Meeting Mr. Darcy, part II

Task: No task needed

Location: Newport Beach, California

As bloody magnificent luck would have it, my Mr Darcy lived in Newport Beach, exactly where I was due to be heading next. After thanking all the Gods a million times over, and trying to stop my cheeks from contracting as if I’d wired them up to a Slendertone, I began to get excited for our date.

By this point we’d spent a day drinking together in Santa Monica with mutual friends, enjoyed a long car journey down the coast, and exchanged numerous text messages of the emoji, not sexy-selfie, variety. So when it came to our actual date night, after I’d stayed with another friend in town, I was happy to Netflix and chill.

But oh no, my Mr Darcy had a surprise. Now I don’t like to be all doom and gloom and piss all over someone’s idea, but given my unhealthy addiction to chunky Christmas socks, fleece blankets and being warm at all times, I pointed out that if said surprise involved the great outdoors, he would be wise to also surprise me with 23 jumpers, a flask and a hot water bottle, and to make it as short as possible.

After being reminded that we were in California (code for man up you cold-weather wimp, you cannot possibly be cold), Mr Darcy revealed he would be whisking me to dinner by boat. As my nautical knowledge only extends as far as speedboats and lifeboats, I’m unable to provide a detailed description of what type of boat it was, suffice to say it was all very romantic. (I didn’t have to row it myself, if that narrows it down…)

Once again conversation flowed effortlessly, he was extremely intelligent, interesting, sensitive and just a seriously good guy. My real “OMG this man is perfect for me I must find out his surname and see if it works well with Hollie” moment came when HE asked the waitress to take a photo of us. Having been in relationships where the only pictures my merry men took of me involved me being hungover, dribbling on the sofa or filming the deed, only to realise it’s the most horrific thing either of us have ever seen and deleting it immediately (while both questioning how we sleep with “that”), made this moment feel all the more special.

Back at his, post-dinner, my Mr Darcy reached for his guitar and started singing. Having never been serenaded before, or, in fact, in the company of a man that can play anything other than football and women, I was taken aback.

During the first verse I was in shock, I’d not expected my own concert, especially from a grown man, rather than my eight year old sister belting out Let it Go.

At the start of the chorus I was questioning if it was cringe and awkward and unsure if I was meant to look at him, the guitar or be as nonchalant as he was being and look at my phone.

By the end of the chorus I was thinking of “strumming” and “stringing along” puns to Whatsapp my girls.

By the second verse though, finding him totally talented and seriously irresistible, I was gushing with pride and looking forward to him finishing the song so he could snog my face off.

He then continued to sing in the shower whilst I dug around for my wet wipes to wipe the hell out of my face, fanny and feet (in that order). He emerged dripping wet…just like Mr Darcy himself. I remained un-showered… just like a minger.

*The date was perfect. That was until he told me he wants a husky whereas I want a French bulldog. As we’ve only met a handful of times I’m prepared to overlook this (for now).

**We’ve talked about doing a staycation and going to Santa Barbara for a weekend. Let’s see if it happens.

***Why would anyone want a husky?

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Hollie Day

Hollie by name, HollieDay by nature. Join me on my journey, husband hunting on my holidays.