Writer's Note: Thank you for your comments! I know there aren't many people reading this story, but it's nice to hear that those of you who are like it so far. :)
E – I hope this makes up for the panda.
Chapter Nine
Elizabeth leant in towards the full-length mirror that hung from the inside of the closet door, her eyes forced wide as she applied a couple of light flicks of dark brown mascara to counterbalance the sweeps of eyeliner that accented her lower lids. Someone in one of the neighbouring apartments was blasting out music—Blondie's Heart of Glass, possibly—and the gentle thud of the beat pulsed through the walls and pushed back her thoughts, like her mind were a boat bobbing at sea and the sound were the offshore wind buffeting it, stopping it from reaching land.
When both sets of lashes were coated—spiky, but not clumped—she shoved the wand back into the tube, the bristles sticking slightly the further they slid in, and then tossed the mascara onto the bed. It landed with a soft flumph on the duvet and then rolled down into the shallow crater that now contained the rest of her cosmetics. She rummaged through the items, the various pencils and brushes and plastic tubes knocking against each other, the eyeliner shavings that had fluttered out of the upturned case giving off an earthy scent, and then plucked out a pale pink, almost nude, lipstick.
She pulled off the cap with a pop and twisted the stick up as she returned to the mirror. But then, with the end poised in front of her lower lip, she stopped.
Too much?
She was going for the natural look—partly because she didn't have much practice when it came to applying makeup and she didn't want to end up looking like a little girl who'd raided her mother's supplies; mainly because she didn't want it to look like she was trying too hard. It was just a casual birthday get-together after all, and she was only going to be polite.
Though, her Ink seemed to think otherwise.
From the moment she'd stepped into the apartment that afternoon, having returned from campus immediately after her final class of the day, the Ink kitten had been running around like a mad thing, tearing across every inch of her skin. She'd already changed into a pair of jeans and a black turtleneck so form-hugging it gave her curves she didn't really have, so she could no longer see the Ink kitten running around, but it felt like someone were passing an electric current through her skin, what with the prickle of paw-steps zipping this way and that.
"Would you just calm down?" Elizabeth muttered as the Ink kitten bolted across her forehead. "If anyone saw you, they'd think you'd been hitting the catnip."
She applied a light dab of lipstick to her lower lip, and then pressed her lips together.
The Ink kitten sprinted down her arm, paused on the back of her hand for a few quick pants of breath, and then dashed away again.
Elizabeth blotted the lipstick with a square of toilet tissue folded in half, and then crumpled up the tissue and tossed it in the small trashcan in the bathroom before returning to the mirror. She stood a couple of paces away from the glass and let her gaze drift from the messy bun on top of her head to the points of the high heels that sharpened her toes, and then back again.
She met her own eye in the reflection.
The verdict?
Yeah…definitely too much.
Her chest deflated.
She didn't know why she was making an effort at all. It wasn't like she was trying to impress Henry, and she definitely didn't want to give him the wrong idea.
Dating him was out of the question. Falling in love with him was out of the question. Letting herself get close to him just so that he could disappear and break her heart was out of the question.
And yet…
She liked spending time with him. She wanted to spend time with him. She told herself it was okay to spend time with him—just for the semester, just until she had her A, and then she'd go back to being alone again.
The Ink kitten scampered out from beneath the roll of her turtleneck and galloped over her jaw, up her cheek and temple, across her forehead, and down the opposite side.
She felt a little sorry for it. What would it do once the semester was over and they never saw Henry and the Ink puppy again?
But she could worry about that another time. Tonight, she would enjoy the party.
She reached up to her bun, gripped the elasticated band that wrapped around the base and tugged it free. Her hair tumbled down past her shoulders, the ends falling in loose waves from where they had been wound and held in place. She combed the fingers of one hand through her hair and shook out the strands. Then she studied herself in the mirror again.
Good enough.
A glance over her shoulder towards the digital alarm clock on the bedside table showed the red display ticking over to 18:36. She shoved the pile of cosmetics back into the see-through plastic case, and then grabbed her wallet from on top of the dresser and stuffed it into a black leather shoulder bag. All she needed was to find her apartment key and she'd be ready to—
There came the scrape of a key slotting into the lock of the front door, a rattle as it turned, and then a clatter as the door swung open.
Elizabeth froze. Her heart pounded so hard against the wall of her chest that even her Ink stopped running across her forehead, stared towards the bedroom doorway, its chest billowing with the rise and fall of each breath, and then scuttled away beneath her turtleneck.
A second later, a voice called through, "Elizabeth?"
Shit.
Aunt Joan.
Elizabeth ditched her bag on the duvet, and then clutching the edge of the dresser, she bent up one leg, yanked off her high heel, tossed it to the floor, swapped sides, yanked off the other high heel, dropped that one to the floor too, and then kicked both shoes under the bed.
"Elizabeth?" Aunt Joan said again, her tone almost shrill with impatience.
"Just a sec," Elizabeth called back.
She darted over to the mirror, wiping away her lipstick on the back of her hand as she went, and then gave herself a quick once over.
People totally dressed up and wore makeup when studying on their own, right…?
Well, tonight, they'd have to.
At least her Ink was hidden. If Aunt Joan found out she'd met her soulmate…
She'd rather not find out the end to that thought.
"Elizab—"
"Aunt Joan." Elizabeth stepped out into the living area. She clasped her hands behind her back, her fingers tangled together to stop them from fidgeting, and she forced a smile so wide that it made her cheeks hurt. "What an unexpected surprise."
Aunt Joan dipped her chin and stared at Elizabeth like she were staring at her over the rims of her glasses, though she wore none. She paused for a moment, just long enough for that look and the message that she was less than impressed to sink in, before she spoke. "I called to let you know I was coming, but your answering machine doesn't appear to be working."
Crap. The answering machine.
Elizabeth's smile faltered, but she fought to keep it level.
She'd forgotten to plug it back in after that thing with Henry.
Before she could come up with some kind of explanation for the answering machine or pass it off with an off-hand comment about technology, Aunt Joan broke their gaze and looked Elizabeth up and down—slowly—like one might eye a slab of meat that had started to grey.
She gave a terse sigh. "I suppose that will do."
Then she turned and stepped towards the door. "Come along now."
Elizabeth stared after her. Her pulse surged to an erratic thrum. "What? Wait. Where are we going?"
"I'm taking you out to dinner."
"But—"
"But what?" Aunt Joan's tone sharpened. She twisted to face Elizabeth, her eyebrows raised. "Did you have other plans?"
Elizabeth chewed the corner of her bottom lip. She thought about Henry and the party and the Ink puppy waiting for them.
Her chest ached a little, but she shook her head. "No. Just studying."
"Well, I won't keep you long. I brought your allowance, too."
oOoOo
The lights in the bar were dimmed, except for the naked bulbs that hung from long black wires above the wooden counter, and the air that drifted over the leatherette booths crammed at the edges of the room was filled with a murky golden glow.
Henry sat on the end seat of one of those booths, a lukewarm bottle of beer clutched in one hand, its base rested to his knee, while a few of the guys from ROTC—Jeff, Andrew, Kevin—and a few fellow grad students—Michael, Julie, Susan—occupied the seats that curved the around the table.
The others were laughing with one another, almost yelling to be heard over Robert Palmer's Addicted to Love that blared through the speakers in the background. Henry smiled and nodded along, though he wasn't sure why they were laughing or what they were saying. He felt detached, like he was with them, but not really part of them—a ghost who wasn't aware he was a ghost.
He flicked his wrist and glanced at his watch again. The Ink puppy, which had calmed down from its earlier frenetic excitement and had lain along the edge of the leather strap, lifted its head and looked towards the watch face too.
7:34 p.m. Or in other words: about time he accepted that Elizabeth wasn't going to show.
oOoOo
Elizabeth prodded at the grilled salmon and her gaze drifted towards the clock on the far wall again.
Aunt Joan studied her as she chewed. Then she lifted the napkin from her lap and dabbed it against her lips. "Don't play with your food," she said as she laid the napkin down again and picked up her knife and fork from where they rested against the edge of the plate.
Elizabeth returned her attention to her meal and pushed a few flakes of salmon onto her fork using the tip of her knife. She lifted the morsel to her lips, slid it into her mouth, and then forced herself to chew. She wasn't particularly fond of salmon—the texture was too rubbery, the smell too fishy—but Aunt Joan wanted salmon, and she'd ordered Elizabeth the same.
Silence settled over the table once more. It felt all the thicker for the sounds that surrounded them: the pop of a cork, the glug and slosh of wine pouring out of a bottle and spiralling up the sides of the bowl, the clink of glasses, the murmur of chatter, a tinkle of laughter, the screech of tines against a plate.
A waiter strode past, carrying with him a waft of garlic butter, warm bread and thick tomato sauce. Elizabeth's gaze followed him as he approached a nearby table and placed two plates down—the redhead's first and then the gentleman's. The gentleman wore a plain gold band on his ring finger; when the redhead reached for her champagne flute, Elizabeth noted that her finger was bare.
A moment later, her gaze drifted back to the clock on the wall.
Maybe Henry wouldn't even notice she wasn't there, maybe he'd be busy with his friends.
She hoped so. She didn't want to ruin his evening.
"How's your application coming along?" Aunt Joan's voice drew Elizabeth's attention back to the table. "Making progress, I hope."
Elizabeth shook her head, causing her hair to quiver where the ends fell forwards over her shoulders, and she flaked away more of the salmon. "I haven't really been thinking about it."
"Why not?"
She paused and lifted her gaze to meet Aunt Joan's. "I've been focusing on my midterms."
Aunt Joan stared back at her. With her lips pursed, she ran her tongue across her front teeth.
It felt like she were trying to work out if Elizabeth were being impertinent or not.
Then she returned to her meal. The edge of her knife chinked against the plate as she cut through one of the new potatoes. "How did you do?"
"Good." Elizabeth nodded and she raised the flakes of salmon to her lips. "Very good."
"And Philosophy of Religion?"
She held a loose fist to her mouth as she chewed and then swallowed. "I got a B."
"A B?" Aunt Joan looked at Elizabeth like Elizabeth had just confessed she'd been caught having sex with a professor on The Lawn, and thanks to the disapproval in her tone, people at the surrounding tables snuck surreptitious glances at Elizabeth, like they'd heard rumours too.
A prickle of heat rose through Elizabeth's cheeks.
She ignored it and instead attempted to stare Aunt Joan down. "My tutor was pleased. He says it's a good foundation and that I should get an A overall."
"If your tutor thinks it's acceptable for you to get a B, then he doesn't understand your potential and he isn't pushing you hard enough."
"He knows that I need an A, and that's what we're working towards, but—"
"But nothing." Aunt Joan's voice was so firm that it cut through Elizabeth and left her feeling like a little girl being scolded for tramping dirty boots through the hall. "Do you want this internship?"
"Yes." Elizabeth's voice strained. "I've already said I do."
"And do you think the other applicants will have Bs?"
"No. But that's not my final grade."
"If you're happy with a B on your midterm, then I can guarantee that will be your final grade. You can't afford to settle for anything less than what you're capable of."
"I'm not settling, I'm just…" She trailed off and turned her head from side to side, her gaze drifting as she sought an end to that sentence. "…trying to look at the bigger picture."
Aunt Joan leant back in her chair, her hands folded and rested to the edge of the table. She studied Elizabeth, her gaze ever so slightly narrowed.
"You seem a little distracted."
Elizabeth shook her head. "I'm fine."
"Perhaps I ought to schedule you some more sessions with Dr Hopper."
"No!" The word leapt from Elizabeth's mouth before she could stop it, and the Ink kitten, which had been cowering beneath the curve of her left collarbone ever since Aunt Joan had arrived, sprang to its feet, its fur puffed, like someone had just stomped on its tail.
She took a deep breath, willing herself to calm, willing her Ink to calm.
"I'm not distracted. I'm fine," she said, her voice carefully levelled. "I'll get the A."
Aunt Joan studied her a moment longer, and then gave a curt nod that seemed to say, Good.
She picked up her knife and fork and dissected a floret of broccoli, slicing it clean in two. "And you'd better start work on your application. You don't want it to look rushed."
oOoOo
Henry sat on the couch in his apartment, a book resting on the arm beside him. The lamp on the side table was switched on and it filled the room with a muted yellow glow. He raised the bottle of beer to his lips and took another slow sip, his gaze never leaving the wall in front of him, usually a pale, alabaster white, but now seemingly grey-blue in the shadows. He'd stayed at the bar until it was socially acceptable to leave, and then had thanked his friends for coming and had returned home alone. He'd planned to read a little before bed, but with his mind fixed on Elizabeth, he couldn't take in a single word. Instead, the letters lay lifeless on the page, devoid of meaning. And so he'd taken to staring at the wall.
With the way that the Ink puppy lay on the back of his forearm, its chin rested between its paws, its ears drooping and its eyes wide and doleful, it must have felt as dejected as he did.
But that was his fault. He never should have gotten their hopes up.
Elizabeth had seemed to warm to him over recent weeks: there had been no shouting, no death glares, no threats of bodily harm; her smiles had become more frequent—a couple of times he'd even managed to make her laugh. He'd let himself think that maybe she was starting to like him, just maybe with a little more time she'd consider going out with him.
Obviously he was wrong.
In a few weeks, she would get her A (hopefully), and then she and her Ink would be gone.
And then what would happen to him?
He didn't think he could ever find fulfilment with a For Now, not after meeting her.
And as for his Ink…?
Well, it certainly wouldn't move on.
He took another sip of beer, his fingers slipping against the condensation on the bottle while the cool liquid burned a path down the back of his throat. When he returned the bottle to rest against his knee and then prodded at the dampened label with the edge of his thumbnail, the Ink puppy lifted its head a little and its ears pricked as it stared towards the apartment door.
A second later, there came a loud CRASH from the hall, followed by a hissed, "Fuck!"
Henry's gaze darted towards the door, his heartbeat lurching into double time.
What on earth…?
He placed the beer bottle down on the side table with a hollow clunk, pushed himself up from the couch, and strode over to the door. The security chain was fastened. He scrabbled to free it from its track, metal scraping against metal, and then clutched the handle and hauled the door open.
The lights in the hallway were dimmed to a cool white glow. They made the corridor seem dingier than it might otherwise, what with the way that the fluorescent tubes flickered and whined, punctuated with the silhouettes of dead insects that lurked inside. It was bright enough to make out a slim figure wrestling with the metal trashcan that hid at the top of the stairwell, though.
"Elizabeth?" Henry said, half cautious, half surprised.
Elizabeth straightened up and brushed her palms down against the sides of her jeans. Her lips strained into an awkward smile. "Henry…hi."
He glanced up and down the length of the corridor before his gaze returned to her. "How do you know where I live?"
"I looked you up."
She looked him up?
He frowned. "Should I be concerned?"
"Well, apparently I haven't mastered stealth yet—" She tilted her head towards the trashcan, still smiling somewhat sheepishly. "—so I think you're good."
She paused for a second, holding his gaze, and then stooped down and picked up something from the floor. "Here. I got you this." She walked over to him, holding out a small terracotta pot with the star-shaped globe of a Bishop's cap cactus protruding from the top. "Happy birthday."
Henry took the pot, more out of reflex response than anything else, and looked at it. Then he looked back up at her. "You bought me a cactus?" A hint of incredulity crept into his tone.
"Like the ones at your grandmother's house," she said with a shrug. Then she scratched at the back of her neck, revealing a flash of the Ink kitten on the inside of her wrist as the sleeve of her turtleneck rode upwards. "And technically I bought you two, because the first one died."
"You managed to kill a cactus?" Full-on incredulity flooded his tone.
"Yes."
"In less than two days?"
"Yeah…I haven't mastered plants yet either."
His brow furrowed once more. Was it safe for her to be living on her own?
"Well, thank you…I think…" He paused a moment, and then jerked his head towards the open door of the apartment. "Do you want to come in?"
She shook her head, and her hair caught vague shimmers of the muted light. "No. It's late. I ought to be getting back. I just wanted to apologise for not making it this evening. I wanted to—I was going to—but something came up." That awkward smile resurfaced, more tentative than before, and she began to back away down the corridor. "Anyway, happy birthday and I'll see you tomorrow." She spun on the heel of her Chucks and strode towards the stairwell.
"Wait," Henry said quickly. He waited for her to stop and turn back to face him, and then he asked with a small shrug, "Can I at least walk you home?"
She gave a jolt and her eyes widened, like she were surprised. She nodded. "Okay. Sure." Then, as quick as that surprise had arisen it fled, and a sly smile slid onto her lips. "I mean, so long as you aren't preoccupied with one of those For Nows you were telling me so much about."
At the blush that flared through his cheeks, her smile widened. But he couldn't bring himself to mind, not with the way she looked at him with that playful glint in her eyes.
oOoOo
The streets were dark and quiet, the silence interrupted only by the occasional hiss of the breeze shimmering through the leaves of the linden trees and the gentle rise and fall of a car sweeping by. Elizabeth and Henry strolled side by side along the concrete slabs of the sidewalk, migrating from one pool of amber streetlight to the next. When they had stepped out of his apartment building, she had briefly touched her palm to his, just long enough for the Ink kitten to cross over onto his skin, and now without her Ink, she felt a kind of absence, not a loss or a hollowness, but a stillness, like the almost eerie tranquility found when walking the streets of a usually bustling city before dawn.
They'd walked a few blocks, four maybe five, not a single word having passed between them, when Henry cleared his throat. "So…this evening…" he said. He sounded cautious, as though he wanted to ask where she'd been but feared that to ask would be to pry.
Elizabeth turned to him and found him looking down at the sidewalk a couple of paces ahead, his chin dipped, the confidence he normally showed in their sessions now faded.
"My aunt showed up," she said after a pause. "Unannounced." She watched him a moment longer, and then shook her head to herself and faced forward again. "Possibly something to do with me forgetting to plug the answering machine back in."
She felt more than heard the soft huff of his laugh, and she imagined him resisting the urge to make a comment about karma. Though, she could easily argue that had he not called her repeatedly and tried to fill up said answering machine, then she wouldn't have had to unplug it and maybe then she wouldn't have missed his party.
"Does she visit often?" Henry asked.
"No. She's away a lot on business, but she has to stop by to give me my allowance each month. Plus, she likes to check I haven't burned down her apartment."
You set fire to a saucepan one time…
Henry's gaze bristled against her cheek, as subtle as the whisper of the breeze, and a frown crept into his tone. "She gives you an allowance?"
"Yes," Elizabeth said. "Though, technically it's my money. Inheritance. But she's the trustee and is in charge until I turn twenty-one."
Henry's gaze continued to needle at her cheek, more insistent now, and the silence that hung between them held that familiar weight—confusion, realisation, pity.
"Your parents?" he said eventually, his voice soft, yet rasping too, like he were afraid to give breath to such a thought.
She swept her gaze sideways and met his eye. "Car crash. When I was fifteen."
"I'm sorry," he said. And from the look in his eyes it wasn't just something that he said, but something he felt, like somehow he were to blame, either for the crash itself or for not knowing.
She shook her head, causing wisps of hair to tickle her cheeks, and she looked away again. "It's fine," she lied. Then she drew in a deep breath and waited for the quiver at the bottom of her lungs to settle. "Anyway, she turned up and said she was taking me out to dinner, and I couldn't tell her I had other plans."
She shot him a quick, apologetic glance.
"It's okay," he said. His tone and the way he mirrored her actions, shaking his head and looking away, suggested that was a lie too. "Did you at least have a good time?"
"Well, 'good' isn't exactly the adjective I'd use."
He met her with a puzzled, almost concerned, frown.
She offered him a twinge of a smile. "She wasn't impressed with my B."
His frown deepened, indignant. "But that's only your midterm, it's not your final grade."
"That's what I said." Her voice strained and she tossed up one hand, her fingers spiked. A beat passed, and then it softened again. "But maybe she's right. Maybe I need to work harder."
"You already work twice as hard as anyone I know."
"Then maybe I need to get smarter."
"Yeah…somehow I don't think that's the problem."
They came to the end of the sidewalk and stopped at the edge of the crosswalk. A silver car with a caved-in front bumper patched up with duct tape and one headlight out roared past, the music that blared from its stereo reduced to a buzzing boom, boom, boom.
The air around Henry prickled, like every one of his muscles had tensed, and his hand hovered next to Elizabeth's, as though ready to grab hold of her and haul her out of the road.
Elizabeth noticed, but didn't say anything though.
Once the car had driven on, leaving nothing but the faint pulse of its music and a fog of exhaust fumes, they continued walking, immediately falling into step.
Henry's gaze grazed her cheek again. "Did you tell her about your Ink?"
"God no," Elizabeth said. "She hated the thing when it was inanimate, she'd probably have a fit if she saw it running across my skin."
Though, Aunt Joan having a fit would be the least of her concerns. She'd drag up Houghton Hall and Chris, remind her of her silly mistake and how she was setting herself up to be hurt again.
As if she knew…
"Why does she hate your Ink?" Henry asked.
"She's a Blank."
"Oh."
"I mean, there's other stuff too." Elizabeth dismissed the 'other stuff' with a shake of her head. She drifted into thought for a moment, watching the cracks in the concrete that, one by one, they strode over, like the sidewalk were some kind of conveyor belt, perhaps holding them at a standstill, perhaps carrying them somewhere new. "Maybe 'hate' is too harsh. Disapproves."
"Would she disapprove of me?" He sounded at once tentative and hopeful.
"Definitely." She said it without pause and could almost feel the weight of disappointment that fell over him. "Though, it's kind of ironic. If it weren't for her, I wouldn't have been taking Philosophy of Religion, I wouldn't have been looking for a tutor, I wouldn't have met you."
She glanced towards him and caught him staring back at her. They held that gaze for a long moment, while the Ink kitten chased the Ink puppy across his forehead, both Inks blissfully oblivious, and then he returned to watching the sidewalk.
After a couple of strides, his nose wrinkled. "Why are you taking Philosophy of Religion? It doesn't exactly fit with your other classes."
"I'm applying for an internship for next summer. My aunt thinks it'll help my application."
"What kind of internship?" he asked.
She drew in a sharp breath. "I'm afraid that's classified."
His gaze darted to meet hers. "CIA?"
She smiled. "I can neither confirm nor deny."
He chuckled and his gaze dipped away again. The Ink kitten skidded to a stop on his temple, spun around and sprang at the Ink puppy, causing the puppy to startle and then scamper away in the opposite direction. "I know a couple of guys who applied in junior year."
"Did they get in?"
"No, but they weren't as smart as you." He sent her a shy smile.
She raised her eyebrows at him. "Smart enough to get a D and need tutoring?"
"Can't you just take a compliment?" He bumped her upper arm with his own.
"No." She bumped back, and her lips stretched into a subtle smile too.
The red bricks of the apartment block loomed ahead, almost black in the night, except for around two of the windows, where soft golden light bled out and illuminated them just enough that they smouldered, like the last embers of a fire before it succumbs.
Elizabeth nodded towards the building. "This is me."
They settled back into silence as they walked towards the front door, framed with two slim white pillars and overlooked by a small white pediment. Henry stepped forward and grabbed the handle, and then held the door open for her before following her past the block of mail cubbies that lined the right-hand wall in the lobby and around the corner into the stairwell.
The tap, tap, tap of their footfall against the concrete steps echoed up and filled the air. With only the vague glow of the light at the very top of the stairs filtering down, the shadows pressed in around them; normally, it would be enough to make Elizabeth's pulse quicken, the pounding of her heart heavy in her chest, and she would glance back over her shoulder every few steps, but with Henry just a pace behind her, she felt as calm as she would were it broad daylight, and it made her glad he'd offered to walk her home.
She caught hold of the handle of the door that led onto the third floor, the bronze gleaming as softly as starlight, and then pulled it open. Half a second later, Henry's hand was next to her own, the weight of the door gone.
The corridor smelt of five-spice and vegetable oil—the last remnants of a Chinese takeout. She slipped her fingers into the front pocket of her jeans and pulled out her key as she neared the door to the apartment. Then she slid the key into the lock, twisted it, and with a clatter, pushed the door open.
When she turned back to face Henry, he was waiting with his hand outstretched, the Ink kitten sat patiently on the inside of his wrist while the Ink puppy batted at it with its paw, as though asking why it no longer wanted to play. She took hold of his hand, the warmth and gentle strength of his touch reminding her of the first time they'd met and how her hand had felt so secure in his own, and the Ink kitten scampered over onto her palm and disappeared beneath the sleeve of her turtleneck, causing her skin to tingle with the familiar prickle of paw-steps. The Ink puppy tried to follow, but it bounced off her palm and tumbled head over tail back up Henry's forearm. They let go of each other's hand before it could try again.
"So I guess I'll see you tomorrow," she said.
"Tomorrow." He nodded.
She paused a moment, holding his gaze, and then turned to the door.
"Do I get to ask you a question before you go?"
She stopped. She faced him once again and eyed him. The hint of a smile quirked the corner of her lips. "Technically that is a question, and you've already asked a fair few this evening."
With his hands tucked into the front pockets of his jeans, he shrugged. "It's my birthday."
"So the cactus wasn't good enough?"
"I love the cactus."
"Well, don't love it too hard. That thing's prickly."
He chuckled, the laughter lighting his eyes. "Good job I have a wealth of experience when it comes to pursuing prickly things."
She tried to rein back her smile, but it crept through.
She nodded. "One question."
"Do you think you could ever like me?"
She opened her mouth and then stopped.
She'd expected another question about her likes and dislikes or how many pets she'd ever owned, not how she felt—or thought she felt—about him.
She considered the question for a moment, thought about evading it, but then opted to go with the truth.
"I could like you. I could like you quite easily. But that doesn't mean that I should."
He swayed closer, his weight rocking onto the balls of his feet and back again, like he were resisting the urge to take a step towards her. "Do you like me?"
She gave him a pointed look. "That's two questions." Then she turned away and stepped through the gap into the darkness of the apartment. "Goodnight, Henry." She sent him a small smile over her shoulder. "Happy birthday."
She closed the door behind her with a judder and a click, but rather than retreating to her bedroom and getting ready for bed like she should have done hours ago, she leant back against the wood, the hard surface pressing into her shoulder blades and spine.
'Do you like me?' The question circled through her mind.
She thought of the flutter in her belly as she had gotten ready and how she'd chalked it up to her Ink's excitement; she thought of the disappointment that had struck her like a blow to the chest when Aunt Joan had appeared and ruined her plans; she thought of her need—a drive like an itch at the back of her mind—to track him down, wish him a happy birthday and give him his present; she thought of the ease with which she smiled when she was around him and how she hadn't had reason to smile like that in a long time; she thought of the way she felt when she was with him, safe and seen and heard.
'Do you like me?'
The verdict?
More than I should.