Living in a big city does not help with meeting people, unless you are happy to go to bars and shout in someone's ear for the evening over some mojitos. It's strange how you can live next to someone for years and not know them but be 'best mates' with someone on the other side of the world who you just happened to meet in a chat room when you were bored.
I had lived here for about five years, on and off, the off being time spent abroad for work. It was fun but I was spending more and more time in the UK and I realised that, apart from a few old mates from way back, I hadn't got to know anyone new for years.
This was not the first thing on my mind when I woke that Saturday morning. I was thinking that the first tendrils of spring were snaking their way through the neighbourhood and I wanted to get out and go for a run, enjoying the outdoors, the parks and newly budding flowers in the hedgerows.
As I was locking the front door, I noticed a girl come out of the house opposite. About 5'6'', slim with a blonde bob, great cheekbones and a slightly wide mouth. Interesting face and definitely rather sexy. Dressed in jeans and a white shirt, she looked lovely. Not being the boldest sort of bloke, I looked away and started setting up my iPod for the run.
She walked over to her car on the other side of the road and I heard her swear and looked up. She was standing, hands on hips, legs akimbo and looking more than a little annoyed. She raised her hand and pushed her hair away from her eyes in an exasperated fashion.
As I was crossing the road anyway, I noticed she had a flat tyre and clearly wasn't happy.
"Can I help?" I asked, stopping a few paces away.
"No, that's kind of you," she replied. Now, being British but having worked in other countries and cultures, I am always struck by how stand-offish we are as well as the modern fear of being stabbed by any stranger, such is the supposed danger of living in the urban world.
"Hey, I'm sorry, it seems like you have a puncture, you clearly want to get somewhere and you will get filthy if you change it yourself. I was just offering to change it." I said, trying to smile reassuringly. She looked at me and I could see her struggling with the problem.
"I couldn't ask you," she said.
"Don't be silly," I replied. "You are ready to leave, I've just fallen out of bed and don't mind helping. I can go for a run after. Now, where's your jack?" She smiled and went to the boot to open it up. Underneath the carpet was her spare tyre and the jack.
As I got to work, we chatted a bit and I found out that she was off to see her mate for the weekend and wanted to get out of town before the traffic. I commiserated about the crowded roads and promised to work harder.
I was conscious of the fact that I was on my knees before this sexy blonde, my eyes at her waist whilst I was working away. She offered me a glass of water and I said yes mostly to watch her cute arse as she walked back into the house.
Unfortunately, I finished far too quickly and her car was back to working order in no time. She thanked me with a big smile and I bade her farewell to go off on my run. During the exercise, I was struck by how much I was thinking of her and what a wuss I was to not ask for her number or a date.
The next week, I was walking down the road to get the paper and the ground floor window of her house flew open.
"There you are!" she said. "I couldn't remember which house you lived in so I never had a chance to really thank you. You seemed keen to get off on your run."
"No worries, you don't have to thank me anymore. I just was helping a neighbour." I replied.
She looked me straight in the eye and said, "No, I'd really like to. What are you doing for supper tonight?"
There was I, on the side of my road, being asked for supper by a sexy blonde, younger than me and clearly a good laugh, who was having an effect on my trousers as I thought of what I would like to have for supper.
"That's really kind of you but you don't have to."
"Nonsense, I won't take no for an answer. I'll see you at 8," she said, laughing as she closed the window and went into the next room.
That evening I turned up in a pair of clean jeans, shirt and comfy loafers, with a bottle of white wine. She opened the door and was wearing a summer frock, in a delicate petalled pattern. It was slightly flared at the hips and stopped at her knees, showing off the rest of her shapely legs.