But she hesitates. He’s going to just leave her with a random stranger?
Said stranger’s lips twitch, like he knows what she’s thinking. ‘I’m Ash, by the way.’
‘Saving her life didn’t get you on a first-name basis, huh?’ Mark shakes his head mockingly, then gestures between them. ‘Lissa, Ash, Ash, Lissa. Lissa, Ash doesn’t usually hang out much in Bath, but apparently makes a habit of saving random women when he’s here. Ash, Lissa is the girl who has finally agreed to go out with me, and who may or may not refuse to ever see me again outside of work after this disaster.’
They both laugh – Lissa wonders if Ash is only doing so because it seems expected. She doesn’t think so. He has the type of laugh that sounds like it comes easily.
Ash, she thinks. Well, at least he has a name now.
His head is cocked as he studies her. ‘Lissa.’ He says her name like he’s trying it out, considering whether it fits her. Bizarrely, she wants to know if he thinks it does.
Mark kisses her cheek, another of those easy gestures. ‘I’ll be back.’
And she has no choice but to stay, given that he is already clambering his way over the bench, even though she still hasn’t said what she wants to drink.
When he’s gone, there’s a beat of quiet. She gets out her phone, but unhelpfully there are no new messages to answer urgently, so all she does is lay it on the table between them. On the bench next to them, a girl shrieks as one of her friends drops an ice cube down the back of her top. It’s a younger crowd than she’s used to – she wonders why Mark chose this place.
‘So,’ Ash says, breaking the silence between them. ‘The famous Lissa.’
‘Famous?’
Another of those crooked smiles. ‘Mark may have mentioned you a couple of times.’
The idea makes her insides squirm. She can’t work out if it’s a good feeling or not. She glances to the door, but can’t see the bar from here. She looks back at Ash. ‘And you are …?’
He shakes his head mockingly. ‘Don’t tell me you suffer from short-term memory loss as well as terrible scootering abilities?’ He points a thumb to his chest. ‘Ash.’
‘Mm,’ she agrees. ‘Ash. Saver of lives, stealer of scooters.’ He grins, and she feels her own lips pulling up in response. ‘But apart from that …?’
He shrugs. ‘I’m a friend of Mark’s. We went to secondary school together.’
‘Oh good. He’s not just picking up random men in bars while he waits for a date with me.’
He smiles again. It’s a nice smile, she decides. Not as straight or white as Mark’s, but there’s something about the crookedness of his mouth that’s … endearing? Sexy? No. Not sexy. She probably shouldn’t be thinking of Mark’s friend’s mouth as sexy – she’s been out of the dating game a while, but she’s almost definitely sure that’s against the rules.
‘So.’ He takes a pull on his beer. ‘Make a habit of falling off scooters in general, or was that just a one-off?’
‘Oh all the time,’ she says with a wave of her hand. ‘Not just scooters, though. Bikes. Tricycles. Skateboards. Really anything with wheels. As long as it’s something I can throw myself off at the feet of strangers, I’m there.’
He laughs, and she notices the way his eyes seem to lighten as he does. ‘Is that so?’
‘Yep,’ she says lightly. ‘So don’t consider yourself special or anything like that.’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’ He considers her for a moment. Then, ‘I returned it, by the way.’
‘What?’
‘The scooter. I figured you’d get charged if I didn’t.’
‘Oh.’ She’s momentarily stumped by the kindness of the gesture. ‘Thank you. That’s really …’ She sighs. ‘I am sorry, you know. I didn’t mean to shout at you. It was just …’
‘A bad day?’
‘Yeah. A really bad day.’
He’s looking at her in a way she recognises, like he might ask what’s wrong. Or whatwaswrong, perhaps. His head is slightly tilted, the weight of his focus heavy on her. She needs to distract him, because she really doesn’t want to talk about it. She doesn’t want to explain the relevance of that date or why it has a tendency to send her off the deep end. The anniversary of your little sister’s death isn’t exactly a conversation starter, is it? Besides, Mark himself doesn’t even know about it, so she hardly wants to be discussing it when he comes back.
She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. Why can’t she think of a damn thing to say – is she really this terrible at small talk?
