‘Ah.’ He shoves his hands into his pockets. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Thanks. Well, I mean, it wasn’t …’ She blows out a breath, feeling heat creep up the back of her neck. Why is she making such a fool of herself? ‘Thanks,’ she repeats. ‘Anyway, I’ll just …’ She gestures past him, to the door, with her book. He glances down at the title before she can hide it again.
‘Sure.’ He pauses, like he might say something else, then moves aside for her. ‘Good to see you, Lissa.’
‘You too.’
She closes her eyes, shaking her head at herself as she steps out of the bookshop. She can hear Ash giving his name to the bookseller, saying he’s here to collect an order. Her stomach is jumping uncomfortably, like it’s annoyed with her for being so socially awkward. She hears the beep of a horn, opens her eyes to see a motorbike whizzing down the one-way street. Coming right towards her as she steps into the road in front of it.
Her heart lurches as she scrabbles backwards, and the motorcyclist beeps his horn again as he swerves past her. She hears the bell of the shop door, then feels someone grabbing her, pulling her back onto the pavement.
Ash steps around her, into the road, and she reaches for his arm automatically, even though the danger has passed, the motorbike now way past them. But he is out on the street, shouting at the motorcyclist. She doesn’t hear what he’s saying, though, because over the top of his voice is the screeching of brakes somewhere up ahead.
The idiot on the bike is going to hit someone, isn’t he? People shouldn’t drive that fast – that’s the way to kill someone. And it could have been her. It could have beenAsh, when he’d run into the street like that.
Her ears are ringing as Ash turns to her, and his brow furrows.
‘Lissa? Are you okay? He didn’t hit you, did he?’
She is breathing too heavily, she realises. Where she grips her book, her fingertips prickle.
She’s not okay. She’s not okay but she doesn’t know why. Her head is spinning. Her breath comes more quickly. Only she’s not got enough oxygen. She’s not got enough, and she can’t breathe, and now it’s not her head spinning but the whole street tilting around her.
Her book falls to the ground with a heavy thump. She can feel pins and needles in her feet, her hands. Her throat is closing, and she can’t do anything about it.
No. Not here.
But she is already falling, and an arm is coming out to support her, one hand around her waist, guiding her to the ground. She blinks, but it does nothing to help, so she sticks her head between her knees, hearing the harsh rasping sound of her own breath. Someone is saying her name, telling her to breathe. But that’s what she’s doing. That’s what she’s doing, only it’s not enough – she’s going to pass out, she can feel it.
It didn’t happen, she tells herself. No one got hit. No one got hurt. But she can feel it like it happened toher. The sting of the tarmac raw against her knees. The sound of someone screaming over the hiss of brakes. A man’s head –Ash’shead – cracked and bleeding.
Come on, Lissa. Don’t do this.
A hand is on her back, stroking gently. ‘It’s okay. You’re okay.’ The same words, over and over.
You’re okay.
She’s okay. She’s okay, she’s okay, she’s okay. She didn’t get hit. No one was hurt.
Slowly her breathing calms. She feels the world around her steady, as the ringing in her ears subsides. She stays where she is, head between her knees, for a few more moments, the air cooling inside her mouth. There is a hand on her back, soothing her.
Ash’s hand. Ash’s voice. He’s sitting next to her on the pavement.
She lifts her head, humiliation already creeping in. He is right there, inches from her. He saw the whole thing. Another witness to just how mad she is. It’s like Liam at the office all over again.
He holds out a cup of water. Oh God, where did he get that? She glances over her shoulder, sees the bookseller hovering.
‘Here,’ Ash insists. ‘Drink.’ He presses the cup into her hand. When she lifts it to her lips, the contents tremble. But she’s not the only one shaking, she realises. Because Ash’s hand is not steady either as he moves it away from her.
‘Is she okay?’ the bookseller asks behind them.
‘I’m fine,’ Lissa says, as firmly as she can manage. It doesn’t help that her voice is hoarse, like she’s coming round from a cold. For fuck’s sake, she didn’t even get hurt this time, what is wrong with her? It was the idea that shecouldhave been hurt. Or that Ash could have been – that he could have been hit pulling her back like that, charging into the street with the same hero complex she’d seen on the day she met him.
Then it would have been another person dead because of her.
But it all feels so stupid now. Of course he wouldn’t have died. There was no real danger.
‘Are you injured?’ he asks, the question brisk, efficient.
