Page 41 of Is She Really Going Out with Him?
“Except for all the typos,” I say, and his mouth twitches into a smile while he rubs an earlobe.
“Your writing was actually one of the reasons I applied for a job atBath Living.”
“What?” I ask in surprise, and he drops his gaze and starts fiddling with his fork.
“I had the impression it was all property and interiors, then I read this interview you did with Lucy Prebble, the playwright. It was so engaging and well researched. It made me think there was scope for the kind of writing I’d like to do.”
I’m so surprised, I just look at him, dumbfounded.
“You’re not good with compliments, are you, Appleby?” he says. “What do you get up to outside of work? What are you into?”
The hobbies question again. Is it possible to exist in the world without hobbies? Unless I can say, “Hi, I’m Anna, I like crochet and paddleboarding,” am I akin to the default character in a computer game—a soulless avatar?
“You saw my life this morning, that’s basically it,” I say with a tight smile.
“You must do something that’s just for you?” he presses.
I try to think. There must be something. “I did a sculpting course when I was pregnant with Ethan. I wasn’t particularly good at it, but I loved getting lost in the process.”
“Why did you stop?” he asks.
“Money was tight. Dan didn’t think we could afford to spend money on my ‘indulgent hobby.’ ”
“And now?” Will asks.
“Maybe now it’s me who sees it as indulgent.”
“Maybe you are worth a little indulgence.”
The full beam of Will’s attention is intoxicating. We talk and talk, until I look around and realize we are the last ones in the restaurant.
“We should get the bill,” I say, signaling the waiter.
“Don’t go back yet. Come for another drink with me,” he says. “There’s this delightful pub across the road, all low wooden beams and mismatched furniture.”
“I don’t know,” I say, shaking my head. Something about this new friendliness with Will feels more dangerous than being antagonistic toward him ever did.
“Excellent, I’m glad you agree,” he says with a grin, standing up to go.
It doesn’t take much to persuade me. Maybe it’s just the lubrication of half a bottle of wine, or the fact that I’m having such a nice time, but he is the Pied Piper and I am his enchanted little rat.
Once we’re settled in a cozy corner with more red wine, I take his glasses from his face.
“You don’t need these to appear smart. As soon as you open your mouth it’s obvious how intelligent you are.”
“Anna Appleby, was that a compliment?” he asks, leaning toward me.
“You’d better write it down, because you won’t be getting another one.”
He inches closer, our hands touching on the table now. The air feels thick with anticipation. He smells incredible, like Christmas morning and clean sheets.Is he going to kiss me?I tilt my chin toward him. This is a terrible idea, it would changeeverything.
“Are you messing with me?” I ask quietly, our faces still inches apart.
“No. Are you messing with me?” he asks in a whisper. He strokes the side of my hand with his little finger, and it sends a bolt of electricity through me. His eyes scan my face, and I’m sure he can see everything I’m feeling.
“We should probably call it a night,” I say, pulling back my hand.
“Probably wise,” he says, leaning back in his chair, but there’s a definite flicker of disappointment. Why? Was he genuinely feeling the same connection, or is this just one long game of chicken that he doesn’t want to lose?
