“Aren’t you going to apologise for yesterday morning, too?”
“No. You were being rude.”
I withdraw my hand. There are limits.
“For the record, it is not a crime to take a phone call!”
“Rowan,” I say warningly. “Give me your hand right now. I am trying to be nice.”
“I bet that’s hard for you.”
“I’m going to count from five.”
“I am not a child.”
“Then stop acting like one. Apology rescinded in five—”
“—Fine!” She grabs my hand and shakes it brusquely, dropping it as though it burns.
“Bless the lord. Right. Nice to meet you. Angus Mackenzie. Strengths include: advanced wilderness survival, birthing calfs, avoiding questions about my feelings, and apparently pissing women called Rowan off.”
“Don’t you mean pissing women off?”
“I’ll have you know most women find me charming.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
I wait a moment. “This is the part where you introduce yourself.”
“Fine, fine.” But there’s a note of laughter in her voice. “Rowan Turner. Unsure of why we’re handing out last names like Halloween sweets. Hoping you’re not going to turn out to be a stalker. My friends know where I am, by the way, so don’t get any ideas. Uh… Strengths include: eating my bodyweight in pasta, dopamine dressing,” she indicates her appalling outfit, “and making conversations as awkward as possible.”
Rowan holds two thumbs up in demonstration.
I hate to ask, but… “What is dopamine dressing?”
She flashes me an evil smile. “I’m so glad you asked. Dopamine dressing is when you dress for the mood you want, when you choose clothes that make you feel good, that put a smile on your face instead of following stupid fake rules of style or trend. It’s all about colour, see.” And she gestures to herself again.
I can’t resist. “You seem to be doing a great job at it.”
“You think so?”
I nod solemnly. “Don’t think you could find a soul who’d call any of this stylish.”
She mock-gasps. “Says the man wearing boring, grey hiking trousers! At least my clothes bring me joy. What do yours give you?”
“Comfort.” I smirk. “Protection from prying eyes.”
“I said I was sorry about that!”
“Ach. I’m teasing.”
“Well, please stop.”
I hold up both of my hands. “Stopping. Right now.” But a smile still threatens my lips. I don’t know what’s come over me.Rowan is bright. She doesn’t think well of herself, that’s clear, and she talks too much, especially when she’s nervous, and she might be the worst dresser I’ve ever met – nothing like Violet’s elegant, understated sense of style – but sitting here with her, something sparks inside me. Excitement. Interest. I have the sudden urge to ask her everything about herself, to hear her whole life story, beginning to end. She’s funny and warm and surprising, and I want to sit by her light and bask in the glow.
This feeling is dangerous. It’s reaching out your hand to the coals, knowing they’ll burn you. It’s throwing yourself into too-fast waters with a hole in your boat, knowing it will drown you. It’s running off the mountain, instead of walking.
I want to do it anyway.
