Her head feels too heavy as she shakes it. ‘No. I’m just …’ But she can’t find the right word. Embarrassed. Mortified. Pathetic. ‘I’m fine. I’m sorry. I was …’ She blows out a breath. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says again.
‘No need to apologise,’ he says, though his voice is tight. God. What must he think?
She tries to get to her feet, but he grips her arm, holding her in place. ‘I don’t think you should move yet,’ he says, still in that same tight tone.
His face is a little pale, she sees now. And that tone – maybe it’s not fear that she’s a lunatic, but another kind of fear? She watches him for a moment, considering. Then, ‘I scared you,’ she states.
He puffs out his cheeks. ‘Nah. I mean, sure, I was seconds away from calling an ambulance and trying to remember a CPR course I went on once, but apart from that …’
Lissa snort-laughs, the sound tired. ‘Thank you for resisting. And I’m sorry for scaring you.’
He nods slowly. ‘So that was …’
She grimaces. ‘A panic attack. Anxiety attack. Whatever.’
‘Right. But you’re okay now?’ His gaze travels over her, as if looking for signs of damage. ‘I mean, is there anything I should – could – do?’
‘No. I mean, if you happen to be on the brink of inventing a time machine, then if you wouldn’t mind letting me borrow it, that would be great.’
He laughs that easy laugh of his. The colour is coming back to his face now. ‘That might be a bit beyond my technical skills. I suppose I could give it a go,’ he muses. ‘I reckon I could get it tolookreally cool.’
‘Well that’s something. We don’t want to go back in time in something that looks a bit shit.’
‘Yeah, especially if it doesn’t work.’
‘Especially then, yeah.’
He’s still eyeing her critically, like he’s expecting her to collapse again. Like she’s a broken, fragile thing. She reaches behind her for the book she dropped, partly so she doesn’t have to look at him, but he beats her to it, handing it to her.
‘Dreams, huh?’ he asks as she takes it.
She doesn’t have it in her to be embarrassed about that, after what he just saw. ‘Yep,’ she says easily. ‘Pretty sure I’m psychic.’ Even if the visions she’s having are definitely of the past, not the future.
He laughs again, picking up his own book. A language primer. She raises her eyebrows. ‘Portuguese?’
‘Yep. Thinking I might take a bit of a break from the scouting, go to Brazil.’ He frowns. ‘After I’m done in Bath.’
She cocks her head. ‘Got a thing for the Bs, have you?’
He grins, then runs another assessing glance over her, top to bottom. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing you need?’
She sighs. ‘Thank you, but I’ll be okay. Honestly. This isn’t … I just need to get home.
‘Okay. Come on, I’ll walk with you.’
‘You don’t have to,’ she says quietly.
‘I know I don’t.’
There’s the edge of a memory there, just out of reach. Turned to smoke before she can fully grasp it.
He gets to his feet, holding out a hand to help her up. After a brief hesitation, she takes it. He keeps hold of it for a moment, his long fingers light and cool around hers. She feels an echo of another man’s hand encircling her wrist. An echo of those goosebumps, travelling up her arm underneath her layers. Her breath catches as she lifts her gaze to meet Ash’s. As eyes darker than his look back at her.
Then he drops her hand, smiles an easy smile. He jerks his head. ‘Come on. Lead the way.’ And that moment, that feeling, is gone.
Chapter Eleven
That evening, Lissa curls up on the sofa in her small flat, heating on, the blanket Mia bought her for Christmas last year draped over her knees. She’s taken two paracetamol and is on her second glass of mint tea, but a headache still presses at her temples, the way it often does after an anxiety attack. She feels wrung out, like she’s spent the day crying, her body aching as if she’s run a marathon. Although since she’s never run a marathon, she supposes she wouldn’t know.
