We stood there looking up at the flat, barely two feet apart. The air between us felt warm. There was that smell again. Clean laundry. Something sweet.
A lady in a pink sari shuffled past, pushing a shopping trolley, a car honked down the road, and from the far side of the building came the dull thud of roadworks vibrating through the pavement.
“Well, thanks for letting me see you home safely.” He turned to look at me.
“You didn’t have to, you know.”
“I know.” A pause. “I wanted to.”
I felt the hairs on my arm prickle.
“Well. I appreciate it. Thank you.”
For getting me back safely. For buying me lunch. For saving me in thelift.
For making me feel… okay, again.
I didn’t move. Neither did he.
I could still feel the sherry buzzing in my veins. Was that what this was? A little bit tipsy on a Monday afternoon when I should have been at work. I felt giddy, like the rules didn’t really apply anymore. Something light had lodged just below my breastbone, a bubble that kept threatening to rise into a grin.
What was I evendoing?
I’d just met him.
I didn’t even have his number.
I turned my house keys over in my hand. I should say goodbye, go inside, and that would be it. Get myself a hot drink and watchLove Islandwith Mr. Darcy on my knee. Maybe even organize my airing cupboard, if I felt like going large.
And this would just be a weird, intense afternoon that came to nothing.
Another gust of wind rolled past, sending litter skittering down the street. It pressed into me, the tiniest nudge between the shoulder blades.
Or I could take the one good thing the universe had offered me, just this once. Didn’t I deserve it? My boyfriend had cheated on me, I’d almost died, and I was probably about to lose my job.
Were natty neck scarves and WD-40 really just one missed shag away?
“Andrea.” Liam was looking at me, like he was waiting for me to say something.
I tipped my head up.
Some part of me had already decided.
Fuckit.
He grabbed his phone and slid the screen open. “I didn’t get—”
“Do you want to come in?” I said. “For… tea?”
“Tea?”
“I make a great pot.”
“I would—I mean—are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
His expression flashed surprise, then settled. “If you want me to,” he said, his tone dropping half a note lower.
