“And read the book,” he adds assertively.
As Gus walks swiftly back towards the bookshop, I escape too, deciding to head home without waiting for my sisters. They’ll understand.
I’m on the tube heading south by the time my tears really hit. Nobody looks my way as I attempt to hide that I’m crying uncontrollably. One man moves seats to get away from me but mostly everyone else minds their own business.
Once I’m on the train back to Brighton, I take the book out. When I open the page my heart stops for a beat.
He didn’t sign it.
He left a phone number and a note.
Sara, I’m not signing this for someone else. Please call me.
Gus
My brain scrambles. I’m still wiping tears away. There’s no way I can call him. I don’t even know what to say. I know what Iwantto say. Deep down, the voice from my heart has lots of words to describe how I feel. The voice in my head, however, is telling me to tread carefully.
But where has that ethos ever gotten me?
Instead of calling, I send him a message with my address in it. If we’re going to talk, we need privacy. And if he really does want to talk, he’ll come find me.
I don’t hear from him all evening.
My sisters on the other hand nag me for updates in the group chat. When I send them a thumbs down emoji and a short message to say I’m home, they leave it. Probably pitying me. Or not. The rascals. I’m sure they’re enjoying their night out in London.
After a light dinner, I climb into my pyjamas, brush my teeth and get ready for bed. It’s nearly midnight by the time I start turning the lights off. My eyes are dry from all the crying, and my chest is tight from the breathlessness.
My head hits the pillow when the doorbell rings.
Thirty-Six
I creep through the apartment in silence, barefooted.
It’s late, and I leave all the lights off as I sneak up to the door and check through the peephole. My body reacts so fast, I find myself clutching my chest.
I open the door.
Gus waits on the other side.
He looks tired, his curls array, a takeaway coffee and box of chocolates in hand.
I don’t know what to say to him so I just stare.
He half-grins. “You have no idea the trouble I went to in order to find a coffee at this hour. But I guessed you weren’t the flower kind of girl.”
He’s right. “I hate watching them die.”
He nods, like that makes sense. “Can I come in? Before I’m spotted?”
“It’s midnight,” I say, eyeing the road that is currently deserted.
He takes a step forward. “It’s just an excuse. I really want to come in.”
I open the door wider, then switch the lights on. He’s stillin the same outfit from earlier. Has he come directly from the event? My mind is racing.
He steps over the threshold and I shut the door behind him, showing him into the living room. He offers me the coffee and I accept it, unable to hide a smile.
“It’s decaf,” he explains.
