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Turning to face Tom, I attempt to play it cool, but manage to spill my water in the process of twisting around and then drop the glass. Not cool. Whoops.
He catches the glass before it hits the floor. Of course he does. Perfect boy with perfect reflexes. I lean heavily against the counter, trying to pretend that didn’t just happen.
Tom looks good. He always looks good. He’s wearing a dark shirt that contrasts with his pale skin, but it suits him, clinging to his shoulders in all the right ways. My eyes trace the line of his jaw, taking in the faintest hint of stubble. He looks tired.
I’m about to say something when I sway again.
“Steady there.” Tom puts the glass on the side and reaches out to hold my arm. I shiver at his touch before he lets go. “Having fun?”
“I was,” I say sheepishly. “But now the room is doing this wobbly thing, so I thought maybe I should slow down.”
“That’s very responsible of you.”
I pull a face. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
“I’m not. I’m just making sure you’re ok.”
Guilt twists inside me. He shouldn’t be this nice to me. Not after me not standing up to my mother and the week of unanswered messages.
“I’m fine,” I say. “You shouldn’t be worrying about me either. Go and have fun.”
“I’m going to grab some water. Do you want a refill?”
“Sure. If you’re already getting one, I mean.”
He picks up my glass from the side, refilling it before handing it back. As he does so I wobble… again.
“I’m fine,” I insist. “Just a bit dizzy. And annoyed that I wore heels.”
Tom glances down. “They do look like torture devices.”
“They’re cute,” I argue, slurring slightly. “And my mum would be horrified if I went to a party in flats. Anyway, don’t talk to me about safety hazards, Tom Ford. I thought you didn’t let practicality get in the way of fashion.”
“Good one,” he deadpans. “I’m going to make some toast. Do you want some?”
“Yes please.”
Bread sounds perfect. I love bread. Gingerly I have another sip. Sophia was right, water is a great idea.
As is talking to Tom.
Wait, no it’s not.
It’s only a great idea until the moment I panic and ruin everything… again.
“What’ve you been up to recently?” He pulls a loaf of bread out of one of the cupboards above the counter.
“Alexander and I broke up,” I tell him flatly, putting the glass back down before I cause an accident. “Or more accurately: he broke up with me, because I wasn’t interesting.”
Does it even count as a breakup if you’ve literally been seeing someone for a fortnight? Probably not. There weren’t even any labels exchanged.
I don’t know why this is hitting me so hard, but it is. I tried, I really did. And look where it got me.
I sniff again, and immediately feel annoyed with myself.
Tom pauses for a moment after I finish speaking, before continuing to slice the bread. He puts it into the toaster. “You’re interesting. Don’t listen to him.”
The cooking bread smells delicious, and he pops it out of the toaster at just the right time, a perfect golden brown but not burnt. Tom applies a liberal layer of butter and hands me the first slice, before buttering a second.
