“Outward-ranging?”
“Ah, that’s the technical term forScrew you, I’m off.”
“Well, you can hardly blame her.” I dab at my eyes with the corner of my scarf. “I mean, to Tinkerbell you’re probably just a booster vaccination on legs.”
He laughs too. “Fair point. Hadn’t thought of that.”
“I still can’t believe you walk people’s dogs for free. Are the owners really attractive, or something?”
“Well, let’s see. There’s Iris—she’s eighty-five. And Mary’s getting on for ninety. And I tell you, if I were fifty years older—”
Still laughing, I put up a hand. “I know I started it, but now I wish I hadn’t.”
A waiter approaches to show us to our table.
“Sorry.” Joel smiles. “I’ll dial down the borderline humor now.”
“No, don’t,” I plead. “Borderline humor’s my favorite.”
•••
I’m feeling it, I think, as we’re seated at a cozy corner table. Joel makes me warm with pleasure as ever... but then again, he can be hard to read. I’m not sure if it’s mixed signals exactly, but I just don’t know if he sees me as anything more than a friend. Occasionally when I meet his eye, and feelthat magnet-clamp deep in my chest, I think perhaps he does—but then it’s as if something shifts in his brain, and he folds up all his feelings and shoves them away, out of reach.
Besides, I’m still unclear on quite what the deal is with him and Melissa. He’s said they’re friends with benefits, but that could mean any one of a thousand things. I want to ask, but I’m not sure if I will. Sometimes I sense a certain guardedness about him, and the last thing I want to do is cause offense.
“I love drinking wine from these,” I say, as our waiter sets down a carafe of red wine and two tumblers. “They make me feel like I’m at a pavement café somewhere in the Med.”
Joel smiles as he pours, hands me a glass.
“By the way, I wanted to thank you,” I say. “For talking to Steve.”
Joel met him at the weekend, explained the Murphy situation, squared the whole thing up so I didn’t have to worry about being caught out.
“You already thanked me.”
Yes, I did, when he told me—but only in stammered sentences as my tear ducts geared up. “Well, this is my official thank-you.”
He raises his glass to mine, eyes twinkling. “No, this is your official congratulations.”
“It feels a bit premature,” I confess. “I still have to get the job, and it doesn’t help that I’m terrible at interviews.”
“I don’t believe that for a minute.”
“Oh, it’s true. I shake, sweat—everything. All they’ll need to say is,Why do you want to work in nature conservation, Miss Cooper?and I’ll probably start weeping.”
I feel his gaze resting on me. “Well, if you do,” he says, “it’ll only go to show them how passionate you are.”
Though it’s icy outside, it’s cozy in the restaurant, and Joel’s removed his jumper. He looks lovely bare-armed across the table from me, warm and calm. After some deliberation, I decided to go smart-casualtonight—my nicest jeans, and the silk blouse strewn with stars that Grace convinced me I should buy, only weeks before she died.
I take a sip of wine. “What did you say in your interview—when they asked why you wanted to be a vet?”
“They didn’t, really. Not for my job, anyway.” His face is part-obscured by his glass. “That was more about specialities and equipment and certificates.”
“But they must have done for your course at uni.” I nudge his knee with mine. “Please tell me. I need all the help I can get.”
“Okay. But remember, I’m not even a vet anymore. What do I know, really?”
“Humor me.”
