Next Friday

The rich aroma of slow-cooked beef bourguignon fills your flat as you adjust the collar of your new navy shirt. A week has passed since the tattoo celebration dinner, and tonight marks the first official double date with Clara and her assistant Zara.

"Red or white with dinner?" David calls from the kitchen, where he's arranging an antipasti platter with meticulous attention. You notice his hair is freshly trimmed, and he's wearing the charcoal button-down that cost half his monthly bonus.

"Clara brought that Barolo she's been saving," you reply, straightening a cushion on the sofa for the third time. Your newly tattooed wrist still tingles occasionally when you flex it—a pleasant reminder of the permanent choice you made.

David nods, then checks his watch. "Should I be nervous? I feel weirdly nervous."

You can't help but laugh. "The great David Harrington, terror of the financial district, nervous about meeting a woman he's technically already met several times?"

"Different circumstances," David mutters, adjusting a slice of prosciutto with surgical precision. "Besides, this is the first time I've been set up by my flatmate who used to be—"

The doorbell cuts him off, and you both freeze momentarily before David squares his shoulders. "Right. Game face on."

You open the door to find Clara looking stunning in an emerald wrap dress that hugs every curve, her auburn hair swept into an elegant updo. Beside her stands Zara—taller than you remembered, with warm brown skin and a cloud of tight black curls framing her face. She's wearing slim-cut trousers and a silky cream blouse that reveals just enough collarbone to draw the eye.

"The famous Matt," Zara says with a smile that transforms her serious face into something luminous. "Clara's been insufferably happy all week. I assume you're responsible."

"Guilty as charged," you reply, stepping aside to let them in. Clara brushes past you, her hand lingering on your arm as she leans in to kiss your cheek.

"Missed you," she whispers against your ear before turning to greet David.

You watch as David takes Zara's hand, holding it perhaps a moment longer than strictly necessary. "Welcome to our humble abode. Can I get you a drink? Wine, cocktail, something stronger?"

"Wine to start," Zara decides, her gaze sweeping the apartment with unabashed curiosity. "Clara mentioned you're in finance?"

"Asset management," David confirms, leading her toward the kitchen. "Though I promise not to bore you with portfolio diversification strategies all evening."

"Shame," Zara replies with unexpected playfulness. "I find diversification incredibly stimulating after hours."

David nearly trips over his own feet, earning a smirk from Zara that suggests she knows exactly what effect she has on him.

Clara slides her arm around your waist, watching the pair disappear into the kitchen. "Told you they'd hit it off," she murmurs. "Zara's been asking subtle questions about my "banker friend' for months."

"David's been practicing his witty banter all afternoon," you confide, turning to face her. "God, you look incredible."

Clara's fingers brush the collar of your shirt. "Not so bad yourself. Though I must say, I do occasionally miss certain... attributes."

"Which ones specifically?" you tease, pulling her closer.

"I'll show you later," she promises, her voice dropping to that husky register that makes your pulse quicken. From the kitchen, you hear Zara's surprised laughter followed by David's deeper chuckle.

As you lead Clara to join them, you catch yourself thinking that despite everything—the transformation, the app's manipulation, the bizarre journey from Matt to Mia and back—perhaps things have worked out exactly as they should.

19:45 | Friday 15 August 2025 | Matt and David's Flat, Putney