I frown. I don’t like that. There’s something about the way he says it; the way his mouth tightens and he stiffens ever so slightly, like he’s bracing for impact. Like he’s used to people agreeing with him when he says self-deprecating things like that.
No, I don’t like it one bit.
I lean forward, mirroring the movement he’d done moments earlier. ‘Why,’ I repeat, softer this time. ‘Why would I have walked away from you?’
He stills for a moment and when he finally lifts his eyes to mine again, they’re darker than before. Sadder, too. He exhales, long and slow, and I think I can pinpoint the exact moment he decides to abandon whatever lie was about to come out of his mouth and to give me something honest instead.
‘I just mean,’ he says quietly, ‘if we did actually date, I wouldn’t have expected someone like you to stay.’
‘And someone like me is?’
He looks at me,reallylooks this time, and it shouldn’t feel like a touch, but somehow it does. ‘You’re bright – the kind of person who lights up a room,’ he says finally. ‘And determined. And alive in a way that I’m just not.’ The corner of his mouth twitches, but it isn’t a smile. ‘You fill space while I actively avoid it. You would’ve got bored of waiting for me to catch up.’
I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything. I just sit there, staring at him, as the words hang between us.
Bright.
Determined.
Alive in a way I’m not.
Asher and I barely know each other so the words shouldn’t land the way they do. They shouldn’t make my throat tighten or my chest pull in an uncomfortable, unexpected way. But there’s something in his voice that’s too soft, too apologetic,too resigned, which makes me want to reach across the table and shake him.
Or hug him.
Maybe both.
Because the way he sees himself is bleak, wrong – even I can tell him that from just our limited time together – and deeply, deeply unfair.
I don’t know how to respond, not without crossing a line that feels forbidden for two people who are just barely acquaintances, so I pivot towards the only thing that feels safe. Humour.
‘You know,’ I say lightly, leaning back into my chair as if he hasn’t just essentially cracked open his ribcage and shared the most vulnerable part of himself, ‘if you keep talking like that, no one is ever going to believe we’re exes.’
His brows pull together. ‘Huh?’
‘We’re meant to hate each other,’ I remind him. ‘And here you are complimenting me every five minutes.’ I pull an overly dramatic faux-disapproving look. ‘Not very believable if you ask me.’
A startled laugh escapes him and the space between us seems to soften slightly. Things suddenly feel noticeably less heavy.
‘Sorry,’ he says, though he doesn’t sound even remotely apologetic. ‘I’ll work on being less complimentary, I guess?’
‘Please do,’ I say. ‘Because right now, no one’s going to buy the wholebitter exesthing.’ In fact, if someone were watching us right now, they might think we were on a first date. ‘Actually, I’m starting to think we have a bigger problem.’
Asher cocks his head to the side.
I narrow my eyes in mock seriousness and wag my pen in his face. ‘I’m not entirely convinced you even have the capacity to be hateful.’
Whatever he was expecting me to say, it definitely wasn’t that. Several emotions flit over his face, before settling on bemusement. ‘I think I’ll be alright.’
I hum in disagreement. ‘I’m not sure. And if you can’t be convincingly awful to me in front of everyone, then our whole plan collapses. Maybe we should practise. Go ahead.’ I fold my arms and nod at him. ‘Say something mean.’
Asher just stares at me, his lips parted slightly in disbelief. It’s kind of adorable if I’m being honest.
I tap my pen against my notebook. ‘Any day now.’
‘This is ridiculous,’ he mutters.
‘It’s also necessary,’ I counter. ‘Come on. Give me one insult. Just a tiny one. I believe in you.’
