I take a breath to try and calm my racing heart.
As if sensing my tension, she looks up at me.
‘Everything okay?’ she asks.
‘Err, yeah. It’s nothing,’ I say, feeling my face heat. I don’t want to bullshit her, but I also don’t want to drag her into whatever this is about either.
The last thing I want is for Chloe to think I’m more interested in hearing what Katya has to say than spending time with her.
I don’t want to mess with what we’ve got going right now.
Trouble is, I know if I don’t read the message it’s going to keep playing on my mind and distract me.
But now is definitely not the time to deal with whatever’s going on.
Shoving the phone back into my pocket, I flash Chloe what I hope looks like a reassuring smile.
‘All good,’ I say.
* * *
Chloe
The dojo where we’re due to do our samurai training is situated off one of the main shopping streets, its entrance tucked down some steps between a noodle bar and a souvenir shop.
We tentatively descend the steps, not quite sure what to expect.
Is a samurai warrior going to jump out at us, sword brandished and eyes alight with danger?
But no. We’re actually greeted by a very smiley greeter, who – once we’ve removed our shoes – politely instructs us to take a stool with the other participants, who are lined up in a row along the back wall.
Moments after sitting, we’re fitted with our black keikogi outfits to train in, which are made of very thick, heavy cotton, the weight of which immediately makes me take the whole thing much more seriously.
The ceremony of it all clearly demands respect and focus, and I turn to see Kit also has a sombre expression on his face as he ties the belt around his waist.
When he notices me looking at him though, he gives me a covert wink, which makes my insides fizz.
Turning away before he can see my cheeks heating, I gaze around me, taking in the small shrine above the door and all the certificates and trophies proudly displayed around the walls of the dojo.
‘This is a real dojo you are training in,’ the sensei says, as if noticing my interest.
At least this is what I come to understand he’s saying, once it’s translated by his assistant, who appears to be from somewhere in the north of England, judging by his accent.
This surprising incongruity makes me grin, and I glance at Kit to see he’s smiling back at me.
I love that we’re on the same page with things that amuse us.
The two instructors take us through all the safety protocols and some of the history of the Samurai warriors, which is fascinating.
Kit certainly seems rapt by it all. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him sit so still for so long.
I experience another burst of warmth towards him. It feels strange to have been so wary about being around him again when in actual fact, bumping into him has been one of the best things to happen to me in quite some time.
I decide not to examine that thought too closely right now and force myself to focus back on what the instructor is telling us.
We’re then taken through some sword-wielding moves and I’m relieved to find we’re given blunt swords to practise with.
The moves are graceful, a bit like a dance, and once each of us in the group have mastered them, the previously stern and sombre sensei breaks into a wide, eye-glittery smile and giggles, then gives us each a high five.
