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‘Like a ghost?’ he supplies, deadpan.

‘I was thinking more like a dog with an accent.’

He chuffs, and I swear on the Stars I see an almost-smile. ‘It’s not small talk.’

‘Then—?’

‘Small talk would imply polite conversation of unimportance. I don’t do polite, Miller.’ He steps further into my space, crowding me. ‘And I certainly wouldn’t waste my time on someone unimportant.’

‘So then what are…?’ His proximity is distracting. I can’t finish a thought. I wet my lips and try again. ‘Why do you…?’

‘I—’

I look over his shoulder at the clock. ‘Shit!’ I curse. ‘I have to go, I’m running late.’

‘Right.’ He takes a step back. I hurry towards the door before turning back. I could ask him. I could ask him to come. Maybe? Would he like it? I don’t know. Feels risky, in more than one way. And Hot Face. I invited him. That’s right. I have a date. I have a date. So, why do I wish I didn’t? Or, more accurately, why do I wish it was someone else meeting me there. I shake my head. These thoughts are non-productive, and quite frankly, self-destructive.

‘Will you be home? Later?’

‘I have work to do.’

I nod. Without much else to say, I turn towards the door.

‘Miller,’ he calls.

Before I can turn back around, he’s there in front of me. I feel the telltale signs of him. Cool pressure against the top of my shoulder. I look to see him untwisting the strap of my dress.

‘There,’ he says.

There. Like he’s offering me a piece of cheese or handing me the remote. Such a mundane staple of the human language has no right to make me feel like I do in this instant.

‘Thank you,’ I muster. Walker disappears, his fingertips dusting my shoulder the last to leave.

Each clack of my heels is like another nail in the tiny coffins that will be used for my feet. Surely, they’ll have disintegrated into nothing but stumps by the time I reach the library.

However, I’ve been catcalled tw⁠—

‘Hey, baby!’

Thrice now, so despite Walker’s lukewarm appraisal and the unfortunate timing of my cycle, I’d call tonight’s outfit a winner.

‘Pigs!’ I yell back at the two young men on bikes and make an obscene gesture. Can’t let my fellow feminists know I’ll backslide on morals if a paltry compliment is involved.

I stopped by the corner store on the way through, but I didn’t see Hot Face. Instead, there was a strange little talking ferret in his seat that cussed me out and told me to stop making off with his mangoes. Hot Face is either already at the event or getting ready. I’ll have to talk to him about the aggressive rodent stand-in. I’ve no doubt he’s been scaring the customers off. If I was of a weaker constitution I’d be very off-put.

I walk up the steps to the library and, ‘Hi, I’m Neville.’

A grin splits my face near in two when I see him all spruced up. His hair is slicked back, and he’s in a suit that can’t quite button all the way.

‘Neville.’ I give him my warmest smile and come closer to fix his bow-tie. ‘You’re looking very handsome in your suit.’

A shy smile appears on his ruddy face, and he puffs out his chest when he opens the door and ushers me in.

The event isn’t grand. In fact, it looks a bit like one of those cheesy high school dances from an eighty’s sitcom. With its plastic tablecloths, spiked punch and home-baked goods by someone’s nan, it’s not spectacular or show-stopping. But it is perfect.

My dear mature friends look like the brightest stars in all the skies. Aggy has donned a matching peach floral skirt / shirt duo and is currently talking to Gary. John looks very smart in his navy suit. Stationed by the exit, he nods to me as I pass. I make my way over to the centre of the room and take a look around at all their hard work and smile. Helen joins me and damn…

‘What do you think?’ She spins in her chair.