Love Offline Read online

  Love Offline

  Looking For Romance In Real Life

  Olivia Spring

  Hartley Publishing

  First Edition: October 2019

  Copyright © 2019 by Olivia Spring

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and happenings in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons living or dead, locales or events is purely coincidental.

  www.oliviaspring.com

  Follow Olivia on Facebook/Twitter/Instagram: @ospringauthor

  Dedicated to my darling PD.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  October

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  Want More? Bonus Chapters

  Enjoyed this book? You can make a big difference.

  Also by Olivia Spring

  An extract from The Middle-Aged Virgin

  Also by Olivia Spring

  An extract from Only When It’s Love

  Also by Olivia Spring

  An extract from Losing My Inhibitions

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Normally, I love social media.

  The endless fancy food and envy-inducing holiday pics on Insta, the witty conversations on Twitter, the funny memes on Facebook—I adore it.

  When I’ve got important designs to create for clients and deadlines to meet, I can often be found spending many minutes (truth be told, more like hours) scrolling through strangers’ feeds rather than actually working. After all, who doesn’t like staring at photos of cute kittens?

  Like I said. Normally, I love social media.

  Well, I did until precisely 9.29 a.m. today.

  The day started off like any other Monday morning. Hitting the snooze button a dozen times before finally crawling out of bed. Having a shower whilst wondering why the weekend flashes by in what seems like five minutes, whereas Monday to Friday lasts for half a century. Throwing on whatever looked clean and didn’t need ironing, then dragging myself to my local coffee shop to get the caffeine-and-sugar hit I needed to help me feel remotely human, or at least alert enough to start work.

  I’d sat at my desk, taken a generous bite of my blueberry muffin, sipped on my steaming latte and switched on my computer. I had considered going through my emails but, in true procrastination style, decided to check Instagram first instead, because of course that was much more important than doing actual work.

  And there it was.

  That photo.

  The picture, which had already amassed thirty-six likes.

  The image that instantly made my head spin and my stomach sink.

  Captioned with just three words that sent my world crashing down.

  She said yes!

  My ex-boyfriend Eric, who I always believed would be the man I’d spend the rest of my life with, had proposed to Nicole—the woman he’d been cheating with for the last six months of our relationship—and she’d said yes.

  Great.

  There they were on what looked like some tropical beach, waves crashing against the golden sand, gazing into each other’s eyes, lips locked, her left hand strategically placed on his shoulder, showing off the giant rock adorning her ring finger.

  Exactly what I didn’t need to see on a miserable grey March Monday morning in South London.

  After staring at my screen for longer than was healthy, I’d tried to do what any smart, sensible, level-headed, pragmatic woman would if she heard the news that her unfaithful ex was marrying the younger model she’d been traded in for. I’d told myself I couldn’t care less, that it was his loss, there were plenty more fish in the sea, karma would catch up with them and to just get on with my day.

  Did it work?

  Of course it bloody didn’t.

  So instead I’d dragged myself the ten steps from my home study to my bedroom, put on the ‘Life Sucks’ Spotify playlist, curled up into a ball and sobbed until my mobile rang.

  It was Chloe. She’d heard the news from a friend during the school run and was on her way over. With cake.

  I’d told her I wasn’t sure that even a Victoria sponge the size of the Atlantic Ocean could make me feel better, but she’d insisted. And now she had let herself into my flat using the key I’d given her for emergencies. I suspected that she was probably mentally preparing herself for the sight that was about to greet her.

  Chloe knew how much I loved Eric and how I’d struggled to get over him, so she’d realise that this wasn’t going to be pretty.

  ‘Emily Robinson!’ she shouted, bursting through the bedroom door. ‘Up you get!’

  I slowly peeled my head from the pillow and tried to gauge whether I really had to force myself off the bed and deal with the situation or if I could get away with lying here for the rest of the afternoon and convince Chloe to give me a bucketload of tea and sympathy.

  Who am I kidding? This was my no-nonsense best friend. And she did not do self-pity. Especially over an unfaithful man.

  ‘Come on, Em. We’re not doing this again. Remember?’ She picked up my iPad from the bedside table, frowning as she bashed away haphazardly at the screen before eventually managing to pause the playlist. ‘No more listening to sad songs. No more tears over Eric. He’s not worth it,’ she said, edging closer to the bed. ‘You can do much better than that tallywag.’

  I slowly dragged myself upright, scraped my thick, dark curly hair off my face and tucked my knees under my chin.

  ‘I know he’s a loser, but seeing that picture, of him, with her, proposing after knowing her for all of two minutes, when he knew I’d wanted to get married for years and constantly fobbed me off, it just—it really hurt,’ I said, using the sleeve of my grey jumper to wipe the tears streaming down my cheeks.

  ‘I understand that,’ said Chloe as she smoothed down the back of her 1950s-style polka dot dress and sat down on the plain magnolia duvet. ‘But you really need to move on, Em. It’s been seven months. It’s time to start a new life. Unfollow the fool like I told you to ages ago and make new friends.’

  ‘I make new friends all the time,’ I scoffed. ‘I’m up to almost six hundred on Facebook. Admittedly, Insta is lagging behind a little as I’m low on content, but—’

  ‘For crying out loud!’ Chloe crossed her arms. ‘I don’t mean friends on social media. That’s nonsense. I’m talking about proper friends. You know, people that you speak to face-to-face in a restaurant, rather than clicking the stupid love heart button on a post of some person from Timbuktu that you’ve never met.’

  Trust Chloe not to understand. She’s so old-fashioned, she doesn’t even own a smartphone. Can you imagine?
>
  ‘I know you have an aversion to technology and anything online, Chloe, but social media has been my lifeline. If you think I’m bad now, I would have been much worse without the support of my online community.’

  ‘Your online community?’ Chloe rolled her eyes. ‘Good grief! Sounds like some sort of cult!’

  ‘Laugh all you want, but their likes, comments and uplifting posts have kept me going.’

  ‘If you say so,’ replied Chloe, reaching in her bag and pulling out two forks, serviettes and a container before taking out a large slice of chocolate cake. The rich scent filled the room. Mmmm. It smelt delicious. ‘Like I’ve said before, I really think you should venture out of these four walls and try new things. You work from home all day, and apart from coming round to mine, you never seem to go anywhere. If you had a load of hobbies and were out making new friends in real life, you wouldn’t have time to think about what that idiot is doing. You’d be too busy having fun.’

  Here we go again. It’s the you need to get out of the flat more lecture. I love Chloe, I really do, but she just doesn’t get it.

  My whole social circle revolved around my life with Eric. His friends became my friends, and after the breakup, that disappeared overnight. Now it was almost impossible to find anyone to go out with. On the rare occasions that I did get invited out, all the people in the group were coupled up and I was the odd one out. I got treated like either a weirdo or a potential husband thief. That’s when I wasn’t getting pitied or being shown photos of other random single men they were convinced would be ideal for me, purely because we’d both been ‘condemned’ to a life of solitude. I shuddered just thinking about it. No, thanks. I’d rather sit at home and have conversations online than be subjected to that hell.

  ‘It’s not that simple,’ I huffed as I reached for my own slab of sponge and took a large bite. I wasn’t in the mood to use a fork and serviette like Chloe. ‘Everyone I know is married and has kids and doesn’t have time to go out.’

  ‘I appreciate what you’re saying,’ said Chloe, stroking her raven bob, which she’d styled into her signature vintage waves. ‘But you are not the only thirty-five-year-old singleton in London. There are loads of other people out there just like you, so if your old circle of friends doesn’t fit your life anymore, make a new circle. Find new friends. Look.’ She stood up. ‘I hate to leave you like this, but I’ve been called into work today, so I’ve got to run. I’ll call you later, but please—don’t sit here moping. Go for a walk to clear your head and have a think about what I said. There’s a whole world out there. So many exciting things you could be doing with your life, but you need to actually step outside of this flat to discover them. Promise you’ll give it some thought?’

  I looked up at her, fighting the temptation to roll my eyes after hearing her make the same suggestion for the millionth time.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ I said. ‘I’ll think about it.’

  ‘And you’ll stop thinking about Eric too?’

  ‘Yes,’ I muttered reluctantly. What was I supposed to say? It wasn’t like I wanted to think about him. Eric was just always there. Right in the front of my thoughts.

  ‘Excellent!’ She smiled. ‘You’ll feel so much better when you do. You don’t need his toxic energy around you. Anyway, I’d better go.’ She leant forward and hugged me tightly before rushing towards the door. ‘Make sure you get stuck into the cake. Love you!’

  I stretched over to the container and grabbed another helping of sponge, shamelessly stuffing it into my mouth, then wiped my fingers before wrapping the duvet tightly around me. Getting out of these four walls? Going for a walk? Not a chance. That was the last thing I felt like doing. I planned to stay right here in this flat until I ran out of food or was forced to evacuate due to a state of national emergency. Whatever happened first.

  Chapter Two

  I thought I could do it, but I can’t.

  After spending all day yesterday wallowing and devouring the entire chocolate cake, I was still feeling low. Wondering why Eric had chosen her and not me. That image of his proposal was going round and round in my head. I was desperate for a distraction. I didn’t dare go back on social media, but I had to do something to take my mind off things.

  I needed to find a way to feel wanted again. Desired. So last night, after dragging myself to the kitchen and pouring myself a large glass of Southern Comfort and lemonade, I’d climbed back into bed, logged onto OKCupid and started messaging Kane.

  Clearly I’d got carried away and wasn’t thinking straight, as I’d agreed to meet him. Tonight.

  Bad idea. Very, very bad.

  Kane and I had been chatting online since the beginning of last week. Even though I wasn’t the fastest texter, as I thought about everything carefully before replying, which stunted the flow, I liked our conversations. It had been nice having someone to exchange messages with in the evenings and keep me company. Usually we’d talk about something that had been trending on Twitter, share links to new songs we’d found on Spotify or exchange memes. Our marathon messaging sessions had become the highlight of my day. But then the subject of taking our discussions offline had come up again. And even though I’d agreed to meet him face-to-face and told myself I really would this time, now in the cold light of day, I didn’t think I could go through with it.

  I should. I knew that. Not just because it might help me stop thinking about the Eric engagement nightmare, but also because I’d already cancelled on Kane. Twice. It would be unforgivable to do it a third time.

  I was supposed to meet him last Wednesday, but I’d messaged him the night before to ask if we could reschedule, as I’d come down with a nasty bout of the flu and didn’t want to pass on my germs.

  Okay, granted, I’d only sneezed a couple of times that day and that might have been because I’d stood too close to the flowers on display in the coffee shop. But you know, you can never be too careful about these things. One minute you’re sniffling and the next you’re laid up in bed with a packet of paracetamol and a box of tissues. It was much better all round that I stayed at home. He said he understood.

  Then we were due to meet on Friday, but I’d cancelled again. A client had sent a last-minute brief through at 6 p.m. on Thursday, so I’d told Kane straight away that I wouldn’t be able to make it, as I’d have to work late the following evening. I suppose I could have finished it over the weekend as the deadline wasn’t until Monday, but sometimes I got a burst of creativity on Friday afternoons, so if that happened, I needed to be at my desk to put it to good use.

  In my job as an illustrator, you had to strike whilst the inspiration was hot, as you never knew when it might hit you again. I mainly did illustrations for magazines, adverts, leaflets, that kind of thing. And it wasn’t unusual to have to fit in jobs at short notice. I’ll admit: I was only drawing an egg timer for a pensions advert in a financial magazine, which required zero creativity. Much like a lot of my work these days, and as it turned out, I’d finished it by Friday lunchtime, so I could have still made the date. But I’d already messaged him and it would’ve looked bad if I changed my mind again. I didn’t want to mess him around. That’s why I always tried to give at least twenty-four hours’ notice when cancelling a date to give the guy time to make other plans. Kane was understanding, and we’d agreed to meet this week instead.

  So now it was 11 a.m. on Tuesday. Eight hours away from the meeting time of the first real-life date I’d agreed to after breaking up with Eric, and I was freaking out.

  Although I didn’t want to cancel again, surely it wouldn’t be fair to meet Kane when I was in full upset about my ex mode?

  When I’d messaged him last night in my pyjamas he couldn’t see my puffy eyes or the sadness that that was written all over my face every time I thought of that Instagram photo. He couldn’t see what a train wreck I was. But if we met in person, he’d take one look at me and run a mile. I just wasn’t ready.

  And anyway, when I’d glanced out of my bedroom window e
arlier, it was really overcast, so it was probably going to rain. It definitely seemed like torrential downpours were on the way. Pretty sure I’d read something about floods somewhere in the world when I was scrolling through the news app on my phone this morning too, so it wouldn’t be long before they hit England, surely?

  Who knows? It might even snow. It has happened in March before. London was renowned for having multiple seasons and freak weather in the same day. It was always better to stay inside when there were adverse conditions. All the meteorological experts said so. Who was I to challenge their wisdom?

  And I was certain there was something else I was supposed to be doing at home this evening. Like rearranging the cutlery drawer or…or…I don’t know. Something. I couldn’t remember right now, but it would come to me if I thought long and hard enough…

  Okay, okay. Full disclosure. I’d rather be doing anything other than leaving my flat and going to meet Kane in Soho for a drink. It wasn’t that I didn’t like him. I did. He seemed nice. Charming. But that was the problem. They always did at first. Until they showed their true colours and lied to you for months. Just like Eric had done. So it would be better if we just didn’t meet. Then Kane wouldn’t be disappointed when he saw me in real life and I didn’t live up to his expectations. And I wouldn’t get my heart broken when he inevitably cheated on me.