Page 9 of Weekends with You

“Who looks at the menu for a Thai place? Isn’t that like looking at the menu before you order a sandwich? Like, you know what the options are.”

“Spoken like someone who orders the same thing every time,” he said, pushing his chair in and stepping closer to me in the doorway. “Don’t you want to branch out a little? Try something new?”

“Not if I know what I like.”

“How do you know you won’t prefer something else if you never try anything else?” He lowered his voice and eyes just enough for me to notice, and my hands went clammy. Were we still talking about Thai food?

I fumbled for a response and came up empty. It was a really good point.

“All right, then,” I said, squaring up to him, feeling bold for a moment. “Order for me.”

“What?”

“If you’re so sure I need to try something new, order for me.” Thankfully, my voice sounded more confident than I felt.

“Aye, someone who takes a risk around here. I like it. Anything I need to know?”

“I’m a vegetarian.”

“No meat, got it.”

“Please don’t make me regret this.”

He laughed, a hoarse, warm laugh. “Quite the opposite. I’m about to change your life.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to be playful, but the fluttering in my stomach could have started a tsunami.

“Jan,” he called down the hallway, over my head. “Get your arse into the kitchen so we can put in our takeaway orders.”

“Khao pad,” Jan shouted back from his room.

“Told you no one else looks at the menu,” I said.

“Maybe I’m not like everyone else.”

That’s for sure.His smile was blinding, and the heat from his body as it slipped past mine and out of the doorway matched the heat of my face.

As Raja called in our orders, I covered my ears, per Henry’s instructions, so my order would be a surprise. While we waited, Finn rallied the gang and we made our way to the living room for the night.

The tapestries draped over the walls and hung from the ceiling blocked out any light and made the living room the perfect place to watch films. That, and the projector, which, I’d been informed, Cal had nicked from a band who’d left it at his bar last year. There were two sagging couches and a smattering of cushions spread on the floor around the coffee table, and we all settled into our usual places. Mine, which had previously been Alice’s, was a cushion on the floor beneath Liv’s seat on the couch.

We passed around beers and blankets, listening to Finn’s introduction of the impending low-budget horror movie until we heard the promising buzz of the Deliveroo driver at the door.

“On it,” said Henry, the only one still standing.

When he came back with the food, we cheered like he’d just returned from the war. Everyone took turns raising their hands as he called their orders, and I sat anxiously awaiting the reveal. It was only takeaway, but it was something between us. For the second time that weekend, I felt like we were sharing a secret.

Then he flopped into his spot, which was just inches from mine. “I already like you better than Alice in this spot,” he said. “I can tell you’re not going to criticize every film at top volume while it’s still playing.”

“Aye, man, don’t speak ill of the dead.” Jan nudged him from where he sat on Henry’s other side. “Even if youaretrying to chat up the new kid.”

“She isn’t dead, idiot. Just living with that bloke,” Henry said.

“Which pretty much equals death, if you ask me.”

“No one asked you.”

I held my breath, waiting for Henry to address the other half of Jan’s comment, but the moment never came. Was the thought of chatting me up so ridiculous that he didn’t even need to dispute it, or was he ignoring it because it was true?

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