Chapter 4
Ash
‘She is the manager?’ Ash blusters, aghast. ‘But … how? How is that allowed?’
She can’t believe what just happened – or that that woman doesn’t have a manager, because she is the manager.
That CJ. Luis has just explained it to her.
Luis, who she met, oh, seventeen, maybe eighteen minutes ago, who has now scooped her up and ushered her out of CoLab as tears threatened to embarrass them all, distracting her with fussing compliments and silly stories all the way to the nearest café.
Ash is like, so not confrontational, not really.
But that CJ woman … smirking and acting so above Ash, as if Ash’s very existence upsets her, it was a moment of reckoning she couldn’t hold back.
Ash couldn’t have bitten her tongue if she’d wanted to – it really did just slip out, calling CJ awful to her face.
But the thing is, Ash isn’t even sorry. CJ deserved it.
Ash spends most of her life carefully swallowing her anger, because it isn’t what nice girls do.
Nice girls don’t see red, don’t uphold a boundary – in fact they try not to have boundaries at all, should they inconvenience anyone – and nice girls certainly don’t lose control.
Nice girls smile, and bend to the will of others, contorting themselves into pretzel-like shapes of accommodation, even when inside they’re seething.
It’s how she is, how her sisters are, how her mother raised them, and how her mother’s mother was too.
Their family are, and always will be, nice.
But in two brief interactions CJ has undone all that, forcing Ash to put her foot down in a way that is most uncharacteristic.
It wasn’t quite a I will not be spoken to this way unequivocal command, but saying anything at all in the face of such blatant offensiveness is quite the bold move from Bristol’s most accomplished people pleaser.
‘CJ is CJ,’ Luis says, from where they’re sat – at a tiny wooden table set haphazardly on the pavement, right in the path of the growing sun.
The glass front of the small coffee shop says Querido, and inside is a man who wouldn’t be misplaced as a football player background extra in The Blind Side, broad shoulders and thick legs moving deftly from coffee machine to till and back again as locals and tourists alike trickle through the doors.
He seems to know everyone’s name, careens from English with an American accent to Portuguese and back again, fluid and smooth.
The place has got brown leather seating, green plants, a small counter of baked goods gleaming temptingly.
Pastel de nata is absolutely on Ash’s list to try today, but it has to be from a particular place.
She’s got a guidebook in her bag that details exactly where to get the tastiest ones.
She hasn’t come this far to do anything that isn’t the best, after all, that’s why she has the list she’s just been showing Luis, her notes for today taken from the multi-page spreadsheet she has been collating in anticipation of her arrival.
Project Spring Fling with Life has rules and a timetable, after all – as anything enjoyable must do, if it is to be enjoyable at all.
‘She’s probably just jealous,’ Luis says, attempting to blow Ash’s concerns off into the wind with a wave of his hand. ‘How do you say, she is … acting out?’
‘Jealous?’ repeats Ash, disbelieving. ‘She doesn’t even know me.’
Luis cocks his head, lips pursing as if to say something before he thinks better of it.
In the pause, as he decides what else to say, Ash looks at him directly.
She was loitering in the kitchen at CoLab this morning, waiting to see if anyone might talk to her, recognise her as a newbie and take her under their wing.
Dating feedback has recently come in as Ash being too ‘full on’, so she was being coy, insouciant.
Anyway. Who should have sauntered in but this guy, a guy who would probably rank in the top one per cent of men she has ever met in terms of handsomeness and allure.
She didn’t even want a flirt – just a new friend!
They hadn’t been talking about anything in particular as CJ interrupted them, just shooting the breeze, laying the groundwork for a lunch or dinner, maybe, Ash’s first touchstone of a connection, somebody to help her feel less at sea.
Ash had been thankful for the company, even briefly.
Another one of the Spring Fling with Life rules is to ask people questions about themselves more, get people talking and learn about other people’s lives.
It’s a tough balance, being open without being pushy, but Ash needs to practise this childlike skill as a 38-year-old, because otherwise she’s in danger of being a shrinking wallflower who continues to be miserable by herself, simply in a different country.
So she’d talked with Luis, eagerly. Why did CJ think that was such a crime?
Stop thinking about her, Ash counsels herself. Fuck her, remember? She’s obviously not a happy woman.
‘You are very beautiful,’ Luis says, eventually.
He says it earnestly, not like a pick-up line or the start of a routine, but rather simply, plainly.
Ash freezes, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
There must be another shoe. ‘You are here,’ he continues, ‘on a quest, an exploration – you said this to me yourself, did you not?’
Ash nods. ‘I did …’
‘So a supermodel with a smile like yours, about to jump head first into the summer of her life for no other reason than it pleases her to – this might be something another person could envy. You’re in a position most people would kill their grandmother for.
You’ve come to the best city in the world to do exactly what gratifies you, delights you, enchants you.
That is potent. The whole of Lisbon is at your mercy.
You are the queen of your own dominion, answering to no one.
That must be a sexy feeling. A very sexy feeling. ’
Ash doesn’t realise until Luis stops that as he has spoken she has leaned forward in her chair, slack-jawed, and she is staring at his mouth.
His fucking lovely mouth, decorated either side with grey-flecked stubble, the obscene pink of his tongue darting out across plump, wet lips.
Has she even exhaled in the past thirty seconds?
She should breathe. It’s easy to do, she does it all the time, inhaling and exhaling, over and over again.
Any second now, it will recommence. It will.
OK, yup, there – she has finally taken a breath. Jesus H. Christ. What just happened?
Luis takes a sip of his coffee, a tiny drop of liquid left behind on his cheek somehow.
Ash doesn’t know what to say, not at all, in fact she’s having to focus quite hard on keeping the in-and-out breaths going.
But it would seem Luis isn’t going to speak, he’s perfectly comfortable in the silence he’s now left.
Anxiously, wanting to say something instead of sitting there mute, on the verge of a panic attack, she says, ‘You just have something …’ and gestures to his face. She feels quite undone.
‘I do?’ he asks, wiping at his cheek but missing the mess. He can tell by the look on Ash’s face that it’s funny to her – he hasn’t quite got it.
It’s a relief to know he is not totally perfect. Ash often thinks most other people are, in fact, perfect, and only she is such a lost klutz in search of a clue.
Luis’s eyes roam Ash’s features as he gives a lopsided smirk, laughing at himself, and he says, ‘Could you …?’
He offers up his face and Ash leans in and wipes the mark with her thumb.
Contact is established and his skin is pleasingly warm to the touch.
Ash pulls back quickly, like she has overstepped – but then, perhaps, maybe, it’s possible she hasn’t, because Luis is looking at her and still grinning, and when she tries to look away he dips his head to find her eyes once more and it makes her laugh, and then he is laughing and it’s nice, and easy, and incredibly, thrillingly unnerving.
Butterflies take flight behind her ribs.
‘Thank you,’ he says, voice low so it’s more of a murmur.
‘You’re welcome,’ Ash murmurs back, gathering her courage to both breathe and converse at the same time, pushing herself to try something new and to be present, here, now, drinking coffee on a Lisbon street with a man she has just met, who is kind, and as a bonus also fit as all fuck.
She steels herself. Spring Fling with Life.
‘So,’ she says, deciding that in Lisbon she is a woman who actually can flirt, after all.
‘About this park you said I have to see …’