Brandon:The fish and chips place
Lily-Anne:Oh right
I reply ‘okay’, even though the shop isn’t really halfway. It’s only down the road, far closer to me than to him—plus a slight detour for us both—but I don’t protest. As I head that way, the ocean appears in the distance, and it dawns on me that this route is busier and better lit than the quiet backstreets I would’ve taken. I don’t think that’s an accident.
I wait beneath a streetlamp watching people order food, the air faintly scented with fried fish.
I soon spot Brandon in the distance, my heart lifting as I recognise his long strides. I move to meet him, a small bounce in my step I don’t quite manage to suppress as I take in his tall silhouette.
He’s rugged up more than the weather requires, with an overcoat and a scarf, like some detective from an old novel, though the beanie tugged low over his ears undercuts it completely, his brown hair poking out at the sides like a snowboarder fresh off the slopes. The combination is so at odds it makes my face split into a smile before I remember to smooth it into something more neutral.
“Hey. Thanks for meeting me.” My voice comes out more affectionate than I intended. “How are you feeling?”
“Most decidedly sick,” he says with a congested sniff, but there’s the faintest glint in his eyes as he sweeps his hand in an ‘after you’ motion. “Shall we?”
His hand brushes the small of my back. There’s a fleeting second where I think he’ll put his arm around me, but of course, he doesn’t. It was silly for my mind to go there. Still, my skin prickles warm as we fall into step.
He indicates my guitar case. “That must be getting heavy. Want me to take it?”
He’s not wrong. The handle digs into my palm, already clammy from the rubbing. But I don’t mind the weight. It feels good to carry it. And I want to hold onto tonight’s triumph just a little longer.
“Thanks, but I’ve got it,” I answer, adjusting my grip.
“If you’re sure. So, tell me about tonight.”
I recount my evening, from Daisy’s overzealous drumming to a scrappy band to Willoughby’s performances.
“Was it one of his famous uncle’s numbers?” Brandon asks mildly. His features give nothing away, but I get the feeling he might be poking fun at Willoughby.
“Yes. How did you know?”
“Lucky guess.”
Yep. It was definitely a jab.
Waves lap the shore, as calm and steady as his presence beside me as we walk the esplanade, the neon signs illuminating the dark.
“So, I take it you were able to change your string without too much bother?” he enquires.
“Oh, yes. Sort of. Willoughby ended up changing it for me.”
A pause. “That was nice of him.”
“I thought so.” I watch Brandon carefully as I say this. I get the sense there’s something he isn’t saying, but if there is, he keeps it to himself.
“So, you closed the night,” he prompts. “Bravo.”
“Actually, it was Willoughby’s idea.”
He raises a brow. “How did that come about?”
I shrug, choosing my words. “He thought it might be fun if I wrapped things up. Didn’t want me to miss my chance, I guess.”
Brandon nods but says nothing, his gaze turned inward.
I try to bring him back, brightening my voice. “Thankfully, I got through it alright. And the audience seemed to enjoy it.”
He blinks and gives me a sincere smile. “I’m sure they did. It was a good song choice.”
