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“Of course I know your name,” Sophia says cheerfully. “You fit the description. Tall. Dark hair. Brown eyes. Freckles. I’d ask for ID just to confirm you’re not an axe murderer, but I’m pretty sure serial killers wouldn’t come with coffee.”
“I can show you my driving licence,” I offer, setting one of the coffees down on the step to reach for my wallet and phone. “Or—if it helps—I could show you the text thread with Claire to prove I’m not a random stalker with a caffeine fixation.”
She plucks the phone from my hand without hesitation and scans the screen.
“Wow.” Sophia scrolls down my texts. “I’d also have gone to yoga.”
Her voice is teasing so it doesn’t sting. In fairness the texts run along the lines of:
Hi Claire, it was great to hang out last night. Can I come over this morning like we discussed? Tom
I regretted sending that text-that-reads-more-like-an-email shortly after sending it, but thought that deleting it would look even weirder. I was more careful with sending the next one, pleased with myself for sounding completely normal.
Heya, I’m just grabbing some coffees. See you soon. Tom.
After Sophia’s scrutiny, I wouldn’t be surprised if the third text causes the door to close with me standing on the outside of it.
Hi Claire, you haven’t replied yet but you nodded when I asked last night, so I assume you meant yes. I’m going to come over. Is that alright? Tom
Adding my name at the end probably wasn’t a good look. Upon reflection, they were not my finest work. I only hope Sophia has mercy on me.
“Come in.” She steps aside. “She’s left you on read after you asked multiple questions, that was brutal enough. I won’t make you wait outside, no matter how odd you sound. It’s not normal to sign your texts Tom. Just as a heads up for future reference.”
Yes, I knew that.
“And she left her phone here,” Sophia says as I pass. “So she hasn’t seen them. I know her passcode which means you have time to delete them, if you want.”
I try not to look too impressed when I walk into the hall. It’s hard not to be. Last night I only saw the door, and when I came over to watch Gladiator and eat pizza I was too focussed on Claire to concentrate on anything else. But in the light of day, I’m able to take in the flat properly. It’s nice. Really nice. Way nicer than the dated shoebox I live in, with its unpredictable radiator and windows that let in all the street noise, but none of the light. And I also have limited furniture… I really need to sort that out.
Claire’s always been modest about her family’s money, but small insights into their wealth used to slip through. Stories about their holiday to the US, the beach trip to Mauritius, the expensive clothes, and now this spacious, sunlit London flat with a kitchen that looks like it belongs in a lifestyle magazine.
There are plants. Plants that are alive. And tasteful art on the walls that isn’t a crooked “Live, Laugh, Love” print. Her photos are in actual frames rather than tacked messily to the wall like mine.
I stare at the coffees in my hand. The one I got her feels small now. And probably cold. I should’ve gotten her a large and brought a thermos.
“Do you want this?” I hold out the second cup to Sophia.
She scrunches her nose. “What is it?”
“Double-shot Americano with oat milk and a shot of syrup.”
She pauses, then raises an eyebrow. “You memorised Claire’s order?”
I shrug, very aware that my actions aren’t oozing cool and unbothered. “I remember her getting it when I was with her and my sister a while back, and the order just stuck with me.”
Sophia takes the coffee from my hand.
“Right,” she says slowly. “That’s either very romantic or mildly unhinged.”
I can respect her frankness. “Hopefully the first one.”
She hums, sipping the coffee and pulling a face. “We’ll let the yoga class decide. Also this is disgusting. I don’t know how she drinks it.”
“She’s an enigma.” I take a sip of my flat white. “So what were you and Claire planning to do this morning then? Other than dissect everything I said and decide whether I’m worthy of a date.”
Sophia gives me a look. “Please. No one’s good enough for my sister. That’s just the baseline. But you… you might be less disappointing than most.”
“Wow,” I deadpan. “Stop, I’m blushing.”
