darted to the other side of the bar, and both of them knew he wished he’d never come over. Then he looked back at her, drew a sheepish grin, and continued. “Sorry. I’m being pretty clumsy, aren’t I?”
One blonde eyebrow drifted up on the woman’s face … and then without really thinking about it she said, “A little.”
The man took this as cue to take the seat one down from her, leaving that same safe distance between them. He eyed the drinks menu momentarily as it greeted him in its chipper tone, then swivelled sideways and looked awkwardly at her.
With a sidelong glance, Samantha took him in. A choppy mop of black hair topped his head, his face was lean and boyish and set with dull blue eyes, and there was a very fine covering of stubble on his cheeks. He wore a jacket – much drier than Samantha’s – and a pair of partially frayed jeans which had faded across the front. Probably close to her age, Samantha thought; maybe a little older.
“I haven’t seen you here before, have I?” the man asked.
Samantha sipped. “I sincerely doubt it.”
All he did was nod at that, and then turned to his display. Samantha took the opportunity to twist away from him, just incrementally – just enough to perhaps give the hint that she wanted to be alone.
The song changed, fading from the low beat to something frenetic and poppy. Samantha definitely didn’t recognise this.
“Good choice!” came a muted electronic voice, followed by, “Please swipe your card.”
The man did, and in short order a pint glass presented itself and was filled with a brownish liquid. Cider maybe; it had an amber sort of colour and less a head than a film of froth.
But Samantha’s deterrent wasn’t enough; the man said, “Looks like you got pretty wet. Weather out there’s nasty, huh?”
“Don’t I know it.”
Another pause – and was it inexplicably less awkward than before? – and then the man turned in his chair and stuck out a hand.
“My name’s Rupert.”
For a moment Samantha eyed it tentatively – and then she swivelled halfway and extended a hand of her own. “Samantha.”
A bright smile passed over Rupert’s face. “It’s good to meet you, Samantha.”
3
The wall behind Thoroughfare’s bar was lined with bottles – all of them empty, just for show. After taking one, two long draughts of his drink, it was these that Rupert studied.
“So,” he said, “forgive me for asking, but what were you doing out in the storm? Streets are usually pretty clear this time of evening when the sun’s out, let alone pouring it down.”
“I got out of work late,” Samantha answered. Like Rupert, she didn’t look around; instead she lifted her glass, leant in and drank from it. The ice was working fast. Not ideal. The rain hadn’t been cold, but as it seeped further into her clothes she was starting to feel the first hints of a chill. No, Samantha didn’t need a cocktail topped off with ice. What she needed was something like hot chocolate – teaspoons extra heaped.
“What do you do?” Rupert asked.
“Graphic design.”
Rupert made an impressed kind of noise. Samantha had heard it before. Apparently in some circles confessing you worked in the entirely unglamorous world of graphic design was on par with announcing you were a brain surgeon. “Not bad!” Rupert looked across to face her. “What kinds of things do you work on? Like logos, or products …?”
“My team is product design,” she responded, and then after a momentary pause she tacked on, “We’re behind on an upcoming deadline and I got stuck there for a few hours and missed my bus. And all the ones that came after it.”
“Riding out the storm in here, then.”
“Pretty much.”
Silence descended upon the two again save for the music playing in the background, which drew to a very low, very quiet crescendo and then petered out. Nothing came in its wake.
Rupert pushed out of the chair and returned to the jukebox, taking his half-finished glass with him. Great, Samantha thought to herself. Maybe he’s done talking to me now.
He wasn’t.
“Any requests?”
Samantha’s eyebrows twitched. She cocked her head across her shoulder. “What?”
Rupert nodded his head toward the jukebox. “Any requests?”
“I, uh …” Ah, music; another of those things Samantha was out of touch with – and now she’d have to admit it. Which was always wonderfully embarrassing. Especially when it was a stranger you were stuck alone with. “Um, I don’t really listen to much music, I’m afraid.”