Surprise flashes in his eyes. ‘The plastic ones with the little barriers?’
‘Mine are ceramic, thank you very much. But yes.’
His grin turns triumphant. ‘Look at us, we’re like soulplates.’
‘Pipe down, Lennox.’ But I smile, unsure if him being funny puts me at ease or in danger.
Talking to Finn is easy. I keep waiting for the moment I’ll have to carry the conversation, but it never comes. His company is comfortable, which should make me suspicious. My brain should be pinging alarms. Instead, it kicks up its feet, and folds its arms behind its head.
The waiter floats over and launches into the specials like he’s announcing another royal birth. I nod along, half-listening. Finn orders the lasagne with garlic bread, I take the Scottish sirloin of beef burger.
Once the waiter leaves, Finn eases back in his chair. ‘So, Theodora MacMickin. Tell me something real. Since we’re going steady, I figure I should know more about you. How did you grow up?’
That’s a question that sounds harmless unless you understand what the answer can cost. A knock on a door that I’d rather keep closed. But he’s right, we need to know something about each other. Luckily, something is not everything and I can work with that.
‘Fife, a coastal village called Elie.’
‘Bit boring, then?’
‘Kind of.’ I take a sip of my drink. ‘My dad was in the Royal Navy and was away a lot before he retired last year. Mum is a sculptor. Middle class, I suppose.’
‘Sounds sheltered and cosy.’
‘Parts were. But not all of it.’ I twirl my glass and swallow the bitter taste that comes with remembering an absent father and a mother who couldn’t get out of bed most days. ‘What about you? Glasgow, right?’
‘Aye. Easterhouse.’
I know enough to recognise that’s not the easiest place to grow up. A place people have opinions about without ever setting foot there. ‘What was that like?’
‘Let’s call it character building.’ There’s a smile, but it lands late. As if he had to pull it on by the collar. ‘Learned to run fast early on. Came in handy for rugby.’
‘Your parents?’
‘My…biological father wasn’t around. Not that it was a loss. My maw worked her arse off and had her hands full with my two older sisters.’ He shrugs, casual, but his hand stays frozen tightly around the glass. ‘Not much to tell.’
‘Everyone has stories.’
‘Some aren’t worth sharing.’
His deflection is smooth and practised. I’ve used it myself. Keep it light, reveal nothing. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?
‘What were you like at school?’ I ask, to change the subject and perhaps level the field.
‘Suspended a lot. I was a wee gobshite.’ He laughs. ‘Didn’t like sitting still. Didn’t like being told what to do.’
‘Sounds like you.’
The food arrives, plates set down between us. Finn lounges in his chair with the casual confidence of someone who knows what he looks like, with the sharp-edged bone structure to back it up. Honestly, his face is unfair, that’s the only word for it. Masculine to the point that makes it hard to keep your eyes away. Lines softened by a mouth that probably gets him into and out of trouble more than it should. Baby-blue eyes under long lashes. That’s a face that gets away with things all the time.
And I’m not thrilled that it’s working on me.
We eat in silence for a bit. Not awkward, but not easy either. I think I’m starting to see the man behind the front.
‘So,’ Finn says after a few bites, ‘what made you work with Charlie?’
‘I needed a fresh start.’ My gaze drops before I pull it back up. ‘London wasn’t working out, neither professionally nor personally.’
‘Ah, bad breakup?’
