“Your man Eddie wasn’t interested.”
“Oh, well, it’s a sailors’ pub. This is all navigational paraphernalia.”
“I see,” I reply, laughing. “That makes more sense. The coast. Fishing. The Star andAnchor.”
“Exactly,” he says. “We’ll make a local out of you yet.”
I look at his hand, resting on the bar, less than an inch from my elbow. His fingers are thick but long, and the ever-present paint still clings to the edges of his nails. I can feel his energy through his fingertips, and it feels too intimate. I move my arms back.
“Well, it’s nice to be out with you,” I say cheerfully, raising my glass, and he clinks his with mine. “To flatmates.”
“Flatmates,” he says, nodding.
“So, thanks for the help last weekend,” I say.
“It’s no stress,” he says. “I enjoyed it. I need my own box of cards, though.”
“You can make a box,” I reply, grinning. “No one is stopping you.”
“How’s things going with the lido? My folks were talking about it at home. It’s definitely hit the Broadgate grapevine that it might be sold.”
“Well, as it happens, we’ve got a plan to save it.”
“Have you, now?” He smiles at me. “I can’t wait to hear it.”
“A ragtag bunch of misfits try to save the lido from sale to a hostile developer,” I say, in my best movie-trailer voice. “We’re basically going to do it up a bit and put on some fundraisers. And get Lynn elected to council to try to halt the sale.”
“Give me a shout if you want help with the renos; I’m always happy to pitch in,” he says, “if I have time.” He adds this last comment as if he’s reminding himself to plan his time better. I think of the books in his room again and wonder what it is he’s up to.
“The guys would be so grateful,” I say.
“Look at you making friends and having adventures,” he says teasingly.
“I wouldn’t call them friends yet.” I’ve finished my drink already and feel a little woozy after such a massive serving of vodka. “It’s still tentative. It’s hard to let anyonenewin.”
I laugh, blushing as I do, but Ash doesn’t. Instead he looks concerned, and my laughter descends into silence so all we can hear is the whir of the glass washer, the thud of darts hitting a dartboard, and the faint music, so low you have to strain to make out the tune.
“I am happy to get to knowyou,” I clarify.
“Well, good. You can’t be an island,” he says.
“I know, I know,” I reply, “I’m getting out there. It’s all part of Project Mara.”
“Oh. Project Mara?”
This feels like the time to talk about Joe. I need him to understand that meeting Joe was fate and that I’m focused on that.
“Project Mara is my self-improvement plan to get me ready for August. For when Joe gets here.”
“Oh yes. Joe.” Ash says this as if he’s tugged a discarded memory loose in his brain.
“Yes,” I say, nodding.
“So, what is he, then?” he says, staring intently at his beer. “How serious is it?”
“The most serious kind of serious. Buckle up, Ash,” I say, grinning broadly. “I didn’t tell you the whole story before.” I take a large mouthful of my fresh glass of vodka, which has appeared without my ordering it. I cringe at the strength of it. I’m going to be drunk after just two drinks at this rate.
“O-kay,” Ash says slowly.
