of revolving doors appeared on the projector screen. They reminded me of the lawyer’s office. A message in meme-style writing spread across the bottom.
It read: Revolving doors don’t slam!
I grinned.
“This has nothing to do with my presentation,” Michael said.
“Then why’s it there?”
“You’re not meant to ask questions until the end,” he pointed out.
“OK.”
“But because I like you, I’ll answer.”
“That seems fair.”
“It’s for you.”
“Me?”
“I considered putting up a picture of chocolate fish, but I don’t like chocolate.”
“You don’t?” I asked.
“No. Makes me sick.”
“Oh,” I said. “Then I’m afraid we can’t be friends.”
“Really?” he asked.
“Really. Unless…”
“Unless?”
“Unless you like gummy bears. Then I might forgive you.”
“Gummy bears are OK,” he said, “but I’m more a liquorice allsorts kinda guy. I especially like the green ones.”
I screwed up my nose, and he laughed.
“We could split a packet,” he said.
“That could work,” I agreed.
“You eat the yellow ones, and I’ll eat the green.”
“I also like the pink ones.”
“I could part with those, but I am partial to the orange ones,” he said.
“Hmm,” I murmured. “I could spare an orange or two.”
“Then it’s set.”
“Just one thing.”
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Would I have to wait until I’m with you to share my packet of liquorice allsorts?”
“You could save them. Pick out the orange and green ones for me and just eat the yellow and pink ones yourself.”
I tapped a finger against the side of my cheek. “I’m not sure that works for me,” I said.
“Why not? Are you a liquorice allsorts hoarder?”
And I thought briefly of Weet-Bix boxes.
“No,” I said. “That’s not the problem.”
“Then what is?” he asked, leaning against the wall and trying not to laugh.
“Well,” I said. “I much prefer the idea that we’re together when we split a packet of liquorice allsorts.”
“I’m up for that,” Michael said. “So, how often shall we do this?”
I stared up at him, and he stared down at me.
“We could make a schedule,” I suggested.
“Like, mark it on a calendar? Every Tuesday, we get together and share the allsorts. Wednesday we meet over the water cooler. Friday we spring for a coffee at Starbucks.”
“Starbucks?”
“You don’t like Starbucks?”
“I love Starbucks.”
“So, what do you think?”
“About the calendar?”
“About having a coffee with me.”
We looked at each other.
“I’ve got a better idea,” I said.
“Go on,” he said softly.
I sucked in a breath while counting to three.
“How about we have dinner together?” I said.
“Tonight?” he asked, hopefully.
I nodded.
“It’s a date,” he said.
I smiled.
And he winked at me.
Part IV
49
This Was Why I Was Here
The restaurant was busy. Michael hadn’t been kidding when he said it was popular with the locals. The waitress greeted him by name, making me feel like I was in some sort of romance movie. Any second now, the girl would look down her nose at me and sniff.
But she didn’t. She simply said for us to take a seat in the bar, and the first table free would be for “you and your lady.”
Michael held my hand as he led me to a couch in the centre of the bar area. Glasses clinked; voices rose in a comfortable hum; the smell of Italian cooking wafted out of the swing doors to the kitchen. Through an arched doorway, I could see the diners already seated and eating at red and white checked tables; the clatter of their cutlery sounded out on the air.
I dragged my eyes away from the scene before me, feeling nervous and awkward and not exactly sure of what was expected of me.
My gaze met Michael’s. He sat there, watching me, patiently waiting for me to get my bearings. He hadn’t let go of my hand yet.
Blue so mesmerising held my gaze; I found myself falling deeper into him. As if his eyes were pools of water and I was desperate for a swim. I wasn’t sure what to do with that reaction. But for the life of me, I couldn’t seem to look away.
The restaurant spun lazily around us; people talked in low voices; laughter rang out on the air; the waitress walked past at least a dozen times. And Michael and I sat there staring at each other as if no one else existed in the world.
“Your hands are soft,” he said.
“Yours are big,” I offered.
“You know what they say,” he quipped.
I smiled and received a blindingly bright grin in return. I stared at him, and he stared at me and the world around us was forgotten.
His thumb stroked over the back of my hand; his free arm rested along the back of the couch behind me. He