. Great. All that money wasted on food I hadn’t eaten, wine I hadn’t drank, and a date I really hadn’t enjoyed.

The waiter came over and asked if we were paying with cash or card, and Ted suddenly began tapping his pockets. Over the top, comical even. Like he was trying to bat off an invisible swarm of bees.

“I’m sorry, Rosie. I seem to have forgotten my wallet. This one will have to be on you!” the waiter looked at Ted, frowning, obviously flummoxed by the theatricals and audacity himself. I felt sick. I couldn’t afford it. I didn’t even need to check my bank account to know there simply wasn’t enough in there. What was I to do? We couldn’t not pay. I felt my cheeks flush red, through a combination of anger and embarrassment, and reluctantly handed over my emergency credit card. The whole time Ted sat there, entirely composed, seemingly not in the faintest bit embarrassed by the situation.

Hurriedly, I stood up, grabbed my jacket, and said I should probably be getting back now, due to an early start. Surprisingly, Ted looked taken aback at my keenness to end the evening.

“Do you fancy a drink round mine?” he asked, a naughty glint in his eye. I couldn’t help it. I laughed. He wasn’t to know of course that I never would say yes to going back to their house after a first date – even after the best date. However, how could he possibly lack that much self-awareness that he could think for even the slightest second that I would want to go back with him after such a terrible night?

“I’m good thanks. Night!” and with that, I half-walked, half-ran to my car and didn’t look back.