Walking from the pub, my date’s arm slung around my shoulders, I felt a flicker of happiness.
It was December 2017, and I’d met David, then 43, on Tinder.
A handsome police officer with a cracking sense of humour, I thought he was just what I needed after a few failed relationships.
Reaching my car, I felt him squeeze my shoulder.
‘Want to come back to mine?’ he chuckled. ‘I’ve got snakes.’
I laughed.
‘Bet you say that to all the girls,’ I replied.
David kissed me on the cheek, said goodbye.
I watched him go, thinking he was the funniest bloke I’d met in ages.
We’d giggled all night over a shared love of action movies.
Knowing that he
