There’s nothing I’d like more than that, but I shake my head. ‘No, don’t worry about—’
‘Asher.’ The way she says my name cuts clean through me. It’s ridiculous, really, how she’s able to do this. She doesn’t raise her voice, but the way she says my name makes it impossible to keep trying to pretend.
I exhale slowly. ‘I’ve had A Day.’
‘I can see that.’
The way she looks at me, it feels like she’s reaching into my chest and pressing her palm flat against my heart. Like she knows exactly where I’m hurting right now and she can hear the thoughts I haven’t even realised I’m thinking yet.
‘Okay,’ I say finally. ‘Yeah, I want to see you.’
The smile that curves her mouth is small but just the sight of it, even through a screen, has one tugging at my lips too.
‘Good,’ she says. ‘There’s a restaurant about fifteen minutes from your place that I like. I’ll send you a pin. Meet you in twenty minutes?’
My grin widens. ‘That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEENImani
‘When you saidrestaurant,’ Asher starts, plopping down onto one of the bright red, uncomfortable plastic seats opposite me, ‘this isn’t really what I was expecting.’
I grin and push a flimsy cardboard box filled with greasy chips and several even greasier pieces of chicken between us. ‘What’s the problem? This is, by every definition of the word, a restaurant.’
Asher lifts a brow, and my grin only widens. Under Top Fry’s fluorescent lighting we both look slightly jaundiced, and the walls are a shade of off-white freckled with oil splatter, with faded posters advertising a two-piece chicken and chips combo for the criminally low price of £1.99. I suppose I can’t blame him for not expecting me to bring us somewhere like this.
I shrug and dip one of my chips into the small mountain of ketchup the owner kindly squirted into the corner of thebox. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve never had London’s finest culinary offering before?’
Asher thinks for a moment. ‘Not since I was about sixteen.’
‘Then you’re missing out,’ I say before digging into the meal, and I mean it too. London’s small army of chicken and chip shops can be fairly hit or miss, but in my humble opinion, Top Fry is the best of the best. There’s something about the way the chips come out of the deep fryer, perfectly golden and equal parts crispy on the outside and fluffy inside, and the moistness of the mysteriously seasoned chicken, which keeps me coming back for more. It’s not the kind of place you’d find boasting a Michelin star, but it’s just as good as any white tablecloth restaurant in my opinion. And, as a bonus, it’s not the kind of place you’d typically find anyone from our usual social group frequenting. Meaning it’s a perfectly safe place to be out in public with Asher right now.
He picks up a handful of chips, dips them into the small mountain of mayonnaise on the opposite side of the box, and then chews thoughtfully for a few seconds.
‘Okay,’ he says once he’s finished and already reaching for a piece of chicken, ‘that was pretty good.’
‘See?’ I say, tearing into my own thigh. ‘You’ve got to trust me. I wouldn’t steer you wrong.’
Asher hums noncommittally as he takes a bite of the chicken, but I see the way his shoulders seem to slacken just a little as he chews. It’s subtle and I wonder if it were anyone else sitting opposite him right now, whether they’d noticeor if I’ve just become attuned to him in a way I’d never expected to.
It’s a strange thought, realising that maybe I’m seeing him in a way other people don’t.
I watch the way he eats and take note of the way he pauses after the first bite, or how his jaw shifts slightly to the left when he chews, or even the faint line that appears between his brows when he’s concentrating on a flavour and the way it smooths out the moment he decides he likes it. I wonder how many other people have noticed these things about him. Probably not many. The thought both saddens me and makes me feel a strange sense of pride at being one of the few who has got to know him like this.
Asher suddenly catches me staring and lifts a brow. ‘Is there something on my face?’
‘No,’ I say quickly, shaking my head as I reach for another chip. ‘I was just thinking.’
‘About?’
‘You look…’ I click my tongue, fumbling around for the right word. ‘Lighter? From earlier, I mean. When I called you, you looked…’ I pull a face. ‘You know?’
Asher had looked stricken when he answered my call and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I’m extremely glad he no longer looks like he’s about five seconds away from breaking down.
‘Yeah,’ he murmurs.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’ I ask.
‘Not really.’ He lets out a deep breath. ‘But I probably should, shouldn’t I?’
