Chapter 2
Two
always check your seat number
Dylan
‘Are all of us on the trip in the same carriage?’ I ask, slightly out of breath. I don’t usually have issues keeping up with
people, but my heart’s racing trying to match Max’s stride down the platform.
Although that could also be due to my increasing anxiety about leaving my family and my home and my routine for the very first
time to spend six weeks with a man who seems incapable of opening his mouth without making a double entendre.
‘Probably not, we—’ He looks at me and seems to register my luggage. ‘Do you want help with that?’
If I’m honest, my case is heavier than I expected, but I can handle it. I always handle things.
He watches me with an amused twist to his mouth, until I reply, ‘Oh, uh, I’m good, thanks.’
He nods and continues, ‘We all booked individual transport to Pembroke. This is the only direct train from London today, so
most of the group is probably on it, but some people might be coming from elsewhere. Technically, the trip only starts from
the shuttle.’
‘Hold on,’ I dodge a puddle and almost swerve into him, ‘does that mean you paid for the train? What do I owe you?’
‘Don’t worry about it.’ He laughs quietly and motions for me to get on the train ahead of him, but I wait for him to go first.
He casts a wary look over his shoulder as I drag my suitcase up the step behind him, and when he sees that I’m on board with
no calamities, he makes his way into the carriage while I pretend I’m not panicking about the lack of space on the luggage
rack. I stew over the knowledge that if we’d got on the train earlier I wouldn’t be playing this game of Tetris with the other
cases, and I squeeze mine into place just as we lurch away from the platform.
I check my ticket for my seat number for the hundredth time as I move down the aisle and reach Max shoving his backpack into
the overhead space. It’s unbalanced and almost definitely going to fall, but he steps back and leaves it as it is.
‘Why are you staring at my bag like it’s insulted your entire family?’ he asks.
I flatten my expression. ‘I’m not.’
He moves closer, immediately crowding my space, and he looks like he’s about to say something else when the train jerks. His
bag shifts above our heads, and we both reach for it in sync to stop it falling, his front pressing against my back, our hands
brushing in a shock of heat.
I let go when I’m sure he’s got it, my heart pounding, and this time he pushes the bag more securely on to the shelf. I told you so! I want to yell, even though I didn’t tell him so at all, actually, for reasons that I don’t feel the need to dissect right
now.
I analyse the numbers above the seats. Seats thirty-nine and forty are a two-person configuration on our right, but Max drops
into the empty four-seater to our left instead.
‘Aren’t we in this double?’ I ask.
He looks me up and down pointedly and slides along to the window. ‘Can you imagine both of us folded in there for five hours?
If you want to lose feeling in your legs, feel free. I’ll be here.’
‘So you’re just going to . . .’ I trail off, nerves fraying again. I’m already on edge about, well, everything relating to this situation, and this is just the cherry on top of a very anxious cake. ‘What if we’re in someone else’s seats?’
‘Can I squeeze past?’ someone says from behind me.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ I mumble, quickly stepping aside so they can get to their seat up ahead. I perch on the seat diagonal to Max,
my back rigid, my jaw tense. There’s definitely more space in the quad, but that’s not the point.
He puts his hood up and angles his back against the window, stretching both legs out towards me in the aisle. There’s something
feline about it; indolent, on the cusp of unpredictable. ‘These seats are empty. If someone comes and asks us to move, we’ll
move.’
Somehow, I doubt anyone will be telling Max to do anything. He has the kind of vibe that tells you he doesn’t care about anything,
and nothing is more terrifying or volatile than that.
‘Sure.’ I’m so unsure it’s actually a joke.
A smirk plays on his lips as he watches me through the hair trapped beneath his hood. ‘Rules are made to be broken.’
‘No, they’re made to be followed. That’s literally their entire purpose.’
I slap a hand over my mouth, like I might be able to scoop the words from the air and shove them back into my head, embarrassment
churning in my gut. Definitely what someone who is chill and calm and not at all uptight would do.
With a long sigh, Max replies, ‘Ask for forgiveness, never permission.’
Nervous energy thrums through me, and a thought tumbles out before I have time to stop it, again. ‘Are you going to speak in aphorisms for this entire journey?’
‘I don’t know what that word means, but I assume it’s extremely complimentary.’
God, the filter I’ve honed after years of customer service work is clearly malfunctioning again.
I thought I’d fixed that. Thought I’d mastered stopping my feelings from spilling out unbidden, and reactions happening without my say-so.
No one needs to see those unrefined parts of me, least of all this man who’s let me join his work trip with zero complaints.
But there’s still time to smooth it out. Still time to present myself the right way.
I shuffle along to the window seat opposite him. ‘You’re right. Asking for forgiveness is important. So I’m sorry.’
He adjusts the sleeves of his jumper and crosses his arms. ‘For?’
‘For snapping at you. Twice.’
‘What?’ He looks at me like I have a second head.
‘I was rude. I snapped at you. Twi—’
‘Twice, yeah, you said. I didn’t even notice.’ What does he mean he didn’t notice? I was snappy! I snapped! His gaze drops to the table between us, where I’m playing with the friendship
bracelet on my wrist. I pull my hands into my lap and he meets my eyes again. ‘Just so we’re clear, you can snap at me as
much as you want. You don’t ever have to tiptoe around your feelings to spare mine. I’m a big boy; I can handle it.’
I swallow hard. ‘I wasn’t tiptoeing.’
‘All right.’ His eyes snag mine and I’m caught for a moment. ‘Would it improve your opinion of me if I said I was sorry for
stressing you out with the seats?’
‘Are you?’
His grins and I get my answer. This man isn’t even sorry about not being sorry.
I try again, that leftover guilt still roiling. ‘Thank you for paying for the train, and for letting me tag along on this
whole thing. I really do appreciate it, and I’m going to make the most of it. I won’t be a bother. You won’t even know I’m
there.’ A long exhale seeps out of me. I just need to survive this train journey, and then I can figure out how to make these
weeks as productive as possible. I offer him a smile. ‘Can we start over?’
‘Nah.’ The word makes me blink. His knee touches mine under the table as he spreads his legs to get comfy, before leaning his head back against the window. ‘The best relationships are born from a little frustration.’
‘I’m not frustrated.’
His eyebrows raise and I turn away from him to look out of the window, London’s grey tones whizzing by so quickly my eyes
can’t keep up.
‘You should loosen up. I could help with that, if you wanted.’ He can only see one side of my face from this angle, but that’s
still fifty per cent more blush than I’d like to be visible. A short chuckle falls from his lips. ‘Get your head out of the
gutter. I meant that my therapist has taught me some wonderful mindfulness techniques.’
My gaze flicks back to him, but he’s closed his eyes, and I’m entirely unsure where to go from there.
As Ava predicted, Max sleeps for the first couple of hours, and I enjoy the calm and listen to music by a band she introduced
me to last year. I sneak glances at him every so often and decide he’s significantly more tolerable like this. The way he’s
repositioned himself so that he’s half curled up on his seat is almost endearing. Almost.
No one approaches us about the seats, and I’m glad, because with Max asleep it’d be left to me to handle, and I cannot think
of anything more anxiety-inducing.
I consider taking a nap too, but I’m worried someone will steal my stuff. I mean, it’s never happened to me, but maybe it’s
never happened because I’ve never slept on public transport.
We’re crossing the River Severn when Max wakes, and for a moment he’s bleary-eyed, until he looks out the window and gives
the tiniest woah. His gaze glues to the sunlight reflecting off the water until we’re off the bridge.
He rises with a groan, sidestepping so that he can stand in the aisle where the ceiling is higher and he has more space to
stretch. He must be at least six-five, and I find myself irrationally annoyed at how un-awkward his movements are for such
a tall man.
‘Are you hungry?’ he asks, clearing his throat. ‘I’m hungry.’
‘Nope,’ I say, at the exact moment my stomach makes a noise.
He glances down at me for a moment with raised eyebrows before turning away. His voice is faintly muffled while he peels his
hoodie off. ‘Do you have any allergies? Dietary preferences?’
His T-shirt lifts with his jumper too, momentarily revealing a strip of his stomach and what looks like the edge of a tattoo.
‘You don’t have to get me anything.’
Completely ignoring what I just said, he continues, ‘You have my number. Text me if you think of something specific you want,
otherwise I’ll get one of everything.’
What I want is the ability to pull my eyes away from his newly bare arms, a whole patchwork of tattoos inked over his skin,
disappearing beneath the sleeve of his T-shirt. There doesn’t seem to be any kind of pattern to it; a random symbol here,
a moon there, clearly all by different artists.
He crams his hoodie on to the shelf overhead, offering me another glimpse at his stomach, and adds, ‘Sorry to interrupt, but
I need some food before I fade away. Happy for you to continue ogling when I get back.’
Oh no. My heart pounds. ‘I wasn’t—’