Love starts with a smile (A ficlet)

So, here I am, at another pathetic party where I know no-one.  Someone in the corner talking about kale.  A smug couple, she beautiful, he handsome.  Just loving themselves.  Like everybody here.

Yeah, I know, why am I so grumpy?  Looking for Mr Right.  Only he isn’t here, is he?  All happy couples.  Even a couple of gay ones.  Innit wonderful? 

I sip my glass of fizz.  How soon can I go?  I can go home and binge watch Netflix.  With something more potent than fizz.  Oblivion.  And no work tomorrow, so maybe a late breakfast at Chez Moi on the beachfront.

A bloke comes in.  Slim as.  Absurdly slim.  Dark brown eyes, reddish blond hair.  He goes over and kisses the smug couple, both of them.  They twitter at each other.  He helps himself to wine, turns and looks at me, catches my eye.  And comes over.  My heart’s beating so fast I feel sick.

“Hi.”

I bow, unable to speak.  My mouth too dry.

He smiles.

“Let me guess.  An elegant European.  A count perhaps.  Your mama sent you here to find a wife.”

Find myself smiling.  “Not very likely.”

“Good,” he replied with a quick flash of a smile.  “Me too.”  He moves closer, and turns to face away from me, looking at the others.  I can feel the warmth from his body next to mine.  The hair on my arms prickles.

“Will the Countess mind if you find a husband instead?”

“Prolly freak her out.  Just a tad.”  It’s my turn to smile.

“Ah well, into each life a little rain must fall,” with another quick flicker.  “Anything on later?”

“Binge-watching Netflix.”

“Riveting.  Does it have to be done alone?”

I turn to face him, drowning in the toffee-coloured eyes.   “No.”

He leans in to kiss me.  I feel the prickle of his beard.  The muscle of his lips.  The slim body against mine.

“We might not want to watch Netflix,” I say, daring.

“No, we might not.”  And this time the smile lasts.

And we didn’t.

(341 words)