‘It would be a miracle if the only thing he was on when he wrote those books was coffee.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ I say innocently. ‘Talking scarecrows and tin men and cowardly lions? Completely normal, everyday characters in Kansas.’
‘What about the witches?’
‘Yeah, they’re more of a Massachusetts thing,’ I confirm, reaching for my mocha. ‘Pretty easy to get a hold of, you can hire them on Etsy.’
My internal rollercoaster clicks its way back up to the top of the track when he looks at me, the easy conversation flowing. I know it’s stupid to get too excited too quickly but it’s almost impossible. Besides, isn’t that the entire point of spending time with someone you like? If you don’t get butterflies when they look your way then there’s no point leaving your house in the first place. I’m not saying it’s a good idea to skip to the end five minutes into a first date but when I brave a glimpse into Oliver’s grey-blue eyes, it’s not difficult to imagine what might come next. His strong hands wrapped around the stark white mug, the tendons in his forearms flexing, the way his throat contracts as he swallows. I take a deep breath in through my nose to ground myself but the warm smell of coffee and the scent of Oliver’s leather jacket only push me closer to the edge.
‘How was Quinn? Did he spring an insanely convoluted essay question on you?’
‘Oh my God, yes!’ I slam my mug down on the table with so much force, my blue hand is now also covered in coffee. ‘How did you know?’
‘Because he does it every year.’ Oliver shakes his head, eyes closed. ‘The man is one big power trip. People apply to Hemden from all over the world just to take his course and how does he repay them? By throwing them right in the fire and watching them burn. Which book did he choose?’
I flip through my bag, searching for my notes, because I have no idea, even though it was literally the only thing I could think about ten minutes earlier.
‘Uh,David Copperfield?’
He scoffs and takes another sip of black coffee before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
‘Think yourself lucky, it wasMartin Chuzzlewitlast year. Doesn’t matter, you’ll ace it, I’m certain.’
‘And what exactly are you basing that prediction on?’
‘The fact you’re here.’
He crosses his legs and his knee brushes against mine. When he doesn’t move it away, I’m retroactively thrilled that he chose to sit in the armchair instead of beside me on the sofa.
‘If you weren’t clever enough to kill it, you wouldn’t be at Hemden, and Quinn personally vets everyone who applies for his class. He must think you’re up to it.’ He gazes out at me from under a heavy fringe of dark blond lashes and I go limp. ‘I bet you’re brilliant.’
‘I feel brilliant,’ I whisper back before my eyes pop wide. ‘What I mean is, I feel brilliant now I know that. I didn’t realize Quinn hand-picked his class. I guess he must have some kind of faith in me.’
‘Clever, pretty and humble?’ Oliver’s eyes slip skyward and he takes a deep breath in. ‘You’re a dangerous one, Mia.’
‘Only when I’m behind the bar,’ I say, blushing so fiercely I’mworried my actual face might melt. ‘For real, you were smart not to come inside last night. I broke more bottles than I served.’
‘Was Alice playingCoyote Uglyagain? She’s been told not to climb on the bar.’
‘If only,’ I laugh, even as I’m silently freaking out at the thought. ‘No, just me and my own clumsy hands. Somehow I don’t think I’m destined to be a famous mixologist.’
‘Somehow, I don’t think so either.’ He uncrosses his legs and leans forward, close enough for me to see a tiny scar in his left eyebrow. ‘I think you’re destined for much greater things.’
All the words I have accumulated in almost twenty years on this planet dissolve into a syrupy sludge, not a single one available to me in that moment and so, instead of a witty comeback or a coquettish riposte, I snort out a laugh so loud, everyone in The Snug turns to stare at me. Even Ethan manages to tear his attention away from some blonde girl who has found her way onto his sofa. Oliver’s trademark sleepy half-smile flickers momentarily and I have to marvel at my ability to ruin a perfectly good moment.
‘So, I wanted to say thank you for the playlists,’ I say, rushing to pull his iPod out from my bag and press it into his hand before he can make an excuse to up and leave. ‘They were so great, so much new stuff on there I hadn’t heard before.’
He holds it up in acknowledgement then unravels the cord of the earbuds that I’ve wrapped around it, gently looping it lengthwise instead of across. Wow, I even found a way to mess that up. Impressive, Mia.
‘What did you like best?’ he asks, raising one rakish eyebrow. ‘And yes, I will judge your answer so be warned.’
‘At least you’re honest,’ I reply, rubbing my bracelet to soothe myself because is he even joking? Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit. ‘“SilverSprings” was my absolute favourite,’ I tell him, biting my lip when he offers a tight grimace in return and I try to remember the other song titles I’d memorized, the ones I thought he’d be most impressed by. ‘You were right about the Radiohead too, so, um, cerebral. Like, transcendent math rock.’
‘Exactly! That’s exactly how I would describe them.’
Which is a relief because I’d spent a whole hour in the library before class reading every available comment, reviews and analysis of this damn band I could access on our limited network and it was still endless. Men online had very, very strong feelings about them. Disturbingly strong, if I’m being honest.
‘I’ve always called Thom Yorke’s voice fragile titanium. There’s no one else like him in the entire world. I’m so, so happy you get them. A lot of people don’t.’
