‘Better go, love, before he cracks the shits again.’ Or in English, rather than Flynn’s Aussie speak; Keir’s a little angry. ‘See you around seven?’
‘Okay,’ I agree, my voice tinged with laughter.
‘Great. Can’t wait.’
And neither can I. I don’t get much farther in my silly, soppy, smiling quest when Tate, my neighbour, appears before me. In fact, right outside of his restaurant.
‘Chastity,’ he says, looking genuinely pleased. ‘I wondered how long it would be before you popped in for that coffee.’
Ah, hell. I did say I would, but things have changed. But as it begins to rain, I decide to do the decent thing and have a coffee and a conversation with the man.
‘I do have a little time. If you’re free, we could do it now.’ Not doit, obviously. I’m only doing it with Flynn, and that’s more than enough for me. In fact, it’s sometimes a little too much. The man’s appetite is voracious in all the ways. If he’s eating a meal, he’s enjoying it. If he’s eating me, then we’re both pretty sweet.That’s more Flynn-speak.
‘Earth to Chastity?’ Tate brings his face level with mine. ‘You spaced out there.’
It’s happening a lot lately and always when thinking of Flynn. Not to self: I must get a grip.
‘I just have a lot on my mind. Busy, busy! But I do have time for a coffee.’
‘Great. That’s great. Shall we...’ Tate holds out his arm, pushing the glass entrance door wide.
‘So how’re things?’ he asks, setting down a latte in front of me a few moments later. He pulls out the chair opposite, sitting down himself.
‘Good! I’m good.’ And overly effusive, it seems. ‘How’s business?’
‘Also good. And the renovations on the house are about to start. Plans were just given the go-ahead.’
‘Oh, I didn’t realise you were remodelling?’ And so it goes, polite conversation as I wonder how to steer it to the important parts. I’m not unfriendly, just maybe not very good with people I don’t know.
‘And how’s work?’
‘Ah, you mean the fictitious history gig?’
‘You never did tell me what you do for a living,’ he asks, in the vein of someone who’d like very much to know.
‘There’s a reason for that.’ A dirty reason.
‘Oh?’
‘It’s top secret,’ I say again, I’m not in the least bit ashamed about how I earn my crust, but there are some things I just don’t talk about. Not until I know a person better, at least. ‘I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.’
‘Intriguing.’
‘It’s not really. I work in media.’ Sort of. ‘And I run my own business.’ I once was asked if that made me a cam-girl. God, I laughed so hard the guy who asked must have thought I was off my rocker.
‘We, er, also said we’d discuss what I’ve been calling you in my head.’ Tate rubs his nose, maybe a little nervous. Or at least good at playing the part of someone who’s self-effacing. But whatever, knowing what he calls me in his head seems like something I don’t need to hear. Too intimate, perhaps. Besides, what if it’s a horrid name? Like fat arse or horse face. Some things are better left unsaidandunheard.
‘The thing is, Tate, I’m sort of seeing someone.’ I wrap my hands around my latte cup, surprised that his expression doesn’t change. Strange.
‘Oh. Just recent, then?’ He takes a sip from his own cup.
‘It’s new.’ And exciting. ‘Things are going pretty good.’
‘I’m happy for you, if not a little disappointed for myself. It makes me wish I hadn’t waited. But I’ll be here if. Well, you know.’
Hmm. Not sure that’s the way things really work.
‘Tell me about your renovation,’ I say, hoping to steer the conversation in another direction. And I do. Who knew remodelling a house could be so arduous. Or maybe that’s just the retelling. But conversation moves along as my latte is drained. Halleluiah!
