I have to be careful. My heart is still a mangled thing. Finn threatens to bring it to life and I’m not ready.
‘Your table’s this way,’ the waitress says amiably, grabbing two menus and leading us beneath a surfboard strapped to the ceiling to the far side of the restaurant.
Potted plants sit on the floor and hang from columns, and neon signs and artwork adorn the vibrantly coloured walls. I sit and order a passionfruit martini, my favourite cocktail on the menu.
The song playing over the sound system is familiar. I point my finger up at the speaker fixed to the ceiling, listening.
‘“CCTV”!’ I exclaim, thrilled that I can put a name to it.
He smiles. ‘“Stars of CCTV”,’ he gently corrects. ‘Band?’
I think for a moment and then it comes to me. ‘Hard-Fi!’
‘You’ve been listening to my playlist.’
‘Alot.’
‘Well, at least that’s something,’ he says drily, taking a swig of his beer and giving himself a small shake, as if to gather himself. ‘How’s your day been?’
‘Okay. Michael has been interviewing personal assistants,’ I disclose. ‘He sacked his last support worker.’ I laugh under my breath. ‘To be fair, he was a bit of a, and I quote, “rooster”.’
‘What?’ he asks laughingly, leaning back in his chair.
‘He once had another support worker who my mum described as a mother hen, always fussing around and bossing him about. A bit overbearing, you know? Michael wasn’t comfortable with her, so my parents advertised for a personal assistant and let him choose who he wanted. Carrie was awesome – he loved her – but she moved away a few months ago, sadly, and it’s been a nightmare trying to find a suitable replacement. I managed to line up help via the council, but the guy they sent was like a male version of the mother hen, hence “rooster”.’
He gives me a sympathetic look. ‘I remember Carrie from the funeral. She was lovely. I’m sorry she couldn’t stick around.’
‘Yeah, it sucks,’ I say dejectedly.
‘So how did the interviews go?’ he asks. ‘Did he find anyone he liked?’
I nod. ‘There was one woman about his age who seems promising – Hettie – but we’ve got one last interview tomorrow afternoon. Sorry, this is boring.’
‘Nothing you say is boring, Liv.’
I must visibly wince because he frowns and adds, ‘That wasn’t a line.’
‘I know. Just … maybe don’t be too nice to me,’ I mutter, wishing I had a drink to sip.
Finn’s brows draw together. ‘Why would you say that?’
‘Forget it. How was your day?’
‘Hang on.’ He leans forward, his stare intense. ‘Why don’t you want me to be nice to you?’
Thankfully, we’re interrupted by the waitress returning with my drink. ‘Here we go,’ she says, putting down a coaster, followed by my passionfruit cocktail. ‘Are you guys ready to order?’
‘Give us two secs,’ Finn replies.
I bury my face in my menu. I’m outwardly calm, but inwardly on edge. I look up and catch the waitress’s eye, but as soon as we’ve placed our order, Finn leans forward.
‘Spill it.’
‘Urgh. I told you to forget it.’
‘I can’t do that. Why shouldn’t I be nice to you?’
‘Because I don’t want to get too attached, okay?’ I reply sharply.
