Chapter Six Satoshi #2
‘I’m sorry about that.’ Her colour deepened into Italian rosato. ‘Her walking in, I mean.’
‘Why are you apologising? You didn’t do anything wrong.
’ I was barely touching her, but the feeling of her finger against mine was still sending all the blood rushing away from my brain.
‘If anything, I should be apologising to you. I was the one who—’ I lowered my voice, even though Lex clearly wasn’t listening ‘—shoved you up against the wall.’
‘I liked it,’ she admitted.
Oh god. I was going to have to take my hand away, or it was going to be a disaster.
‘Just in case that wasn’t clear,’ she added. ‘I don’t know exactly where… whatever this is came from, but I like it. A lot. Too much, maybe.’
I let my index finger slide deeper into the space between her ring and pinky fingers. ‘I know you were confused at first,’ I said, ‘but I hope I showed you how much I like it.’
Fiona bit her lip. ‘I can’t stop thinking about it,’ she whispered. ‘But I – I – I don’t think I’m ready for it, Satoshi.’
Her words sent ice leaching through me, like I’d stepped in a puddle and water was seeping through my shoes and into my socks. ‘Okay,’ was all I managed to say.
‘I’m such a mess.’ Her eyes, when she looked at me, were somewhere between desperate and desolate.
‘This last year has felt like the carpet getting yanked out from under me, again and again. Something, somewhere, is always on fire, and I’m in this endless state of panic trying to run around and put it out, and… ’
‘It’s a lot?’
She nodded. ‘And not the fun kind.’
Her thumb started brushing up and down the base of mine.
We were basically holding hands now, her middle three fingers in the gap between my index finger and thumb.
‘It feels like I’m constantly falling on my face,’ she said, ‘and everyone has to keep helping me up. And I… I think I need to find my feet again, on my own – sort my life out – before I can really… explore anything like that.’
She looked at me. ‘Is that okay?’
There was only one thing I could say.
‘Of course it’s okay.’ I squeezed her hand as the cold crept up from my feet into my chest, wrapping its way around my heart. ‘Trust me, if there’s one thing I understand, it’s needing to feel like you’re in control.’
‘Thank you,’ she said softly. ‘For bearing with me.’
‘Always.’ I would dream of what might have been forever, but if this was what I got to have of her, it would be enough. I would make it be enough. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
Fiona squeezed my fingers back, and then disentangled them from mine. ‘I’m working on it, though. Sorting my life out. And I have a question to ask you, if you don’t mind.’
‘Of course.’ Below the bar, I flexed my hand. For all my resolve, her letting go had felt like getting kicked in the kidneys.
‘I—’ She hesitated. ‘I need you to be honest with me. If I’m being stupid, you have to tell me. Please don’t let me make a fool of myself.’
‘I would never.’
She unlocked her phone and handed it to me. ‘The Instagram algo served this up to me,’ she said. ‘Do you – and you have to promise to tell me the truth – do you think I could do this?’
I looked at it. She’d opened one of the country’s best-known wine websites, on a page with the headline ‘New Viniferous Voices’.
She kept talking as I scrolled through. ‘It’s a competition for emerging wine writers.
The winner gets a column on their website for the next year – paid.
It wouldn’t be anywhere near enough money to live off, obviously, but…
well, I’ll have child support coming in, which means I won’t have to hustle quite as hard at copywriting to make ends meet.
I like copywriting, but that hustle has been getting harder and harder – AI has really fucked things up – so I need to diversify anyway, and…
why not get into something I enjoy, you know?
And you always say such nice things about the way I talk about wine, so I thought…
obviously I won’t win this, but if they like my writing there’s a chance I could publish some pieces freelance for them, and—’
‘You could absolutely win this.’
Fiona stopped, apples of her cheeks flushing pink. ‘You really think so?’
‘Yes. This is perfect for you.’ I meant it, too. I was almost jealous of it, this innocuous little webpage with Fiona Fisher written all over it.
‘They recommend people have some wine education, though. I’ve learnt a lot from you, but—’
‘I’ll tell you anything you need to know.’ My fingers itched with the urge to reach out and take her hand again. ‘But if you want a formal qual – I’m sponsoring Charlotte through the Introductory Sommelier certificate next month. Two days, with an exam on the third. I could sponsor you too.’
She regarded me suspiciously. ‘Does “sponsor” mean “pay for me”?’
‘Call it an early Christmas present.’
‘No. You already do way too much for me. But could you send me the details?’
‘Of course.’
‘And maybe you could read my draft? Not in an I-like-you-this-is-great way – in an I-know-everything-about-wine-so-let-me-stop-you-from-making-terrible-mistakes way? I know you’re incredibly busy, but—’
‘Fiona,’ I interjected, ‘of course I will.’
She beamed at me, and – god, she was beautiful. She was so, so beautiful.
‘I’ve got some books that might be helpful,’ I said. ‘Want to come browse my office bookshelves and see if you want to borrow anything?’
She hesitated.
I held my hands up. ‘No funny business. I swear.’
She blushed again, almost to the roots of her hair this time, but nodded.
Given the rain, there was little chance any customers would come in, but I locked the front door anyway, told Lex – so absorbed in their book they barely acknowledged it – that I was taking their mum out the back for a sec, then led Fiona to my office, leaving the door open as a representation of my promise not to crush her to me and kiss her until her knees gave way.
‘These ones are wine writing,’ I told her, tracing my finger across half a shelf’s worth of alphabetically organised books.
‘They’ll probably be the most useful, so you can get a feel for some different approaches.
But maybe one or two of these—’ I pulled out some of my more encyclopaedic reference guides ‘—might be handy too?’
‘Don’t you need them? For your studies?’
I paused for half a second too long, and she jabbed me in the shoulder. ‘You do.’
‘I’ll be fine.’
‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘I don’t want to be a charity case.’
‘All right,’ I said, a wave of inspiration hitting me. ‘How about being my study buddy, then?’
Fiona blinked. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Jonah and Sadie take the kids on Thursday nights, right?’
‘They’re not this week – it’s Jonah’s birthday dinner – but usually, yes.’