favourite dessert,’ he asks, ‘if you could have anything at all?’
‘Mmm, probably pistachio ice cream.’
‘Oh, nice,’ he says, ‘but this is better.’ He tenderly lifts his spoon towards me.
Our eyes meet, and I take the sickly sweet treacly sponge from his spoon into my mouth. It feels intimate, sensual, and I welcome in the lush sweetness as it melts on my tongue. It’s delicious, but I don’t want any more, yet Alex is insisting and gently pushes another loaded spoonful of stickiness into my closed mouth. I have no choice, I either take it or end up with toffee goo all over my lips, so I open up and in it goes.
We both linger over coffee, and I get the feeling he wants to make things last longer too. But when we finally look around, we’re suddenly aware there’s only us left in the restaurant and the staff look like they want to go home. We get up to leave. I go on ahead, and turn to see him discreetly pick up my used coffee spoon and napkin, and push them into his trouser pocket.
I look at him, smiling quizzically as a bored waiter stands holding the door open for us. ‘Did I just see you steal cutlery?’ I murmur, under my breath.
For the first time all evening he loses his composure slightly and seems a little flustered. For a moment I wonder if I’ve spoiled everything by even mentioning it, he obviously hadn’t realised I’d seen him, but as we step out into the cold night air, he seems to find his smile again.
‘I’m short of teaspoons,’ he says.
‘Isn’t everyone?’ I giggle and don’t mention my used napkin. I don’t want to embarrass him, nor do I want this perfect evening to be tainted by anything weird. So I leave it. For now.
An hour later, as we stand in the inner doorway of my block of flats, Alex says I still have some toffee on my cheek. He touches my face, and with his other hand pulls me towards him gently, but firmly. I melt into him, he smells of pine forests and leather – and a subtle undercurrent of something else, smoky, and dark. I breathe him in as he kisses me deeply, taking me somewhere else, filling my head with wonderful nonsense, and I close my eyes, drifting off into the night. And then, to my absolute surprise, in the middle of all this, he pulls away. I open my eyes, and he’s just looking down at me. It’s dark, and as hard as I try I can’t see his face properly to work out what’s happening. I feel confused, abandoned, he’s now holding me away, his hands on my shoulders.
Then he suddenly kisses me on the top of my head and says, ‘Goodnight, Hannah, it’s been lovely.’
I long for him to say more, to pull me in again, to tease me with more kisses, to take things further, but he doesn’t, he just turns and walks away.
I think I might cry with disappointment and confusion as I watch him go, the street lamps providing a grainy light over the road and houses and a dark figure walking away. It reminds me of his photos on Instagram, bleak, unreadable, rain reflected in pavements. I stand in the cold for a long time after he’s gone. Tonight, I’ve been adored and rejected within a matter of hours, and now my chest is wide open, and my heart exposed – visible for anyone who might be passing to see.
Chapter Two
When I woke this morning, the first thing I thought about was last night. I made a pot of tea, and thought about his eyes; microwaved some porridge and analysed everything he’d said, every facial expression, every nuance. I’ve pushed away the kiss that ended so abruptly, and tried not to dwell on the spoon and napkin he slipped into his pocket. Instead, I’m reliving the best parts of the evening. Driving to work, I almost ran a red light remembering how his hand brushed mine, the way he looked at me, and listened. Really listened.
‘How was last night?’ Sameera calls when I arrive at work, popping her head out from the office kitchen expectantly.
‘Good, good,’ I answer, grateful for the camaraderie and support from my colleagues, but wishing at the same time they didn’t have to know everything. My fault, I overshare – but what I don’t tell them, Jas does, so Sameera and Harry, my other colleague, pretty