Chapter Six Imani #2
My breath stalls for half a second. ‘You’re giving me too much credit,’ I say weakly. ‘I can assure you; I’ve been dumped plenty of times in my life.’
Well, that’s not strictly true. Now that I’m hurriedly combing through my dating history, it hits me that I’ve always been the dumper, never the dumpee.
Asher shakes his head, and there’s a faint, slightly incredulous smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he does so. ‘You’ve never been dumped.’
I scoff and, even though I’m fully aware he’s right, I’m ready to deny it on principle. ‘You don’t know that.’
‘I do,’ he says simply. ‘You’re…’ He trails off, clearly searching for the right word. His gaze drifts over my face for a beat too long. ‘You’re not the type of person people walk away from.’
I swallow and force myself to hold his eye. ‘And what about you?’
Asher falters ever so slightly. ‘What about me?’
‘Why would I walk away from you?’ Admittedly I know very little about Asher but, on the surface at least, he seems like a good guy. Smart, handsome, kind. Why would I walk?
He lets out a hollow laugh. ‘How much time do you have?’
I frown. I don’t like that. There’s something about the way he says it; the way his mouth tightens and he stiffens ever so slightly, like he’s bracing for impact. Like he’s used to people agreeing with him when he says self-deprecating things like that.
No, I don’t like it one bit.
I lean forward, mirroring the movement he’d done moments earlier. ‘Why,’ I repeat, softer this time. ‘Why would I have walked away from you?’
He stills for a moment and when he finally lifts his eyes to mine again, they’re darker than before. Sadder, too. He exhales, long and slow, and I think I can pinpoint the exact moment he decides to abandon whatever lie was about to come out of his mouth and to give me something honest instead.
‘I just mean,’ he says quietly, ‘if we did actually date, I wouldn’t have expected someone like you to stay.’
‘And someone like me is?’
He looks at me, really looks this time, and it shouldn’t feel like a touch, but somehow it does.
‘You’re bright – the kind of person who lights up a room,’ he says finally.
‘And determined. And alive in a way that I’m just not.
’ The corner of his mouth twitches, but it isn’t a smile.
‘You fill space while I actively avoid it. You would’ve got bored of waiting for me to catch up. ’
I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything. I just sit there, staring at him, as the words hang between us.
Bright.
Determined.
Alive in a way I’m not.
Asher and I barely know each other so the words shouldn’t land the way they do.
They shouldn’t make my throat tighten or my chest pull in an uncomfortable, unexpected way.
But there’s something in his voice that’s too soft, too apologetic, too resigned, which makes me want to reach across the table and shake him.
Or hug him.
Maybe both.
Because the way he sees himself is bleak, wrong – even I can tell him that from just our limited time together – and deeply, deeply unfair.
I don’t know how to respond, not without crossing a line that feels forbidden for two people who are just barely acquaintances, so I pivot towards the only thing that feels safe. Humour.
‘You know,’ I say lightly, leaning back into my chair as if he hasn’t just essentially cracked open his ribcage and shared the most vulnerable part of himself, ‘if you keep talking like that, no one is ever going to believe we’re exes.’
His brows pull together. ‘Huh?’
‘We’re meant to hate each other,’ I remind him. ‘And here you are complimenting me every five minutes.’ I pull an overly dramatic faux-disapproving look. ‘Not very believable if you ask me.’
A startled laugh escapes him and the space between us seems to soften slightly. Things suddenly feel noticeably less heavy.
‘Sorry,’ he says, though he doesn’t sound even remotely apologetic. ‘I’ll work on being less complimentary, I guess?’
‘Please do,’ I say. ‘Because right now, no one’s going to buy the whole bitter exes thing.’ In fact, if someone were watching us right now, they might think we were on a first date. ‘Actually, I’m starting to think we have a bigger problem.’
Asher cocks his head to the side.
I narrow my eyes in mock seriousness and wag my pen in his face. ‘I’m not entirely convinced you even have the capacity to be hateful.’
Whatever he was expecting me to say, it definitely wasn’t that. Several emotions flit over his face, before settling on bemusement. ‘I think I’ll be alright.’
I hum in disagreement. ‘I’m not sure. And if you can’t be convincingly awful to me in front of everyone, then our whole plan collapses. Maybe we should practise. Go ahead.’ I fold my arms and nod at him. ‘Say something mean.’
Asher just stares at me, his lips parted slightly in disbelief. It’s kind of adorable if I’m being honest.
I tap my pen against my notebook. ‘Any day now.’
‘This is ridiculous,’ he mutters.
‘It’s also necessary,’ I counter. ‘Come on. Give me one insult. Just a tiny one. I believe in you.’
‘I’m not going to insult you.’
‘But I’ve given you permission! Just do it. I promise I won’t cry.’
‘No,’ he says flatly.
I pretend to gasp. ‘There! See? That tone was perfect. Hold onto it and try again. That’s the kind of hostility we need.’
‘That wasn’t hostility.’
‘It was absolutely hostility.’
‘It was exasperation.’
‘Well, exasperation counts,’ I say, feeling a little exasperated myself. ‘We can make exasperation work.’
He looks at me with a mix of disbelief and something else I can’t name and then drags a hand down his face. It’s a long-suffering motion that ends with him staring at me through his fingers. ‘Imani.’
The way he says my name, like he’s half pleading, half desperately trying not to laugh, makes my stomach flutter.
I straighten in my chair, as if the movement might literally shove the feeling back down to wherever it came from.
‘Yes?’ I manage. I’m aiming for breezy and unbothered but can concede I probably land a little closer to breathless.
He drops his hand from his face and looks at me with a tired kind of fondness that makes the flutter intensify tenfold. ‘You’re impossible.’
‘Better,’ I say, with a grin. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere.’
‘You’re not going to let this go, are you?’
‘Absolutely not.’
A sigh escapes him. It’s one of those long, extremely resigned ones that suggests he’s questioning every single decision he’s ever made that’s led him to this exact moment.
Then he shifts in his chair, squares his shoulders, and looks directly at me as if he’s preparing for something utterly monumental.
‘Fine,’ he says quietly. ‘If you insist.’
I brace myself. ‘Do it.’
His entire demeanour changes. Gone is the slightly shy, bashful-looking man I was staring at before. Now he looks cold and stern, and I think I could genuinely believe that he hates me.
I realise, very quickly, that I don’t like that, but I don’t have time to dwell on it.
‘Imani,’ he begins, solemn as a priest. ‘Your handwriting…’
I blink. ‘My handwriting, what?’
He hesitates for what I’m sure has to be dramatic effect, then delivers the blow.
‘… is atrocious.’
For a full second I can only stare at him.
Then another second passes.
Then a third.
I glance down at my notebook and take in the admittedly chaotic mixture of loops, half-formed letters, and the slant that changes direction three times a sentence. Hmm. Okay. Perhaps he has a point.
I look back up at him and a laugh bursts out of me.
Asher blinks, like he’s startled by the sound, but then the corners of his mouth soften and he’s fighting back a bark of laughter of his own.
‘Oh my God,’ I say between laughs. ‘That was your big insult? My handwriting?’
‘It’s messy,’ Asher says defensively.
‘It’s perfectly legible!’
‘Just about. I’ve seen doctors with neater handwriting than that.’
‘Rude,’ I sniff.
Asher’s answering grin is the kind of grin that steals your breath away. I much prefer it to the sad look in his eyes from earlier.
‘Are you still worried we won’t be able to pull it off?’ he asks.
For a second, I completely forget what he’s talking about. I’m still dazzled by the brightness of his smile, but then I remember our plan and quickly shake some sense into myself.
‘I mean, my handwriting is pretty low down on the insult ladder if I’m being honest,’ I say. ‘But it was something. And I can work with something.’
He looks relieved and I can’t tell whether it’s because I think our plan has a chance of success, or if he’s just happy I’m not going to put him on the spot and make him insult me again.
‘Next up,’ I say, reaching for my laptop so I can pull up my calendar. ‘We need to find an event to make our debut. Somewhere with lots of witnesses. Lots of very chatty witnesses,’ I add.
Not for the first time, Asher looks like he’s very much regretting agreeing to all of this. ‘Do you have anything in mind?’
I can’t help but grin. ‘I’m sure we’ll find something.’