Page 39 of Our Radiant Embers

“Yes,” she mimicked my evasive tone. “That.”

“Well.” I hesitated before I dug out my phone to see whether he’d responded. He had—countering my insinuation about his maturity with a question.

‘Do you even grow body hair yet?’

“Oooh.” Cassandra drew out the word like she was a gossipy character in an American high school movie. “Love the snark. Got to hand it to him—he’s not in awe of you.”

“He had a crush on me in school,” I said, all dignity, and she laughed. Only the faintest trace of her earlier frustration lingered, so subtle I’d have missed it if not for knowing her this well.

“That’s cute,” she told me. “Did he send you anonymous love letters on Valentine’s Day?”

“I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body.” Not that we’d discussed his relationship experience, but something about the way he talked about university, about how he’d carried himself when walking into that pub a year ago…Yeah, no. I simply couldn’t picture him gazing at another guy with a sappy smile and stars in his eyes.

“If you say so.”

“I do.” I tapped out a response and showed it to her. She gave me a thumbs up, so I sent it before I could change my mind.

‘Was that an invitation to send you a dick pic?”

We both stared at my screen as three little dots signalled that Liam was typing. ‘Been there, seen that.’

Cassandra snorted in a most unladylike manner. “Ask him if he wants another taste.”

“Jesus, no.” I lowered my phone and shook my head. “I’m not going to do that.”

“Why?”

“Because he might shoot me down.”

“Aww. It’s like watching a little duckling take its first tottering steps on dry land.” She graced me with her most indulgent smile. “Flirting means giving the other person a chance to shoot you down yet trusting them not to.”

Okay, fine. Only the risk weighed far lighter with a stranger, when it essentially didn’t matter.

“Well,” I said instead. “Thing is, I specifically don’t trust him not to shoot me down.”

“He hasn’t done it yet.”

Hadn’t he?

He sure hadn’t rejected me a year ago, when I’d gracelessly thrown myself at him. And he hadn’t rejected me in my office either, when heated words had escalated into a different kind of heat. Business partners, that’s what he’d called us as he’d offered to buy me a drink, right after our presentation to the government—but we weren’t, were we?

Before I could make up my mind, Liam sent another message. ‘Okay, but what do we do with that newsletter? It’s bad, isn’t it?’

It wasn’t ideal. Cassandra’s dad had called me at a quarter past eight this morning to tell me just that, and to discuss next steps. Was that why he’d laid into her afterwards?

‘Let’s meet at my flat,’ I replied. ‘Easier in person.’

Liam sent a thumbs-up, followed by, ‘What time?’

‘In an hour?’

Another thumbs-up was the extent of his response, and I tried not to read too much into it. Maybe he wasn’t much of a writer.

I tucked the phone away and picked up my salad again, nudging Cassandra to do the same. She did so with notable disinterest, but at my pointed look, she shoved a forkful into her mouth and chewed with exaggerated emphasis.

“That’s my girl,” I told her, and she flipped me off, affection in her eyes.

“I’m fine, you know?”

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