“I don’t want to argue about Ada and Jake,” I say. “Can’t you just trust me? He’s perfect for her. Yousaw the gorgeous gift he gave her.”
Davis lifts his fresh Coke Zero to his mouth. “Didn’t peg you for the type to be swayed by presents.”
“I’m not. I mean, Iam. I love a present, if it means something.” I gesture vaguely at the liquor shelf. “If Jake bought Ada tequila or a bunch of shitty supermarket flowers, I’d have told him to kick rocks, but he sent her a first edition of her favourite book. That’s the difference between a gift and a present. Agiftis something bigger. Not more expensive,” I say, catching the look on Davis’s face. “It’s the meaning behind it. Showing you really know someone.”
“Seems to go hand-in-hand with ‘expensive.’”
I roll my eyes. “You want to know what one of the best gifts I ever got was? Soap.”
“Soap?”
“Soap. I like citrus scented things. They make me happy. Anyway, this semester at uni, I was failing my pharmacology paper, living above these terrifying gang guys, and it was the middle of winter. I wasmiserable. Then I came home one night, and Ada had sent me a bar of orange and lemongrass soap. She was at Juilliard; she probably spent more on shipping than the soap, but the minute I used it, I felt better.”
“Because of the citrus-scent?” Davis says with a smile.
“Partly. But mostly because, even from halfway around the world, she’d found a way to tell me she was thinking of me. And every time I used the soap after that, even on really bad days, I felt good.”
Davis looks sceptical. “That’s all it takes?”
“That’s literally all it takes. When Ada gave me that soap, when Jake gave her that book, it’s like a neon sign saying,I see you. You matter.That’s what counts. Ada’s ex? He was a ‘presents’ guy. He rained expensive crap on her, and ifhewalked in here right now, you’d have to hold me back before I smashed a wine bottle over his head.”
Davis laughs, the ink on his neck shifting. “You’re an A-plus friend, Cece Taylor.”
My stomach fizzes at the way he says my name. “Thanks.”
His face shifts. Goes serious again. “Still, whatever issue wasbetween Ada and Jake that night with the stags? It’s still there. And he’s stupid if he thinks buying her a book and keeping her fuck-drunk is gonna fix it.”
My stomach lurches again. I’m probably hungry. “You think being in love is stupid?”
He shrugs. “I think believing people can change is stupid.”
“That’s a sad way to look at the world...”
“Doesn’t make it wrong.”
I frown. “You sound like one of the old-timers crowding up the bar at 3 p.m.”
“Feel like one sometimes.”
“You’re twenty-four! Not triple-divorced with fifteen kids!”
He smiles into his Coke Zero. “True.”
“So, why all the cynicism, Davis Sanderson?” I give his arm a gentle push, but it feels like granite, and I drop my hand. “Who broke your heart?”
He lifts his gaze. “My dad.”
I wince. “I’m so sorry.”
My words are a weak offering, but one side of his lips kicks up. “Thanks, but don’t be. I was six when he left, but he wasn’t much of a dad anyway. Never picked me up from school, didn’t take me to the park. He worked a lot, but that wasn’t why he was never around. ‘Couldn’t be bothered,’ he told Mum. Then a week after I turned six, he was gone. Surprised he lasted that long.”
“Oh, Davis…”
“It’s okay.” He braces both hands on the side of the bar, squeezing until his knuckles go white. Without thinking, I slide a hand over his. He flips his palm up, fingers curling around mine. His are warm and rough and twice the size. I look at them, and my pulse jolts.
“Me and Mum were fucked without him,” Davis mutters. “His pay, nothim. I dunno how Mum handled it. She was there every day, working all the time so I could keep playing cricket and going to after-school shit. She barely ate anything but rice and soy sauce for years. Makes me sick, how hard it must have been, but she did her best to hideit. Wanted me to think we were normal.”
“Did you, um, ever hear from your dad again?”
