Page 69 of The Happy Hour
‘And Wendy, your boss – right?’
Jess nodded dumbly.
‘She’s kept hold of you too, for like... four years. And all these market people you mention, Enzo and Olga and Kirsty, you pretend you barely know them, but all your little stories...’ He waggled his fingers, put the teaspoon back in his mouth, then took it out again, ‘Your nights at the pub with them. So much denial.’
‘This is unhelpful.’ Jess resisted the urge to throw the cushion at him.
‘You think you’re this lone soldier, battling away by yourself, but you’re not. If all these other people like hanging out with you and sharing their problems with you, so you end up sorting out TikToks and prints,giving away your profitsto help them fix whatever bullshit the world has chucked at them, then why not believe that the guy likes you enough to hang around for a while, too?’
‘I... I don’t know,’ she said, her anger dissolving. This was more than she’d heard Terence say in all the time she’d been living with him. ‘Have you been analysing me?’
He laughed, the sound warm and kind, despite his hard truths. ‘I’m a postman, not a psychologist. But we do share a tiny flat, we’ve shared a few meals recently, too, and I’m not entirely unobservant. All I’m saying is, give it a chance; don’t write yourself off before you’ve gone on one hot date.’
‘We’ve had some Sundays,’ she said.
‘That’s not the same as Friday night, though, is it? Weird how the day of the week makes a difference, but it does, right?’
‘It does,’ Jess agreed. ‘And I’m meeting him straight after work, so I can’t even get changed first. I have to get ready tomorrow morning, which feels so hard, somehow.’ She was spilling it all out, wondering, even as she spoke, why Terence was suddenly her confidant.
‘You always look great,’ he said simply. ‘Don’t stress about it.’
‘OK,’ Jess replied. ‘Thanks.’
‘Sure. Come and have some pesto potatoes. I’ve done sausages too, and there’s enough for both of us.’
‘Really?’ Jess swallowed the lump in her throat, the turn of events so unexpected she felt as if she’d got whiplash.
‘I promise I won’t psychologise you any more. There’s one of the earlierMission: Impossiblefilms on in a bit, if you want to watch that?’
Jess nodded, and then, because she couldn’t be too real with him, said, ‘Are you sure there’s enough pesto left to put on the potatoes now you’ve had it as an aperitif?’
‘I’ve got another jar in the fridge,’ he said, and went back down the corridor, his footsteps gentle on the carpet.
Jess buried her head in her fluffy cushion. Were her insecurities really that obvious to everyone? Terence’s reassurance that people liked spending time with her should have made her less nervous about seeing Ash, but now all she could think was that he saw right through her, too. He was an actual psychologist, after all. It made her wonder if he was being genuine with her, or if he’d been the version of himself that he thought she wanted: fun and silly, good at deflecting serious questions. Had he been worrying thatshewouldn’t stick around, because it was obvious that she didn’t form connections easily?
She threw the cushion against her headboard. Ash liked spending time with her, and he liked kissing her, but he still hadn’t told her what he did on Sundays after their time was up. She suddenly felt as if he was a solid, impenetrable form, and she was this opaque, wispy thing, all the hidden parts of her on show. Would an evening together change that? Would he open up more now that they were breaking through their original boundaries?
The whole thing felt more nerve-wracking than it had before Terence had decided to psychoanalyse her. She should be annoyed with him – his speech had come after she’d had to deal with her parents, as well – but she couldn’t be. And there was one thing he’d said that she completely agreed with. The day of the week shouldn’t make a difference, but it did. There would be no lunch hour to squish into, no Felicity, no mysterious appointment for Ash to race off to afterwards. They were going to spend unrestricted time together – a date with no countdown attached – and Jess was both elated and terrified.
Terence was right about another thing, too. Pesto potatoes and Tom Cruise playing Ethan Hunt were what she needed right now. Otherwise, she would spend the next twenty-four hours watching the seconds pass, waiting for a date that felt both full of possibility, and riddled with hazards.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The sun shone all day on Friday, keeping the market, and No Vase Like Home, busier than usual. At four o’clock, the light was more intense than it had been at midday, and Ash was even more beautiful in the golden glow of an afternoon that was tripping towards evening, his skin tanned, threads of amber in his brown hair. He was wearing jeans, and a deep blue shirt in a fabric that looked soft enough to sink into. His hands were empty.
‘I thought we could get a drink after,’ he said, and she was pleased that his eyes swept up and down her body, and that there was a flicker of desire she recognised, because she was feeling it, too. She was wearing a red dress with a puffin print, and the curls she’d put in her hair that morning had mostly stayed in place.
‘After what?’ she asked.
‘After we’ve been where we’re going.’
She grinned. ‘Enlightening.’
‘It’s a surprise.’
‘I can’t wait.’
‘You don’t have to.’ He gestured to the shelf adorned with clocks. ‘You said you could get off at four.’
