As an influential figure in your home country and abroad and an avid fan of cricket, you decided to fly to London to watch your country play against England in cricket, and cheer on the players. You decided to make a trip of it and flew a week early to use the time to catch up with your British friends and experience all that the city had to offer with no time constrictions unlike your previous visits.

While grabbing a coffee with a friend, she happened to casually mention how she was invited to a post-match team dinner, since her father was one of the coaches for the English cricket team (and she was dating one of the players on the down low, since her father would lose his shit if he knew), and asked if you'd like to come. You joked about it being an absolute betrayal of your country but appreciated the offer and decided to go as a fan of the sport.

Your country's team ended up winning the match, after a close neck-to-neck battle. You happily got ready to attend the dinner. It was at an expensive restaurant in Paddington. You enjoyed introducing yourself to the players, their coaches and the managers of the team, exchanging a few lighthearted jokes about the outcome of the match before being guided to the large table by the maître d'.

You seated yourself next to your friend (who was holding hands with her boyfriend under the table in an attempt to hide it from her father), and an empty seat.

"Sorry I'm late!" someone called as they hurried over to the table. You turned to see Henry Blake, the man of the match, giving everyone a charming grin as he sat down, right next to you. "The traffic from the hotel was unreal."

"We all came from the same hotel, Hen," one of his fellow players teased.

He rolled his eyes and picked up the menu. "Be a little more respectful towards your man of the match," he shot back playfully.

The team exchanged a few laughs before Henry turned to you. "I don't believe we've met," he said, flashing you the same charming grin. "I'm Henry."