We set off down the street, the dogs straining on their leads ahead of us. A suspension of wintry mist makes the world feel underwater, the sun a bright white blowhole in the sky.
“So, Callie. Are you by any chance a fan of the cakewalk?”
“The dance?”
“No, this is a bit different. Some would say better.”
Despite everything, I smile. “Go on.”
“Well, essentially it involves an idiot treating you to cake, followed by a walk at the country park while he apologizes and attempts to explain himself.”
I think about Melissa, about how devastated I felt last night when I saw her and Joel together. But one look at Joel’s face is all I need to decide that I have to hear him out.
•••
We stop at the Sicilian pastry shop, then head on to the park, where we let the dogs off. They scatter like ferrets from a cage, kicking up mud as they go.
“Here. Last one’s yours.” Joel extends the paper bag to me like a peace offering.
I take the finalsfinca—Sicilian ricotta dough balls, gilded with sugar and narcotically sweet.
He brushes sugar from his fingers. “So, I never got to congratulate you properly last night about the job. It’s fantastic. Brilliant news.”
I glance at him, feeling shy suddenly. “I wouldn’t have applied if it weren’t for you. And what you told me, about passion counting—it really helped.”
As we walk, I catch the spice of Joel’s scent on the air. It evokes straightaway our kiss from last night and its base-of-spine thrill, heated and deep. A kiss I had hoped meant something magic to both of us.
“I’m so sorry about what happened, Callie.”
“The kiss?”
“No! That part was... amazing. I meant... Melissa. I forgot she was coming. We arranged it weeks ago.”
He’s telling the truth. One look at the tension on his face is enough to convince me of that.
“I bumped into her this morning at the shop,” I confide. “We didn’t talk for very long. I sort of... ran off.”
Ahead of us, the dogs are bounding around one another in circles, their playful yapping offsetting the gravity in the air somehow.
“There’s more to everything that’s happened than Melissa. And I want to tell you about it, but... I know you want to avoid drama. After Piers.” Appearing to catch himself, Joel briefly shuts his eyes. “Sorry. That came out wrong. It’s not up to you to indulge me.”
“It’s okay,” I assure him softly, wondering what he could be about to say. “You can tell me anything.”
He releases the self-soothing breath of a man about to jump from a very high diving board. “Sorry. This... this is harder than I thought.”
“I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”
“You don’t. I feel more comfortable with you than I have with anyone in a long time.”
We’re by the leisure pontoon, where lines of pedalos are shackled up for the winter. A low mist is shifting like breath across the surface of the lake, a kind of spectral camouflage for courting mallards and groups of braying greylags. On the opposite bank, the boathouse from Bonfire Night lies still and deserted.
“I have—” Joel breaks off and rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry. This is really hard.”
I reach out and touch his arm to let him know it’s okay. But inside I’m starting to feel almost as afraid as Joel looks.
“I have dreams, Callie.” His voice wavers, like weak reception on a radio. “I dream about... what’s going to happen to the people I love.”
Seconds swim by.
