“Harry Potter?”
She leans back. “Yes! How did you know?”
“Lucky guess.”
She grins, then she sighs longingly. “I wish I were brave enough to pull off a short hairstyle like that.”
“I’m sure you could,” I say before I can stop myself. “Though I’d miss your curls.”
The words hang there, too honest. Part of me wants to call them back; the rest is glad they’re out. Besides, it isn’t flirting. Not in the slightest. Anyone might have complimented her blonde waves.
Yet it pleases me to see the faint rose tint colouring her cheeks.
Lily-Anne twirls a strand of hair around her finger, eyes flicking down. “Brandon, can I ask you something?”
Anticipation flickers, a candle guttering between hope and fear. “Of course. Anything.”
“I wondered…did Willoughby have something to do with Nova—Natalie?”
The question catches me off-guard. “Why do you ask?”
“Because he mentioned you two had fallen out of touch. And I’m wondering if your reaction to her song last night has something to do with him too.”
I grip the cup. “He was the one she left me for.”
Her eyes widen. “He dated Nova too?”
“She left me for him,” I state simply. The old bruise is still there—deep, but no longer sharp. “He was the one who found her when she…” I trail off. “I was angry. He’d been doing promotional work for her, but I felt he should have been with her. It’s…coloured my opinion of him. Perhaps unfairly,” I add, though it costs me.
Her voice drops. “Do you mean…he could have prevented it?”
Could he have?
Could I?
He was better placed—I wasn’t even in the same country. But neither of us made her take so many pills.
“It’s complicated,” I say gruffly.
She studies me, concern in her gaze. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No. It’s fine. It was years ago—I ought to be past it by now.”
At that moment, I truly feel the distance of it, the future a little brighter, my pulse steady as I breathe in the clear afternoon air.
The feeling is short-lived when Lily-Anne says, “I’m thinking of heading back to the café tonight.”
“You are?” I ask, trying to sound indifferent.
“If…that’s alright with you?” When I don’t answer, she adds, “It’s just that Willoughby mentioned there’s an open mic on. He said I could bring my guitar so he can install a new string. And…I’m thinking of playing.”
I grip the cup tighter as phantom arms curl across my shoulders, Nova’s smoky breath teasing my ear.“Do I detect a flush of jealousy? Not so impervious after all, are you?”
“He said we’re both welcome tonight,” Lily-Anne continues, searching my face. “But I told him you aren’t well. He said he hopes you recover soon.”
I nod, though the motion feels stiff. Not well indeed—but the flu is suddenly the least of my concerns, and Jack’s well-wishes are a poor remedy.
I was still carrying a half-formed notion that I might help Lily-Anne with her string. Nonsensical, given I’m sick and contagious, but the thought of Willoughby stepping into that space makes me bristle.
