Breathing in the aroma of baking, Ally realised she was starving, having skipped breakfast. In truth, she hadn’t felt remotely like hanging round the little apartment, so the prospect of a mixed-berry scone and coffee felt heavenly.
When feeling like you’re floating in mid-air with no structure and no purpose, the best thing you could reach for are small pleasures. Dave, the proprietor, had taken her order, though briskly this time. Had she done something? Hardly. She was just being hypersensitive. She chose a table in a corner beside a shelf of books and settled in. Among the local histories and autobiographies, one title jumped out at her:Love Links – What’s Your Match?She felt a twinge of shyness but everybodyaround was minding their own business, so she slipped it out and opened page one.
Your love type:
Intellectual (hum, unlikely)
Emotional (feck, yes)
Experimental (could be, given a chance)
She whipped a little notebook out of her bag and immersed herself in the quiz.
‘Er, excuse me, Dave asked me to drop these over to you.’
Surprised, she glanced up to find herself staring into the grey eyes of Mr T-shirt from Friday. Oh crap. She’d just been caught doing a love quiz. How mortifying. So, without dropping her gaze, she managed to slide her bag across it.
‘Oh, thanks. I didn’t know you worked here. Inside .?.?. I mean .?.?. not that I think you only work outside .?.?.’
‘I’m just giving Dave a dig-out. Two of his staff haven’t turned in this morning.’
‘You’re kidding, what a nightmare. If I just didn’t turn in for work .?.?. I’d be fired.’
Then she remembered she actually had been fired.
‘They don’t care. I used to have a bunch of guys working for me and there were always a few who couldn’t give a crap about anyone.’
Ally nodded sympathetically, though she felt a wave of unease. Something similar was probably being said about her today in Celtic Concrete. On the other hand, she’d done spectacularly little of importance in the company so the chances were she’d been forgotten already. This place, this moment, was all she had.
‘Ally, that’s my name.’ She smiled, holding out her hand.
‘Pete.’ He smiled back, taking it in a grip that felt gentledespite his powerful arm muscles.
‘Of course, wasn’t that why humans started shaking hands in the first place, to get a feel for each other?’ she blurted, trying to fill the silence.
He nodded a little awkwardly.
‘Maybe we should have done a bit more of it,’ he remarked, apparently to himself. ‘Well, this isn’t my real job. I’m doing some work back in the storeroom, so I’ll let you get on with your .?.?.’
Thankfully the book was safely hidden. She’d hate to be caught by someone like Mr T-shirt doing something so mortifying.
Still, the book was interesting. She munched and sipped comfortably, working out that she was The Explorer, very spontaneous and up for new things. She hoped that her soulmate would turn out to be The Director: strong, pioneering, knew his own mind, wasn’t afraid about going for his goals or likely to let anyone get in his way. It sounded sexy. The hero type, really.
But no matter how many times she went over the quiz and gave different versions of her answers – for example, imagining she were pre-menstrual – her ideal match turned out to be The Negotiator: imaginative, able to see the big picture, compassionate and flexible.
For God’s sake, who did she know like that? Barack Obama? But, sure, these books were only a con printed to make money, she sniffed – no scientific basis whatsoever. At least one fact was clear: the job she’d just been fired from didn’t suit her personality type at all. Ally slapped the book shut in disappointment and glanced up to see a sizeable queue stretching back to the door. Behind the counter, Dave was looking harassed, desperately trying to do the work of three people. She contemplated his predicament for a moment. Whatwas she sitting there gawking for? That guy was obviously in a fix. She jumped up and made her way to the end of the counter.
