“Iwantyou to find someone.” She sidles up to me, squeezes my arm. “You’re so lovely.”
“And you’re so biased. Anyway, I’m happily unattached.” The more I say it, the more I might start to believe it.
“I want you to find true love.” Tamsin seems more determined about this than ideally I’d like.
“I’m not interested in true love. Really.”
“Well, you must want to meet a girl at least. Doug says you’re virtually celibate.”
I have met a girl, Tam. And she’s charming, and beguiling, beautiful as a butterfly. But there are too many reasons it can’t work.
“Doug says a lot of things.”
“So it’s not true?”
I don’t exactly fancy going into the finer details of me and Melissa with my little sister. “Okay, just so you know? We’re not having this conversation.”
“It’s been a long time since Vicky.”
Even picturing Vicky’s face reminds me how unfair it would be to drag Callie into my little vortex of dysfunction. “Vicky’s better off without me.”
Tamsin persists. “Have I ever told you about Beth? I work with her and she’s completely lovely. I could introduce you—”
As Tamsin continues to talk Beth up, my phone buzzes. A light-hearted message from Callie, something about a package she’s taken in for me. There are emojis. I’m relieved to have confirmation that last night’s double-kiss fiasco hasn’t put her off knowing me for good.
I peck my sister on the cheek. “Love you, Tam.” Exiting the kitchen, I start climbing the stairs.
“What exactly are you doing here again?” she calls.
“Research,” I mumble, safe in the knowledge that she probably can’t hear me.
23.
Callie
Over a week has passed since my meal out with Joel, since he moved me to tears with his story about Scamp. I held that moment in my mind during my interview at Waterfen yesterday, kept close what he said about passion.
I’m out shopping in town when I receive the call, and have a conversation that makes me altitudinous with joy.
•••
I’d planned to nip back to my flat and at least run a brush through my hair, but when I get home the urge to hammer on Joel’s door is just too strong.
He’s dripping wet when he opens it, with only a towel around his waist. Water droplets are scattered like dew across his soap-smooth skin.
I flounder, trying to focus on what it was I came here to tell him.
“Sorry,” he says, before I can speak. “Wanted to answer the door before you—”
“Joel, I got it.”
“You got what?”
“Fiona just called. I got the job at Waterfen—a one-year contract.”
“Callie, that’s incredible. Congratulations.”
As our eyes meet—just for a moment, before he softly half laughs andturns his gaze to the floor—I realize how much I like him, enough not to care if this is the right thing to do.
