Page 17 of Night and Day
Izzy’s lips twitched. Did he have to stare at her like that? His brown gaze pierced her, like he’d drawn up and concentrated the room’s energy on her. Mia shivered.
“That’s ridiculous,” he said gently. “I want you to tell me what you really want, and I’ll order that. It doesn’t have to be kebab.”
“Kebab is great,” Mia insisted, staring out the window. She could only detect dark shadows against the receding light in the sky. It must have been late.
“Look at me!”
The sudden uptick in volume gave Mia a start, and she obeyed, looking up. Izzy softened his expression with a hint of a smile, but his eyes wouldn’t let go of her. “I understand you feel uncomfortable without your things, but there’s no need to act like that. I want to help you. We can go out and buy what you need – clothes, toiletries, breakfast cereal. I know I can’t replace everything you lost, but I can make you feel a little more at home. Will you let me try?”
His smile was so genuine it made her heart ache. “I’ll pay you back for everything, I promise.”
“You don’t have to.”
Mia craned her neck to see his desk. “Can I have a piece of paper and a pen? I appreciate your hospitality, I do, but I’d feel better if I could ... record everything.”
A shadow of disappointment crossed his face, but he picked up a small notebook, ripped out a handful of pages and handed it to her with a ballpoint pen. “There you go. But you’re not allowed to list the cost of the notebook and pen, okay?”
Mia smiled in agreement. “Can I see the menu?” She asked.
Izzy offered her his phone. As she took it, her fingers brushed against his, sending an unexpected shock wave through her body. Mia pulled away and burrowed into the couch. She had to keep her hands off this guy. The chances were he wasn’t at all on the same page. The traumatic events of the day had probably made her senses go haywire.
Mia focused her attention on the menu and selected a chicken and rice dish. Her mouth filled with saliva just reading the list of ingredients. It had been hours since her last meal – a tray of watery scrambled eggs she’d had on the plane.
With the food on the way, Mia picked up her notebook and wrote the cost of her meal. Seeing it on paper like a proper loan relaxed her a little. She would pay back every cent. Could she ask him to drive her to the supermarket to get a toothbrush? What about other toiletries? What about makeup? She needed a shower, but the thought of washing away everything on her skin and going completely makeup-free made her nervous. Her skin was smooth, but the combination of her short, flat-chested frame and a wispy, blond bob posed its challenges. Without some eyeliner and mascara, and a wardrobe featuring a bit of lace, she’d look like an adolescent boy. How much money would she have to borrow to maintain a resemblance of style and femininity? More importantly – was she really this high maintenance?
The soft sound of strings broke her concentration. Izzy had picked up his guitar and begun plucking a strange melody. The unassuming instrument had the warmest, richest sound she’d ever heard. Captured by the tune, she momentarily forgot her calculations.
“That’s beautiful. Is it... yours?”
Izzy smiled, shaking his head. “The guitar, yes. The song, no. It’s Sufjan Stevens.”
“Ah.” Mia nodded. “Do you write music?”
Izzy shook his head. “I only have these half-baked ideas.”
He closed his eyes and sang softly, gradually surrendering to the song his fingers teased from the strings. Mia’s spine tingled. He had a voice like liquid caramel, a euphonious resonance that vibrated through her core. He finished with a single note, leaving it dangling in the air.
“You’re definitely a singer,” Mia whispered, sudden sadness cascading through her. This was why she had to stop dreaming about a creative career. She didn’t have that kind of talent. She was better off staying on the outskirts of creativity, helping others realise their dreams. The world needed organisers, and she was an excellent one. That’s what Mikko always said.
Izzy offered her his guitar. “Do you write songs? Play me something.”
Mia set down her pen and rubbed her throat. It felt tight as a straw. Would the same dark force that had stolen her tears eventually steal her breath?
Izzy’s eyes filled with concern. “Are you okay? Would you rather have your own guitar? I can go get it from upstairs.”
Mia shook her head. She tried to clear her head from the crowding thoughts and before she could stop herself, her hands stretched out for the guitar, more to hide behind it than anything else. She was so used to hugging those smooth, wooden curves against her chest, gently fumbling her way through song ideas. Even here, the nauseating self-doubt squeezing her windpipe and freezing her fingers, holding a guitar grounded her.
“I’ve never played for anyone else. It’s just ... meditation,” she explained breathlessly. “Just like some people play candy crush or take baths or something, you know? I’m not a musician.”
Izzy gave her an encouraging smile. Mia embraced the guitar, which felt much bigger than her own. Her heart thumped so hard she could sense its echo in the wooden chamber. She couldn’t play for him.
“Izzy!” A muffled sound carried from upstairs.
Izzy flashed Mia an apologetic grin. “That’s my flatmate Deke. I... should talk to him. Do you mind? I’ll introduce you a bit later.”
“No, that’s fine.”
Izzy glanced at his phone. “The food will be here soon. I’ll bring it with me and we can eat here.”
