I worked in a pub with a fully serviced bar menu. All around me, orders of chips, retro whitebait, and hipster halloumi fries were being served on slate-grey tiles. There were any number of things I could’ve eaten if I’d had the inclination, but nothing would’ve come close to the foil-wrapped treasure Micah had brought me from home. “You brought me a toastie?”
“Yeah.”
“Ham and cheese?”
“Yeah.”
“Mustard?”
“Of course. Do you think I don’t know you?”
And there was the problem. Hedidknow me, probably better than anyone else ever had, but there was one vital piece of information he’d never learned and he never could: that I was completely and irrevocably in love with him.
Nice Twilight reference, you sad fuck.
But still. It was true.
I took the sandwich and signalled to Céleste that I was taking a long-overdue break. She swept her gaze over Micah while he wasn’t looking and gave me a knowing smirk, but I turned my back on her and tugged Micah into the alcove reserved for staff.
He found yet something else to lean against. “It’s crazy busy in here tonight.”
“All-night happy hour.” I unwrapped my still-warm toasted sandwich and took a bite. Like magic, the promise of mustard-hot food hitting my stomach soothed my soul. A little bit, anyway. I still had an unrequited crush on my roommate. “You wanna drink?”
“Nah. I’ve got to get an Uber to Knightsbridge.”
Somehow I’d made myself forget about his big night out. My chewing slowed as I eyed his choice of outfit—dark jeans, boots, and a sweatshirt that had, once upon a time, probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. “That’s what you’re wearing?”
Micah fiddled with his cuffs. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing. I’m just in awe that you can hit London’s swankiest clubs in jeans and a jumper.”
“Yeah, well. They’re the only clothes I own that aren’t made for the gym. I left everything else at my old flat.”
I already knew that. Micah had moved into my nan’s old place with a suitcase, a cardboard box, and very little trace of the life he’d led as a top-flight footballer. Without the lurid tabloid articles documenting his tragic fall from grace, I’d have had no idea who he was. “You look nice.”
“Thanks. I don’t want to go.”
So don’t go. Stay here with me.“You’ll be all right once you get there.”
“If you say so. Listen, uh, we never got round to watching that film. You wanna tomorrow?”
“I’m working at twelve.”
“I know. I figured maybe we could have a Sunday morning on the couch with those omelettes you like?”
“You mean the omelettesImakethatyoulike?”
“Yeah, those ones. I’m training a client at seven, then I’m gonna swim, but I’ll be home by nine.”
The prospect of getting up so early on a Sunday morning after a manic Saturday night on the bar made me feel slightly ill, but the promise of a few hours on the couch with Micah was too enchanting to pass up. I swallowed the last of my sandwich. “Deal. Text me when you’re on your way and I’ll get the coffee on.”
“I won’t see you tonight?”
“Depends what time you get home.”
I couldn’t keep the sour note out of my voice, but if Micah noticed, it didn’t show. He nodded and backed up. “I’ll see you when I see you then.”
“Hey.”
