Then the next one appeared. Familiar. For a heartbeat, Mae couldn’t place her. Just a pleasant face, a warm smile, a photo taken on a beach somewhere. And then the memory clicked: Emma.
Mae’s grip on the phone tensed.
Not because she cared that Emma had once dated Callie a million years ago. But it brought back things she didn’t want to think about, was actively trying not to think about at the current time.
Her thumb moved before the thought had even finished forming. Swipe.
Emma vanished. The next profile loaded, but Mae didn’t bother looking. The heat across her cheeks was sharp and stupid.
‘Brilliant,’ she murmured into the quiet room. ‘Just what I bloody needed.’
She locked her phone and shoved it in her pocket, staring at the ceiling as if it might offer answers.
This was supposed to be a simple step forward. Something easy. A reminder she wasn’t stuck. But instead it felt like she’d poked a bruise she’d spent years pretending wasn’t there.
And swiping past Emma only made Mae more aware of the one person she was trying very, very hard not to think about—at least until she had to.
Back Then
Mae kept telling herself to focus.
She sat opposite the piss-yellow-haired boy in the pub’s low amber glow—the same place Callie had endured her own half-hearted date the night before, though Mae didn’t know that—while he droned on. He was explaining some joke one of his mates had made, a story that had already gone on far too long. Mae was nodding, smiling, the sorts of things she’d seen others do. Performing interest with what she was fairly certain was a lack of skill. Not that the boy noticed.
He wasn’t awful. She kept reminding herself of that. He held doors. He laughed readily. He asked questions. But everytime Mae tried to feel the faintest spark, it was like striking damp matches.
Her eyes drifted to the clock behind him. Then to the window. Then back to his moving lips.
She searched herself for any trace of the warmth she’d read about in books, the stirring that women in romance books banged on about. But it was all just flat.
She was just thinking that maybe she ought to excuse herself and go home early when she saw movement to her right.
Callie.
Dressed in the pub’s black polo and apron, hair tied back haphazardly, tray tucked under one arm, collecting empty glasses from the nearby table. She glanced around the room in that automatic rhythm of her shift—scan, pick up, move on—and then her gaze snagged on Mae.
She froze mid-step.
‘Mae?’ she said, far too loudly for comfort.
Mae felt heat rush to her cheeks. She sat up straight. ‘I… didn’t realise you were working tonight.’
Callie walked over. ‘Ialwayswork Wednesday nights.’
It was true. Mae had forgotten until this instant, but it was hard to deny that she should have known that.Didknow it. And yet she’d chosen this exact pub for this exact evening.
‘Right,’ Mae said, forcing a laugh. ‘I must have forgotten. There’s been a lot on.’
Callie took in the table—the boy, the drinks, Mae’s awkwardly perfect posture. Then she blinked.
‘Are you on adate?’ she asked, in a like tone as if she’d found Mae riding a unicorn in the car park.
The boy perked up, delighted. ‘Yeah,’ he said, grinning. ‘Someone finally got a yes.’
Mae smiled tightly. ‘Mm.’
Callie set her tray down on a nearby table, still staring. ‘You? You’re on a date?’
Mae bristled, a defensive spark lighting despite herself. ‘Yeah, even trolls like me get asked out occasionally.’
