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I notice he hasn’t once referred to a wife or girlfriend. “Are you married?”
He snorts, placing the last inch of his lunch on the wrapper before me. “No, but I do have a daughter.”
I don’t know why this surprises me. “So you’re divorced?”
He shakes his head. “I never married Tia’s mother, thank God.”
“How old is she?”
“Tia, or her mother?” He smirks when I give him a tired look. “Twenty-three.”
“Twenty-three?” I blurt, shocked as shit. He doesn’t look old enough.
“Yes, twenty-three.”
“How old are you?”
“Forty-two.”
“Fuck.”
He laughs, reaching for his nape and rubbing at it. “Tell me about it. I ask myself what the fuck? at least ten times a day.”
“If it’s any consolation, you don’t look a day over forty.”
He wrinkles his nose at me, making me smirk. “What about you? Kids?” He reaches for his coffee cup, and I unwittingly freeze in place, my baguette halfway to my mouth. He notices before I can rectify my reaction to his simple question.
“No kids,” is all I say. “I’m not ready.” Total lie. I’ve been ready for years. We were so sure of our future.
Any woman who wears dungarees to a cocktail bar deserves an opportunity to explain why.
They were comfortable.
And three sizes too big. I can’t wait until they’re no longer too big.
And when might that be?
The moment I put a baby inside you.
I find myself swallowing hard, my appetite gone. Dropping the rest of my lunch to the table, I brush crumbs off my hands and force a smile. Luke sees my struggle, though he doesn’t question it.
“Now,” he goes on, “since we’re getting personal, how old are you, Lo?”
“Twenty-eight.”
He nods, and I guess it’s because he estimated around that mark, but then he pauses, and I know he’s wondering what could have happened to a twenty-eight-year-old to make them so sad. But, again, he doesn’t ask. Whether that’s a sixth sense in him or not isn’t something I’m about to question. I’m simply thankful. “Well, I have a mental age of twenty,” Luke says casually. “So we should get on just fine.”
I smile, resting back in my seat and sipping some coffee. “Did you do much damage?”
He frowns across the table. “To what?”
“Yourself.” I laugh. “When you went arse over tit in the foyer of my building.”
“Shit, yeah.” He grimaces, a mixture of embarrassment and probably a reminder of the pain. “I have a tidy bruise on my shin. I swear, that woman must have had rocks in her bags.” Reaching down, he hisses, rubbing at the bruise. “In my forty-two years, the only time I’ve ever fallen over is when I’ve been steaming drunk.” He pouts. “I thought I styled it out well.”
I reach over and pat his hand. “No. Not even a little bit. What hurt more, the pain or the embarrassment?”
“I’m not sure,” he admits, and I laugh, sitting back again. “I think my street-cred plummeted drastically.”
“The bow helped, but only—” I’m cut short when a woman appears at the side of our table, and I look up. I find the most preened, perfect example of a woman I could imagine. Nails, hair, lashes, clothes, it’s all perfect. She doesn’t speak, just casts her eyes between Luke and me, until I’m forced to look at him to establish if he’s going to ask if we can help, or I am. The second I clap eyes on him, it becomes very apparent that Luke knows her. He looks uncomfortable, and that in turn makes me feel uncomfortable.
“Hi,” she chirps, but there’s no mistaking the resentment lacing her greeting.
Luke visibly withdraws, coughing. “Hi.” He forces a smile. It’s nervous. I feel my brow furrow as I look back to the woman. She’s younger than me, for sure. His daughter, perhaps? But then why the clear animosity? I don’t know, but I’m keen to break it. I shove my hand toward her and smile. “Hi, I’m Lo.”
Her eyes fall to my hand for a few seconds as it hangs awkwardly between us, and, unsure, I look to Luke. He shakes his head mildly, making me withdraw my offer.
“Nice to see you’ve moved on,” she quips sarcastically. I flinch on Luke’s behalf, now pretty sure that I’m faced with an old flame. And she thinks I’m his new flame?
“You’re looking well, Jasmine.” Luke motions across the table. “This is my friend Lo. Lo, meet Jasmine.”
I give him wide eyes, silently asking him what I should do? He just shrugs. “Nice to meet you, Jasmine,” I say lamely.
“Whatever,” she sniffs, rearranging her posh bag on her shoulder. “I feel it only fair to warn you, Lo. Don’t get too attached.” She tosses Luke a dark, cutting look, turns, and stomps out, slamming the door behind her.
“Yikes,” I quip. “Ex-girlfriend?”
“No.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “I was seeing her. There’s a big difference, but just you try and tell Jasmine that.”
