We move to the neighbouring stall. Ash slings his T-shirt over his shoulder so he has both hands free to riffle through the racks. He’s wearing the cap.
‘What about this?’ he asks, pulling out a horrible Aztec-print pink and purple vest.
‘I don’t think so.’
‘But it would please me to see you in this and you’re a people pleaser, so …’
‘Fuck off,’ I mutter with a laugh.
He chuckles and slides it back onto the rail.
‘I actually do quite like the crocheted tops,’ I muse, fingering an emerald-green one. ‘But I can’t very well go around Lisbon dressed in a holey top and knickers.’
‘Oh, but that would be so fun to see,’ he says playfully, hooking his arm over the end of a rail and smiling at me.
I shove his arm and wish I could let my hand linger. My urge to touch him is strong.
‘No, it has to be a dress to replace the one I have on,’ I state adamantly.
‘What about this?’ He pulls out a lightweight summer dress that is a classic red and dotted all over with tiny white flowers.
‘Ooh,’ I coo appreciatively, my heart rate spiking when our hands brush again. ‘Have you been shopping with girls before?’
‘One of my best friends is a girl,’ he reveals with a shrug.
Interesting. I return my attention to the dress. It’s pretty.
‘Red always makes me think ofAnnie. You know, the musical? The dressmaker says that blue is her best colour, then she changes her mind and says, “No, red, I think.” But as a kid I didn’t get the subtlety of the pause. I just heard “No red” and then couldn’t figure out why they put red-haired Annie in a red dress. I avoided red for years, not sure what to believe.’
I look up at Ash, note his sweet smile, and suddenly I want to be inside his head again, reading his thoughts.
‘Is there anywhere to try it on?’ I catch the stallholder’s eye and ask the question.
‘You pay for it, take it to the restrooms at the market to try on, and if you don’t like it, I will give you a refund,’ she assures me.
I’m grateful that so many people here speak English.
Ash waits outside the restrooms while I change. I come out to find him by a flower stall, his lime-green shirt standing out against the dark wall he’s leaning against. He looks stupidly cool with his tousled dark gold hair and strong jaw. He’s staring off to the side, but when he turns his head and sees me, he does a tiny double take, like the one he did the first time we met.
‘Whoa. Okay,’ he says, pushing off from the wall and taking a few steps towards me before halting. He has his T-shirt clutched in his hand.
‘Whoa, okay, what?’ I ask self-consciously.
‘I think we can safely say that redisyour colour,’ he says slowly.
He lifts his eyes, which have swept the length of my body.
‘Yeah?’ I ask nervously.
‘Mm-hmm.’ He rakes his hand through his hair, and to my surprise, I see that his cheeks have taken on the same hue as the tip of his nose. He pulls his gaze away to stare out of the wide market doors. ‘Where to next?’ he asks weakly.
‘Castle of São Jorge?’
He nods. ‘Sounds good.’
CHAPTER THREE
I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but I think Ash might quite fancy me in this dress. Out of the corner of my eye, I keep catching him looking at me and it’s making me feel as though the electrical cables intersecting the cornflower-blue sky are charging my bloodstream as well as the trams. We wander the streets between attractive tiled buildings with wrought-iron balconies and occasionally a tram trundles along, canary yellow against the urban backdrop.
