After a long day in the July sun, all I wanted was a glass of something cold and a sit-down. Grabbing a glass, I was just about to crack open a cold bottle of wine when my phone lit up with a buzz.
Hey Emma, how’s your week going? the message read.
It was from my friend, Peter John, 33. I’d known Peter for years – he was a local guy, we had mutual friends.
We weren’t close – I’d only really spoken to him when we’d met up as a group with other mates – so it was a bit strange to get a message from him.
But I replied, and we got chatting.
Fancy going for dinner? Peter wrote.
Go on then, I replied.
After all, he was a nice bloke and he seemed tidy – why not?
The following week, we went for dinner at a local restaurant where we chatted all night.
‘I’m glad you’re here, Emma, I’ve been wanting to ask
