Now
Callie stepped inside Mae’s flat carefully, like one wrong movement might trip a landmine.
It hadn’t changed, and it had.
As a teenager living here with her dad, the flat had felt half-lived-in: a sagging sofa, cluttered coffee table, bare walls except for a forgotten calendar. Somewhere to sleep above the bakery, the place they really lived.
Now it was Mae’s. Soft greys, mismatched cushions, thriving plants on the windowsill. The coffee table still held clutter, but they were fiction books, not ledgers. Same room. Same floorboards. But it finally looked like someone had chosen to stay.
Callie turned to Mae, stood with her arms folded, shoulders tight, chin lifted.
‘You’ve got until the kettle boils,’ Mae said, jerking her head toward the kitchenette off the living room. ‘And I’m makingonedrink.’
Harsh but fair.
Mae busied herself with the kettle while Callie watched her from the living room. The timer was going.
‘Mae, I’m not here to manipulate you,’ she called through.
‘Weird start,’ Mae said over her shoulder and turned back.
Callie exhaled. This was already going so badly. ‘I’m not here to charm you or guilt you or… twist your arm.’
Mae didn’t turn.
‘Neil asked me to talk to you,’ Callie said. ‘He thought maybe I’d have… more luck.’
Mae turned at last to face her. Though she stayed in the kitchen. ‘So what, Callie? You think because you show up looking contrite and flustered, I’ll roll over and let your little clown show in again?’
‘No,’ Callie said. ‘I think you’ll tell me to get stuffed, and I’ll deserve it.’
Confusion flashed across Mae’s face before she smoothed it over.
‘I know you’re angry,’ Callie went on. ‘And I know I’m the last person you want at your door. But please don’t think I came because I felt entitled. I said that I would, that’s all. And now I’m here, and you can tell me to fuck off.’
The kettle clicked off, loud in the cramped flat. Mae turned back and faffed for a few seconds. She turned with, to Callie’s astonishment, two cups. ‘This is half-filled with fridge-cold milk and is drinkable in three gulps,’ Mae told Callie shortly, walking toward her. ‘It means nothing. Except that I’m just too fucking polite for my own good.’
Callie took one small, careful step closer, meeting her. She was handed the cup, which she took gratefully.
And that’s when she saw it. A red bill on the coffee table. Just one, but a disturbing one. An electricity bill. Mae was literally having trouble keeping the lights on at Morgan’s.
Callie realised that she actuallydidhave to talk Mae into letting them use the bakery. She just hoped Mae would understand it wasn’t a selfish act. Which was tricky. Because Callie knew shewasselfish. And so did Mae.
Back Then
Callie had thought Mae would understand where she was headed with all this. But somehow, she didn’t. Callie was going to have to say it. With her mouth.
‘While kissing you on the floor of the bakery was bloody epic, I think we should also try the normal route of, ya know, like… a meal.’
She watched a deep shade of pink rise up Mae’s throat. She repeated, almost disbelieving, ‘You want to… take me on a date.’
‘I was hoping to take you onalot of dates, actually. But one is a good start.’
Mae stood there, mouth hanging slightly, like Callie had suggested base jumping off the Eiffel Tower rather than doing something they did all the time, but in a slightly altered context. But Callie understood what she was asking. She understood what it meant.
‘If you say no,’ Callie added quickly, before Mae could implode, ‘I won’t be… I’ll be really mature. Like, you don’t even know how mature I’ll be. I’ll be so fucking grown-up about it, I swear.’
Mae looked at Callie properly, and she could see her trying to reconcile her best friend and all that she was with the woman who was trying to romance her.
