“If the shoe fits…” I nudge my elbow into his arm and he turns to look at me. The cursed universe then chooses that moment for the sun to emerge from behind a cloud and light up the sky, turning it a bright blue that makes Charlie’s eyes as big and blue as the sky on a summer day. I look away from them because they’re just too pretty.
After we watch Goldie for a few more minutes and Charlie mutters brief greetings to a few of the other dog owners, I can’t ignore my hunger pangs any longer.
“Okay, I’m starving!” I declare. “Where’s the nearest pub?”
Charlie’s face and voice brightens instantly. “That’s a fantastic idea! Let’s go to The Windmill.”
A few minutes later and Goldie is on a lead and we’re crossing the Common, heading towards the main road and a red brick building with large Georgian windows and tables and chairs outside. Once inside, there’s a short wait for a table which we pass at the bar, drinking pints of blackcurrant and lemonade and playing the name-guessing game with surrounding patrons, all while Goldie slumps on the floor at Charlie’s feet.
Just as we’re being shown to our table, I find my steps and thoughts wobble. A new and cold awareness hits me. Because this is very much like a date. Charlie taking the seat opposite me, a waiter handing us menus to peruse, a room full of other couples sharing food and conversation.
And I don’t want this to be a date. The whole reason this has been so easy and fun is because we’renotdating. I’m unable to define what exactly we are doing because there’s no longer the need to pretend to date each other now his mother’s birthday is over and my sister’s engagement party has happened, and we’ve certainly crossed some lines that most colleagues never even get close to. But I don’t want to date Charlie. I don’t want to date anyone because dating only leads to the kinds of problems I had with Hannah. Problems that cause pain and stress, and I don’t need stress in my life causing me migraine attacks and making me even moodier than usual.
As I sit down, the pang hits me again as if to silence those thoughts. Not the hunger pangs I’ve been wrestling for the last few hours, but the pang I felt at the beginning of Aisha’s party. The pang I felt for someone, something, some intimacy, some real connection.
And it’s a pang that doesn’t match up with my discomfort about this looking like, feeling like, basically being like a date. It’s conflicting. It’s confusing. It’s discombobulating.
My eyes fall on Charlie as he asks the waiter about the specials and I try hard to focus but something annoying and persistent in the back of my mind is looking at Charlie and wondering if I could have a connection, the intimacy I crave with him.
My instinctive reaction is to laugh, loud and heartily at the idea, but a second later that urge has vanished as if it was never there and instead my eyes narrow on Charlie, on those line brackets that frame his smile, and my attention is only pulled away when I feel a heavy warmth land on my feet. I look under the table and see Goldie lying down under our table, her rear end on my boots and her front paws and head between Charlie’s legs.
“It’s going to have to be a roast, isn’t it?” Charlie is saying and I have no idea when the waiter left or if Charlie said anything else before that.
“Sounds good,” I say quietly.
“The question now is whether I go for pork or lamb, although the chicken looks good over there.” Charlie gestures to a nearby table with his head. “And don’t get me wrong, I do also enjoy a classic beef roast but I had it here a few months ago so I don’t want to be boring, although of course there’s an argument for sticking to what you know. Decisions, decisions.”
I watch his lips move as he talks, glance at his fingers tapping the tabletop, take in the way he drops his other hand and gives Goldie a quick pet. I do it all in silence, trying to figure out what the hell is going on inside my head… No. Inside my heart?
“You okay?” He tilts his head to the side.
“Yeah. Fine,” I say, quickly and curtly.
But I really don’t know if I am.
*****
A couple of hours later and my belly is full and my heart is behaving, mostly.
During lunch – two roast dinners, one lamb for Charlie and one vegetarian for me – we talked endlessly about work, about our colleagues, and about Garrett, as well as Len and Mike, our other bosses. Now and then we touched on tomorrow’s pitch but then Charlie would think of a funny story about another pitch that went wrong a few years ago and we’d end up laughing about that rather than focusing on tomorrow’s task.
And I don’t mind. I don’t mind in the least. My stomach muscles are sore from all the laughter. My mind feels as relaxed and calm as it ever has. And I really don’t want Goldie to ever move because my feet have never been toastier.
“I like watching you laugh,” Charlie says out of nowhere and it’s like a switch being flicked and it immediately shuts down my laughter. “I didn’t say that for you to stop,” he adds when I fall silent.
“You just made me self-conscious about laughing. I’m hardly going to continue.”
“No, Mina, I paid you a compliment.”
I open my mouth to argue but realise I can’t.
“Anyway,” he says dismissively and then fidgets in his chair looking around us at the busy tables we’re surrounded by. “Are you feeling okay? It’s getting noisy in here and I was just wondering if noise is a trigger for attacks.”
Oh, Jesus. I can’t cope with him being all kind and considerate with me right now.
“I’m fine.”
“But is noise a trigger?”
