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He shrugs. ‘You like it though, so it was obviously a good choice.’
‘A great one,’ I agree, tugging the plate nearer to me so I don’t drop crumbs everywhere. ‘I, uh … I meant to tell you thanks, by the way.’
His nose scrunches, adorably confused. ‘For the cake?’
‘No. Well, yeah, obviously, but I meant for coming to my presentation on Monday.’
‘Oh! You already messaged me after to say thanks. It’s okay.’
‘Still, I haven’t properly said thanks. I … really appreciated it. A lot.’ I hesitate, my gaze laser-focused on some of the crumbs on my plate. Lloyd waits, obviously sensing I’ve got more to say – and finally, I continue, ‘I didn’t expect to see you there.’
‘I knew you were nervous about it,’ he tells me.
Like it’s that simple. That easy.
Maybe it was.
‘Thanks,’ I murmur, voice thick, eyes prickling. I blink a few times, suck down a deep and steadying breath.
At the edge of my vision, I notice his hand begin to stretch across the table. Towards mine. His fingers stretch out, open, an invitation – and curl one by one into an awkward fist. He draws it back to his side, fidgeting with his napkin instead, unaware I even noticed. Even though he never touched me, the skin across the back of my hand suddenly feels cold.
Composing myself, I look up with a small, plain smile, like nothing’s amiss. Lloyd returns it, and I pretend not to notice the disappointment and relief mingling in equal measures in his expression.
Somehow, neither of us notices the cafe clearing out around us.
It’s only when an employee in a dark grey polo shirt emblazoned with a cursive ‘Keye & Shore’ approaches us to clear our collection of empty plates and cups that I take stock of the room around us, finding other employees going around clearing tables ready to close up. The band never came back on, and it’s only now I think about it that I realize people have been filtering out steadily for the last hour or so.
Grudgingly, I push my chair away from the table, gathering up my bag and then standing to pull my jacket on. Lloyd seems even more sluggish than I am – weird, since he had another latte after midnight. I’d almost expect him to be wired to the point of breaking, after that.
He checks his watch, his smile small and lopsided and short-lived. ‘Well, we didn’t do too bad, Annalise. We made it to two-thirty a.m. Real party animals, check us out.’
Two thirty?
I fish my phone out of my bag to confirm it, but even seeing the time for myself leaves my mind boggled. There’s no way I’ve spent oversix hourswith Lloyd, just the two of us, and not because we were, like, trapped in a lift at the office during a blackout or something, forced to be in each other’s company with no escape.
(Oh, God, please don’t let that ever actually happen.)
There’s no way I’msadthat the night’s finally over, that I have to go home now.
That first night I met him, it was the most fun I’d had in a while. I’d enjoyed letting my hair down a little, making new friends and even having a few drinks. Leaving with Lloyd had been spontaneous, feeding off and into my upbeat mood at the time, the late-night magic of a new city lifting me higher, dizzier.
This hasn’t been fun in the same way that was. This has been slow, temperate.
We stretch out our departure, and I’m glad Lloyd’s not in a rush. If I could, I’d make tonight last indefinitely. I want to live inside this pleasant little bubble we’ve created over the last six hours.
It feels impossible to consider that this will end; that outside of this, there’s a reality where Lloyd is a pest who monopolizes my time and distracts me from my work, where his smile is something too bright and grating, his attitude cocksure and flippant.
A pang slices through my chest, agonizing in how gradually it spreads through me, how deeply it lingers. Why can’t he be more like this all the time? Why can’t webothbe? Why do I only get to see this more vulnerable, less curated version of Lloyd when the stars are sprinkled across the sky and we’re alone?
It’d be different if he was horrible all the time. If he just didn’t like people, or if he was so focused on his job (whatever it is) that he made no time for anybody else. That, I could understand.
But he’s not. The rest of the time he’s just …more. Exaggerated, emphasized. A little further away.
Outside, the air is cool and crisp. It fills my lungs in a crystalline rush, clearing away the heady scent of coffees and pastries. In spite of the deep, violent purple sky and the heavy grey clouds rolling across it, threatening a summer storm, it feels brighter out here than it did indoors – disorienting, like leaving a dark cinema to discover it’s still the middle of the day.
‘I guess I’d better head home,’ I say. Announcing it, like it’ll make some kind of definitive end to the night. Stalling, in case Lloyd has any more ideas of places to go in this not-so-sleepy night-time copy of the city.
‘I’ll walk you home.’
