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‘Phew!’ He sets the tray down with a victorious smile, puffing upwards to blow some hair out of his face. ‘Okay, so I wasn’t sure what you’d like, and I couldn’t decide what looked best anyway, so I got us some options.’
‘Options?’ I echo. ‘Fletcher, you got us an entire bakery.’
He’s bought five different slices of cakes (I count them). A lemon one, a cheesecake with a raspberry swirl, a three-tiered chocolate one with chocolate buttercream, some carrot cake, and a Victoria sponge. Two forks sit in the middle of the tray, and Lloyd hands one to me with a smile.
‘Dig in.’
‘Remind me to send you some money for this later. Seriously, this must’ve cost a fortune.’
Lloyd shrugs, not quite meeting my eyes all of a sudden – making it clear that whatever it cost, he didn’t think twice about it.
‘Right. The whole “heir to a massively profitable company” thing.’
Frowning, he points out, ‘It’s a few slices of cake, Annalise. If it makes you feel better, you can send me money for the cakes.Andyour drink, so we’re even. Is that why you changed your mind about hanging out? So you could …’ Lloyd trails off, his words leaving him in a rush of sudden anger that colours his cheeks, but it vanishes as quickly as it appeared. He runs a hand up and through his hair.
‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I didn’t …’
It feels awkward, apologizing; I’ve obviously hit anerve though, and while I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true, I don’t like how quickly the night has soured. ThatI’vedone that. Will do that, if I dig my heels in and keep biting at him about this.
I snatch up a fork and carve a big chunk out of the carrot cake. A whiff of walnut teases at my nose, complementing the smell of coffee in the air. ‘Sodidyou buy the entire bakery, or are there some left for when it’s my turn to buy the next round?’
Lloyd eyes me warily, searching for the barb in my words, but finally a faint smile crosses his face. I watch the tension lift from his shoulders and I feel a little lighter, too. He collects his own fork, along with a chunk of the chocolate cake.
‘Bold of you to assume there’ll be a next round,’ he declares, with a little too much gusto. ‘I don’t know about you, but I think I’ll be too full after this lot to managemorecake.’
‘Next time, then.’
His full-wattage smile dims, but in a way that softens it into something more real. Almost tangible. It spreads through my chest, warm and fuzzy, and I realize what I just said.
‘Next time,’ he murmurs.
Conversation lapses into nonexistence as we sample the cakes and sip our drinks; I keep expectingthe silence to get awkward, brace myself for it, but … it doesn’t. We’re cocooned by everybody else’s chatter, the music wrapping around us like a blanket, cradling our little bubble into something calm and comfortable instead of accenting it. Lloyd reclines after a while, lounging more comfortably in his chair. I shift to lean one elbow on the table, my left arm resting against the wall, turning slightly to face the stage better.
My knee jostles against Lloyd’s as I move, and I get that same jolt of electricity as I did outside when our arms touched. I determinedly don’t look at him, forcing away the curious thought of wondering if he felt it too.
We’re halfway through our drinks when we both reach for the lemon cake, forks clashing as we each try to get the generous scoop of icing on the top, the tines snagging together. Laughing, he takes my fork to untangle them – and then snags up the bit with the icing.
I mock-glower at him. ‘And here I thought you were the very model of chivalry, Fletcher.’
He shrugs, teasing, ‘Maybe if this were a date, I’d let you have it. But it’s not. Right?’
‘Right.’ I shift in my seat, wriggling up a little straighter. ‘Obviously.’
He helps himself to some cheesecake next. ‘I waskind of surprised to hear from you, though. Thought you said you had plans?’
I shrug. ‘Guess I felt guilty that if you didn’t have plans, you’d just end up lurking in the office all weekend. I couldn’t leave you to such a sad and miserable fate.’
‘Ah. So this is pity cake.’
‘Exactly.’ But I glance at him, comparing the polished guy across the table to the rumpled, distracted one I found on the twelfth floor last week. Hedidlook especially cute in those glasses, too … ‘What, um … whatwereyou doing last week?’
He twists the handle of his mug around, tracing the curve with a fingertip. It’s hypnotic. ‘Just, you know. Same as you. Working on some stuff. Lost track of time.’
‘Uh-huh. And the real answer?’
Something crosses over his features, distant and deep-down all at once. Like in recalling the answer, he’s found it buried away in some secret part of himself. The slant of his lips turns reluctant, disappointed. It’s a lot, considering the answer is probably ‘looking at diagrams from the labs’.
It disappears just as quickly as I register it. I blink and suddenly discover myself on the receiving end of a playful smirk and sardonic look as he leans over the table towards me.
