laugh to diminish the value of the compliment.
‘Thank you. It scared me, but I’m glad I did it.’ I pause just as he did a second ago, and then add, ‘Now.’
‘Because of me, right?’ he laughs, holding eye contact.
‘Because of the olives,’ I say, and he lays his hand over his heart as if I’ve wounded him.
He looks at me over the rim of his glass. ‘Why did it scare you?’
I knew we were going to have to talk about my life at some point this evening and I’ve deliberated over how much of the truth to reveal. Not because I want to lie; I just don’t want Kris to look at me any differently to the way he does now. He’s the first person in my life to treat me normally since the accident, without sympathy or side-eyes to check I’m okay. It’s a relief.
‘I haven’t dated for a long time.’
Kris peels a slice of serrano away with the tips of his fork. ‘No?’
It’s a ‘tell me more’ kind of no, and I pick over the various phrases in my head to find one that fits.
‘I was with someone,’ I say, and then correct myself. ‘I was with Freddie. We were together for a long time, and he, umm, he died.’
There. I’ve said it. Kris places his fork down and looks at me, unflinching. Please, I think. Please don’t say you’re sorry for my loss.
‘Jesus, Lydia, no wonder you were scared,’ he says. ‘You must have been to hell and back.’
It’s an apt description. Some days I’ve stood too close to the flames, my face burning, but now I feel as if I’m slowly backing away from the heat.
‘Something like that,’ I say. ‘You’re the first. You know, the first man, since …’
He doesn’t let me falter for long. ‘Want to talk about it, or not talk about it?’
‘Do you mind if we don’t?’ I say, grateful for the choice and that he hasn’t pushed for details. Sitting here this evening with Kris has felt ever so slightly magical; lighter and brighter than my usual nights. I’m not ready to let go of those feelings yet.
‘In that case, would you like an ill-advised cocktail from this lurid list?’ He hands me a laminated neon-turquoise card from the menu stand.
And just like that, he steers us away from the past and back to now.
‘I can’t believe it’s ten o’clock,’ I say, hooking my jacket over my bag because it’s still warm when we step out of the cafe. ‘I was only staying for an hour.’
‘Me too,’ he says. ‘I’d got my eldest sister primed to fake an emergency if I texted her a code word.’
‘You hadn’t,’ I laugh.
‘I absolutely had, you might have been a hideous person,’ he says, falling into step beside me. We’re heading towards the taxi rank just along the high street and the pavements are quieter now. It’s one of those balmy English summer evenings, all the more pleasurable because they’re never a given. ‘She was going to mysteriously break her arm if I texted the word purple.’
‘Purple?’ I find it funnier than it is, probably because of the wine in my bloodstream. ‘As in rain and Cadbury’s chocolate?’
He nods, stepping around me so he’s closest to the road. ‘What can I say? I’m a Prince fan.’
‘I’m going to think of you in a purple velvet suit from now on,’ I say, slowing my step as we approach the taxi rank, a couple of cars idling ready for passengers.
He smiles down at me as we come to a standstill, and he reaches out and smooths his hand lightly over my hair.
‘I like that you’re going to think of me at all,’ he says, and his eyes tell me he doesn’t expect anything more than that from me right now.
‘Thank you,’ I say, terrified because I think I do want more. ‘I had a really good time tonight.’
‘Thank you for letting me be the first,’ he says, and I catch hold of his hand in mine.
‘I’m glad it was you,’ I say, breathless, and he reads my cues and lowers his head slowly to mine.
‘You’re trembling,’ he says.
‘Kiss me,’ I say, and he does, and I close my eyes and feel a million forgotten things. It’s strange and beautiful and sexy and melancholy, his hand against the small of my back, his mouth gentle and almost too brief. Something shifts inside me. It’s like unstoppering a new bottle of scent: floral undertones of romance and late-night amber.