Page 87 of The Home Grown
Bettsy
Yeah, the clock is huge. You can’t miss it.
Ellie
I know where the clock is, dumbass :P I’m just trying to work out if you really are standing there with a flower pinned to your chest.
Bettsy
Too much?
Ellie
Maybe.
Train is pullingin now.
And just like that,I’m nervous as hell. My stomach is in a tight knot as I step back from the main concourse, settling myself into the entrance of a coffee shop.
I’ve got a decent view of the exit barriers, so I should see her when she comes. All she needs to do is head to the big clock—that’s all she needs to do.
18:31
There’s an announcement over the loudspeaker broadcasting the arrival of Ellie’s train, and my pulse picks up speed. What if this isn’t a good idea? What if?—
18:32
It’s like I’m a teenager again. Loitering in the corridor of the science block, waiting for her to pass on her way to class—trying my hardest to pretend I’m not stealing a glance. I explicitly remember thinking she was too good for me. And as I watch the barriers, waiting … I’m wondering the same thing. Am I enough? Can I make things up to her? Because I don’t think I’ll get another chance. This is it.
18:33
My heart is beating so fast, it feels like it stops.
I see her.
She’s coming.
I notice her smile first, highlighted by a flash of deep red lipstick. Next, I pick up on her hair; vintage curls pinned to the side in a 40s style look that she pulls off with ease.
Damn, she’s beautiful.
I fight the temptation to run forward and scoop her into my arms as she passes through the barrier—purely because that’s not part of my plan. I need to wait. I need for her to be standing near the clock.
But she doesn’t. She’s looking around and then she roots around in her handbag. Retrieving her phone, she taps the screen before pressing it to her ear.
Shit.
I tug my phone out of my pocket and watch it ring for a moment before answering.
“Have you stood me up?” she asks, her voice cracking in a way that pulls at my heart.
She’s looking around. Turning on the spot, studying the surrounding traffic of people.
“No, no—please, can you just stand by the big clock?”
“But—what’s going on, Mike?” she says.
“Please, Kitch. Can you trust me with this one?” I ask.
