Page 79 of On Circus Lane

“What sort of things do you like to photograph?” He frowns. “Maybe I should have checked that before I brought you here.”

I smile at him. “Anywhere you pick will be great. You haven’t steered me wrong so far.”

Ivy is looking very determinedly at the street, but I can still see the curve of the smile on her face.

“You can see my account if you like,” I find myself saying.

Ivy’s eyes widen, but Tom’s looking at me with a smile that makes his eyes crinkle. “I’d like that.”

I fumble for my phone, and he steers us out of the way of other pedestrians. I pull up my Instagram account and hand the phone to him.

He takes it and scrolls down, his full mouth pursed in thought. Ivy and I hang over him, watching the changes in his expression.

I feel tense, which is hardly surprising, as Inevershow anyone this. My account is not connected publicly to me, and it’s where I share my expressive side. The photos aren’t concerned with the complexity of my thesis but rather with simple beauty.

“Wow,” he says. I relax when I see admiration in his eyes. It makes me feel a bit hot. “These are gorgeous.” He points to one. “What is this?”

I lean close, aware of his breath's sweet, minty scent. “Oh, that’s an iron bench in the park near my flat.” I point to the carved centaurs and unicorns. “I liked the creatures in it. They’re so beautiful but hidden unless you take the time to look close.”

Our gazes catch and hold. “Some people are like that.”

Ivy makes a soft sound like someone has knocked the air out of her, and I direct a quick glance to check if she’s okay. Tomcontinues to scan photos, his long finger scrolling slowly as his eyes take in everything.

“I like how you focus on objects so you can see the details.” He points to the broken window of an old carriage that we’d seen in a reclamation yard. “This is my favourite.”

“Ooh, mine too,” Ivy says, grabbing his arm in her enthusiasm. “I love the way you can see the interior and the monogrammed seats. It’s spooky.”

I smile at the two of them. “Thank you,” I say quietly. I hesitate and then hold out my hand.

He grins at me and sets the phone in my palm. “Thank you for showing me you.”

“Pardon?”

“Thank you for showing me your photos.”

I narrow my eyes, but his face is innocent. Ivy chuckles.

“Shall we get moving?” I say. “It’s freezing.”

He immediately obliges, and we wander down the street. There aren’t many people about, and the people we do see are scurrying home with shopping bags. It’s so charming with the beautiful old buildings broken up by trees that droop over the street, promising an array of greenery when spring arrives. Now, they just wave their bare branches at the sky like brazen tree strippers.

I wonder what it would be like to live here, but when my thoughts steer towards imagining me and Tom with a little flat, I immediately look around for a diversion.

I find it in the little parks on either side of the road, an oasis of green hidden behind sharp black iron railings. I peer through the railings of one and see children’s bikes and play equipment.

“These are parks for residents,” Tom says. “They have keys. I like that.”

“Me too.” I hesitate. “This has that air we talked about with the wynds,” I finally say, and he nods, instantly getting it.

“Lots of little lives.”

The road near the bottom of the hill is dotted with expensive-looking shops. We pass an optician whose windows are tastefully filled with expensive glasses. I adjust my own glasses on my nose for the fortieth time today. They keep steaming up in the cold. “I don’t think I could afford anything in there.”

Ivy makes a sound of pleasure when we come to a candle shop that has rather incongruously set a cast iron bath in the window and filled it with candles in all shapes and sizes. She grins at me. “I won’t be a minute.”

“You lie,” I say gloomily. “And we both know it.”

She blows me a kiss and opens the door, making the bell jangle and a wave of warm, scented air gust out.

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