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What was I supposed to say to that?
“I never took you for a hugger,” he continued. “I love hugs. They should be mandatory.”
“Hugs…are good,” I managed to huff out.
“And I don’t have a broken arm this time. I couldn’t even remember what the building looked like and passed it twice before I saw the sign with the right name on it. Then I had to go back down again because I couldn’t remember what floor you were on. Stupid.”
“Not stupid. It was dark last time you were here, and you were hurt.”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry. You probably don’t want to talk about it.”
“No, probably not.”
I let him go because I’d been holding him way longer than the acceptable time limit for a friendly hug. He was absolutely right. This was as awkward as anything.
“I didn’t know I’d be staying here until a couple of hours ago. I’d booked into a hostel, but Finn said I had to stay here. Have someone check in on me. If I’d known sooner, I’d have bought you something. Bottle of wine? Chocolates? I don’t know what people bring in these situations, but I’m not a heathen, I promise, and I can pay my way.”
“No need for presents.” I shook myself out of that pink haze of lovestruck butterflies he’d brought through the door. “I don’t mind you staying here. Want a cup of tea?”
He nodded clumsily, and I stumbled even more clumsily to the kitchen, trying to remember how to breathe and move my feet at the same time. He followed, putting his bag on the table.
“I brought some apples. Hope that’s okay, I’ve got this thing for apples at the moment. I’m supposed to eat five times a day, and it’s not always easy to figure out what to eat. I still struggle with putting food in my mouth. I’m still a bit crazy.”
“Not crazy at all. Apples are nice. What else do you like eating? Maybe I could make you something.”
I opened the fridge door for the milk, surveying my little Tupperware boxes of meals. I’d started making them for myself now too, because I didn’t always function like I used to, which was embarrassing but also kind of a relief.
“Want a tiny portion of mac and cheese?”
“You don’t have to feed me.”
He made me smile. And it was lovely.
“I’m a chef. I can’t help it.” Clearly, I couldn’t because I grabbed the milk and cheese and slapped it down on a board, managed to get a knife without chopping my fingers off and brought it over to the kitchen table. Then I went back and made our tea, brought that over too and plonked myself down on a chair, relieved that he did too. Opposite.
“I…” He couldn’t even look at me.
“Cheese.” Yes, my repertoire of words was pure genius.
“It looks nice.” Polite, I’d give him that.
“It’s from a small farm outside Portsmouth. We have a cheese lady who sources all our stock and brings it in. She even cuts it and shows us how to plate it. Brings matching crackers and chutneys. It’s one thing I’ve never really mastered, so Sadaat is a godsend. She’s been with us for years now. I recommend it with the apple. You’ll need to cut it yourself, though.” I was far too flustered to handle anything that needed precision skills right now.
“Can I ask what’s wrong with your hands?” he said quietly. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“Brain damage,” I mumbled, staring down at the tabletop.
“Oh.” He chose an apple out of the bag he’d placed on the table, set it on the chopping board and, slowly and meticulously, picked up the knife and cut the apple in half and half again. I watched, mesmerised.
“Mabel took you to Psychic Mona’s?” I felt I had to say something, but he’d put a piece of apple in his mouth and couldn’t answer, so I went on. “She’s a massive fraud, but I’m sure you know that. In her defence, she’s a good cook and has kept that place decent and afloat for years.”
He chewed and quickly swallowed. “What does she serve you?”
Trust him to ask. The apple slice that had somehow ended up between my fingers made its way into my mouth. I motioned for him to cut me a piece of cheese.
“Last time, I got a bowl of something so full of chillies I could hardly eat it. She said my heart was cold and needed something to warm it up.”
