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I expect him to say,There’s nothing to tell, or maybe try to fob me off by saying,Why would I do that?
I’m surprised when Lloyd’s face scrunches up, bemused, and he says, ‘Why wouldn’t I have told him about you?’ like it’s that simple.
Maybe it was, for the boy with his kissable smile who falls in love with someone new every week, giving his heart away so freely.
‘He called me Annalise.’
‘So?’
So, what did you tell him? Were you disappointed by the kiss, embarrassed by me, do you think I was an idiot? Did you feel guilty after I confronted you, and ask him for advice? Did you regret playing games with me, did you like me the way I liked you that night?
‘I don’t go by Annalise. You’re the only person here who calls me that.’
‘Well, now Will does, too.’ He grins at me, wide and warm, eyes crinkling at the corners. It makes his glasses slip down his nose a little; I want to push them back into place and trace the shadow of stubble along his jaw, following along the curve of his smile.
Except I don’t, obviously, because this is the same guy who pretended not to know me and claimed that he was ‘doing me a favour’ by sparing my reputation from rumours of hooking up with the boss’s son. And anyway, I’ve got more important things to concentrate on this summer.
I grip my fork tighter, poking at some of the cake. ‘Will isn’t around here much though, is he? Definitely not like you. Nobody’s ever really mentioned him, which, the more I think about it, isweird. Unless he doesn’t want to spend his summer hanging around here? Or –’
‘He doesn’t. I mean, he’s just … you know, it’s not his thing so much.’
‘But it’s yours.’
The pause before Lloyd says, ‘Yeah. It is,’ goes on just a little too long.
It doesn’t seem fair that I gave him such an honest response when he wanted to know about me, but his own answers are still vague half-truths, cryptic and leaving me with even more questions. I suppose I haven’t really invited much openness from him, but that’s not justmyfault. He’s the one who preferred to act like we were strangers instead of just talking to me; he can’t really blame me for being stand-offish.
I want to know what he’s hiding. I want to know all the complex, messy truths he’s glossing over. I want to know which Lloyd is the real one.
But I can tell, tonight is not the night for that. The mood has shifted; Lloyd’s earlier vulnerability has vanished, and the look on his face now is more akin to the shiny, self-important one he usually wears around the office. I see it in the slant of his mouth, the slight upward arch of his eyebrows, the way he stretches his legs out and slings an arm over the back of his chair to take up more space than necessary. Our conversation’s run its course; I can’t help but feel disappointed.
There’s an unspoken mutual agreement to pick upour things and head back to our work. Lloyd scrapes the last crumbs of cake into the bin and takes my now-empty mug from me to wash up.
‘Are you staying much longer?’ he asks.
‘No. I think I’ve run out of steam for the night.’
He nods. ‘I’ve still got a couple of things to get through. I can walk you to the Tube station though, if you want?’
‘Thanks, but you don’t need to. It’s fine. Don’t stay too late, okay?’
When I get back to my desk downstairs, I click my laptop back to life to double-check all my documents are saved before I log off properly, and see a new Teams message.
Lloyd Fletcher
Goodnight, Annalise. Thanks for the chat.
PS. Don’t tell anyone how late I was here – it’ll ruin my devil-may-care reputation.
Anna Sherwood
I’ll add it to the list of secrets I’m keeping about you. Night, Fletcher.
And when I finally close my computer and head out for the night, I’m almost looking forward to maybe running into Lloyd on Monday.
NEW EMAIL DRAFT
Dear Lloyd,
