Page 58 of The Second Chance Bus Stop
This may not be a date. But if it were, it would be the best date of my life.
‘What are you thinking about?’ Her sweet voice cuts through the heavy silence. I don’t know if I can be honest now. Or maybe just not yet.
‘Just questioning every choice I’ve ever made.’
‘Same.’
I glance at her.
‘Really?’
‘Currently questioning why I put this strapless dress on when the straps feel like iron wires on my skin.’
‘Why did you put it on?’
‘I wanted to look nice.’
From her forehead to her chest, Sophia’s skin goes pink. It always makes me think of strawberry milk it she does this. She looks down at the dress. It’s dark green, tight around the waist then flares out into a skater skirt ending just above her knees.I literally was speechless when she came from the back cabin to the cockpit, climbing over the basket of dirty laundry with a few swift moves.
‘It looks amazing on you,’ I admit. I clear my throat.
Get your shit together, Blade. You still have questions for her.
‘Shall we go?’ I wish I could stay here forever, watching her, but close to ten is apparently when the waitstaff start to hover around your table and the till machine in a small town like this.
‘You ask for the bill, and I’ll go ahead and calculate the split.’ She is already bringing up the phone calculator.
‘Sophia, I’m paying for this.’
‘No, no. Disposable-income split is fair, Lina and I do it all the time—although we make similar amounts, so it’s easy maths—and it’s only acceptable to let slip when signalling romantic interest, when you ask someone out with the intention of romance, meaning in a date situation—’ She stops and stares at me. I can literally see the realisation forming in her brain:Oh.
Sophia
Jönköping
There must be something with the lighting, because Blade looksvery attractivefrom where I’m standing, which is at the top of the stairs about to follow him outside. His arms are definitely bigger and more defined, and he’s clean-shaven and wearing, dare I say it, a very flattering navy blue cardigan over a polo shirt. I don’t even mind the silly beanie that rests on top of his head. I’m too busy being mesmerised by the shadows the streetlights cast on his face. His hair is tinted almost blue in the dark.
‘What?’ he asks as I stumble out of the establishment and onto the pavement as if it’s a late night bar and not an all-day-breakfast joint.
‘What what?’
‘You’re staring.’
‘Oh. Right.’ I should avert my gaze, but I like looking at him. Iverymuch like looking at him.
He walks back towards me, and we stop right underneath a streetlight.
‘Just... look at us. How far we’ve come. I mean both literally and figuratively. I’m not counting down the days we have left of this torturous trip any longer because well, it’s stopped being torturous somewhere along the road. And tonight? Itfinally feels like we’re friends, like we almostlikeeach other,’ I say.
His hand brushes against mine, and I can’t talk when that happens. I have to stop and breathe. And think.
‘Sophia, Idolike you. Very much.’
Oh?Oh.
I continue to stare at Blade—and realise just how much I like him. This once annoying, frustrating, lost man who crashed a funeral has turned into so much more this past week. I can see him as the thoughtful, caring, kind person, his mum must know him to be. And his best friend. And now me.
I take a step forward, closing the gap between us. My skin is hot and sticky, and I know his must be too, but I don’t back up.
