‘Where would you take me?’ Mae asked.
OK, well, that wasn’t a no.
‘Anywhere you want,’ Callie said. ‘Well, I mean, within the limits of the area. But not here and not the pub.’ She hesitated. ‘I could cook for you? When my mum’s out, and I’m sure that George is going to bed without any issue…’ Callie sighed. ‘That’s rubbish, isn’t it?’
Mae frowned. ‘Are you really sure about this? It’s not too late for us to just stay where we are, just be friends. We haven’t done anything too drastic yet.’
Callie sighed through her nose. ‘I knew it. I knew you were going to change your mind.’ She looked at the ground. ‘Shit. OK. That’s OK. It’ll be OK.’
Mae was appalled. ‘I’m not changinganything. I’m just… I’m scared about this. I mean, is this gonna work?’
Callie shrugged. ‘God, I don’t know. But I never know anything, do I? You’re the brains of this operation. I’m just a dummy with perfect lip gloss.’
‘Don’t do that act with me,’ Mae said immediately. ‘You’re not some silly bimbo. And I’m not some stupid boy who’s turned on by silly bimbos.’
Callie skipped right over any offence at that. ‘Whatareyou turned on by?’ she asked with a lascivious grin.
‘Jesus!’ Mae said, shocked. ‘Don’t flirt with me yet! You’re going to give me a heart attack.’
Callie laughed, delighted. And then she cleared her throat and made her face serious. ‘Look, details aside, are you going out with me or not?’ Callie asked.
‘Yes!’ Mae said, flustered. She paused. ‘Can you pretend I said that a bit nicer?’
‘You’ll go out with me?’ Callie repeated.
Mae nodded and said with much more softness, ‘Yes.’
Footsteps sounded outside. Mae stiffened.
Callie reluctantly drew back around the corner as the door jingled.
‘Customer incoming,’ she murmured. ‘I should go.’
‘You don’t have to—’
‘I do,’ Callie said. ‘If I stay one more minute, I’ll say something to make you change your mind.’
She backed toward the door, unable to stop looking at Mae.
‘I’ll see you later?’
‘You’d better,’ Mae said. And then blushed and turned away.
Callie stepped past the customer and out the door, euphoric.
Mae had said yes. God help them both.
Twenty-Five
Now
Mae hated how natural it looked—Callie, in her living room, holding a mug. Twelve years, and she still fit too easily.
‘All right,’ Mae said, fixing her attention on the mug instead of Callie’s face. ‘So, you don’t care if I say no to another shoot day?’
‘No,’ Callie said. ‘But I hope you’re not just saying no because Neil’s a tosser. Or because I’m…’ She trailed off.
‘That’s nothing to do with it,’ Mae said flatly.
