“Lily-Anne…” I begin.
“Yes?”
For a breath, I consider it—Sean’s voice in my head, urging me to stop making excuses and confess everything. That I do like her, far more than I should. That it’s not her I’ve been holding back from so much as the wreckage of my past. That if she’s felt rejected, it was never about her.
It would be a relief to say it.
But then she smiles faintly, still flushed, still here, and I think,Aren’t we doing fine? Isn’t this conversation proof we’re in a good place? Why risk undoing it?
So, I jokingly ask, “Do you think you’ll write a song about today’s paintball escapade?”
It’s a cop out, and I can hear Sean in my head:“Eejit.”
Lily-Anne teases me back. “I would, but it’s already been done.Hit Me With Your Best Shot.”
I chuckle. “Hold on.” Reaching into a hallway cupboard, I hand her a small bottle of aloe. “This should soothe the paintball welts.”
She thanks me, lingering a moment before heading for the stairs. The urge to stop her rises, fierce and insistent. I want to ask her to stay.
Instead, I step outside, letting the cool air hit me as I stand at the edge of the patio surveying the garden. My eyes fall on the kintsugi bowl on the table beside me, its blue-green glaze threaded with gold. At last, I know what to do with it.
I reach into my pocket and let the treasures fall in a stream.
Clear, pale green, frosted white, and blue.
Warm brown, the colour of her eyes.
As I stare at the growing pile of sea glass, I tell myself I’m only collecting them out of habit, and that it’s only pure coincidence that each piece just happens to be the right size and shape for a bracelet.
21
Toasties and Toasts
Lily-Anne
It’s been a few days since my Canterbury trip.
Brandon and I sit in a booth at Sean’s pub, the TV above us blaring commentary for the Women’s Rugby World Cup. Neither of us is a fan, but we pretend, trading comments about lineouts and something called a scrum just to fill the silence. He occupies the seat beside me with quiet ease—long legs, broad shoulders, a controlled presence I’m far too aware of no matter how hard I try to look at my surroundings. I feel oddly anchored beside him, my pulse quickening despite myself.
The smell of slow-cooked lamb is making my mouth water, but we haven’t ordered food yet. We’re waiting for Ellenor. She landed at Heathrow a few hours ago and rented a car. We offered to pick her up, but she insisted on making her own way here.
It’s just as well. If this silence is anything to go by, several hours in a car would’ve been torturous. I’m still figuring out how to be around Brandon since I tried to kiss him at the harbour. It would be easier to nip this crush in the bud if I weren’t living with the man.
I trace a ring of condensation around my glass, listening to the whine.
“No sign of your sister yet?” Sean asks as he passes, towel over his shoulder.
“She’s due any minute,” I reply.
A steady current of nerves sits with me at the thought of Ellenor seeing me with Brandon. Not because there’s anything to explain, but because being here with him, unobserved, feels like a calm I don’t want disturbed.
“You said she’s a lawyer?” Sean asks.
“That’s her. A real ballbuster.”
Brandon chokes on his drink, spluttering.
“I’m guessing that’s an accurate assessment?” Sean asks him.
