Chapter 5 Andrea #2
Rudy: I feel like you’ve completely blindsided me here. Nothing happened, okay? She just came over to pick up gear. You’re making this bigger than it was.
The dots appeared again.
Rudy: Can you please reply? Ghosting me is not cool, Andy. It’s not mature. I deserve better.
Not mature?
Rudy: I’ve had a rough week too, you know. My mental health’s in the basement, Andy.
Of course. His mental health.
Rudy: Anyway, can you drop my amp and pedals round later? Kai needs them.
There it was. The real reason.
Rudy: Are you seriously ignoring me, Andy?
Rudy: Wow. Unbelievable.
Rudy: Just give me the amp, Andrea. I need it.
Something in my chest clicked into place.
I scrolled to the bottom of the screen. I’d never done this before, to anyone.
Well, fuck it. I was doing it now.
The red text gleamed at me: Block “Rudy”? Are you sure?
Oh, I was sure.
I tapped the screen. The little dial whirled.
Then … nothing.
The texts stopped.
He was gone.
Quiet bloomed around me, like a distant fire alarm had finally been turned off.
No insistent messages. No tug on the collar of my life telling me to come back and fix something I didn’t break.
Outside, I could see Liam’s tall shape pacing. His head was tilted, his brown hair tousled by the wind. He turned and looked at me, then held up a couple of fingers with an apologetic smile. “Two minutes,” he mouthed.
Liam.
Gorgeous. Nice. Normal.
Here.
The warmth and chatter of the pub seeped back in. I felt wide awake. Maybe it was the adrenaline finally catching up with me. Or possibly the sherry.
Whatever.
If I’d known blocking Rudy would feel this good, I’d have done it weeks ago.
I felt lighter, like I’d clawed back an inch of myself I didn’t know I’d lost.
I didn’t have to bend to my ex-boyfriend’s self-centeredness and justifications.
I. Was. Free.
And I felt free. No more guilt. Rudy had shown his true colors—I was better off without him.
Maybe the amp might even accidentally fall out of the window when I got home …
The door opened, and Liam stepped in, the wind behind him. Napkins fluttered, and a menu slapped onto the floor.
A man who’d just wanted to have lunch with me to make sure I was all right. This I could do.
He slid into his seat.
“Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to vanish.”
I straightened and put my phone in my bag.
“No problem,” I said with a smile. “Where were we?”
“I think we were drinking to our second disaster. Although I’d be surprised if it topped this one.”
I looked down and smiled. Considering we’d almost died and I’d just blocked my ex, today wasn’t turning out so bad after all.
*
A warm gust rushed down Battersea Rise, flicking hair across my mouth. I pushed it behind my ear and watched the Uber pull away. It was still hot, but the breeze was fresh, like someone had opened a window in a stuffy room.
Liam stood on the pavement next to me. We’d chatted for another hour at the pub. Stupid stuff—I couldn’t even remember half of it—and then for some reason he’d insisted he see me home, like it wasn’t up for debate.
I hadn’t minded at all.
“So. This is me.” I cast my gaze up to the top floor of my building. The curtains were still drawn—no one was home. Just Mr. Darcy and whatever might be growing in the dishes Eliza had left in the sink.
“Looks nice,” he said.
“It’s not.”
“No?”
“The downstairs neighbor plays the recorder.”
“That’s unfortunate.” His gaze followed mine. “They rarely respond to negotiation.”
“Yeah. I just avoid eye contact now.”
“Sensible.”
We stood there looking up at the flat, barely two feet apart. The air between us felt warm. There was that smell again. Clean laundry. Something sweet.
A lady in a pink sari shuffled past, pushing a shopping trolley, a car honked down the road, and from the far side of the building came the dull thud of roadworks vibrating through the pavement.
“Well, thanks for letting me see you home safely.” He turned to look at me.
“You didn’t have to, you know.”
“I know.” A pause. “I wanted to.”
I felt the hairs on my arm prickle.
“Well. I appreciate it. Thank you.”
For getting me back safely. For buying me lunch. For saving me in the lift.
For making me feel … okay, again.
I didn’t move. Neither did he.
I could still feel the sherry buzzing in my veins.
Was that what this was? A little bit tipsy on a Monday afternoon when I should have been at work.
I felt giddy, like the rules didn’t really apply anymore.
Something light had lodged just below my breastbone, a bubble that kept threatening to rise into a grin.
What was I even doing?
I’d just met him.
I didn’t even have his number.
I turned my house keys over in my hand. I should say goodbye, go inside, and that would be it. Get myself a hot drink and watch Love Island with Mr. Darcy on my knee. Maybe even organize my airing cupboard, if I felt like going large.
And this would just be a weird, intense afternoon that came to nothing.
Another gust of wind rolled past, sending litter skittering down the street. It pressed into me, the tiniest nudge between the shoulder blades.
Or I could take the one good thing the universe had offered me, just this once. Didn’t I deserve it? My boyfriend had cheated on me, I’d almost died, and I was probably about to lose my job.
Were natty neck scarves and WD-40 really just one missed shag away?
“Andrea.” Liam was looking at me, like he was waiting for me to say something.
I tipped my head up.
Some part of me had already decided.
Fuck it.
He grabbed his phone and slid the screen open. “I didn’t get—”
“Do you want to come in?” I said. “For … tea?”
“Tea?”
“I make a great pot.”
“I would—I mean—are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
His expression flashed surprise, then settled. “If you want me to,” he said, his tone dropping half a note lower.
“I want you to.”
It was just tea, after all.
Right?
I turned toward the entry, and he fell into step behind me.
*
The light in the hallway was on, its yellow glow flattening everything it touched. The sound of roadworks carried through the back wall. I paused for a second, with my key in the lock.
This was fine. Tea was … polite.
Normal.
The lock clicked, and I pushed the door open a crack, then glanced back at Liam. He gave me a small smile.
A tiny bundle of black-and-white fur immediately launched itself between my ankles like a greyhound spotting a rabbit.
Oh God, not now.
“Mr. Darcy!”
I lunged after him as he skidded frantically on the ceramic hallway tiles, darting left and then right.
Shit—we’d shut the main doors, hadn’t we? If we kept Mr. Darcy inside the building, we’d be all right. If he made it onto Battersea Rise—
But Liam had already disappeared down the stairwell as if he retrieved runaway cats for a living. I dropped my handbag and ran after them.
By the time I reached the top of the stairs, he was already coming back up, one arm pinned around the cat’s middle, the other trying—and failing—to control a back leg pedaling into thin air.
Mr. Darcy mewed, thin and pathetic.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “He—he’s a bit—”
“He’s fine.” Liam adjusted his grip, his mouth a firm line.
The cat didn’t look fine.
Nor did Liam.
He moved Mr. Darcy away from his chest. The cat looked at me and back to Liam, confused.
“I—ah—you’re holding him like a football.”
“Surprisingly wiry.” Liam was looking at Mr. Darcy with a frown.
“Let’s just—um … go in, shall we?” I pushed the door and gestured for them to go ahead. Mr. Darcy twisted, his claws snagging against the fabric of Liam’s T-shirt.
“Where do you want him?”
“Bedroom, please. His blanket’s in there. End of the hallway.”
The bedroom was dim, the blinds still closed. I grabbed the folded blanket from the bed.
“Okay,” I said, my pulse slowing. “Can you just—hold him still?”
“Right. Yes.”
Mr. Darcy turned his head back toward Liam like he was auditioning for The Exorcist: Feline Possession.
I stepped in close, repositioning Liam’s grip. His hands were stiff, as if any change in position was too risky. Mr. Darcy scrabbled once more, then went still as the blanket wrapped around him. His breathing slowed, his small body softening into the fabric.
“There,” I said quietly. “Good boy.”
We stood there for a moment, both of us looking down at the small, bundled shape on my bed. The roadworks’ hammering started up again, and the cat twitched violently in alarm.
“He’ll settle better out there.” I nodded toward the living room. “It’s quieter.”
“I can—”
“Thanks, I’ve got him.”
I lifted the cat and carried him out, setting him down in his basket by the sofa. By the time I left the room, his eyes were already drifting shut.
Back in the bedroom, Liam was standing exactly where I’d left him. It was dark, barely the odd shaft of late afternoon sun making its way through the blinds.
He looked up.
“Is he okay?”
“Yeah,” I said. “He just needed to calm down.”
For a second, neither of us spoke. I pulled a stray hair from the side of my face where it had stuck to my mouth.
“Thanks, Liam. Again.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Anytime.”
The room stayed quiet. Even the jackhammer down below had paused.
Liam’s hand fell back to his side. He looked very large and out of place in the tiny bedroom.
“So … I should probably … you know.” I tipped my head toward the kitchen.
“Yes?” he said.
“If you wanted—”
A small, dark line had formed between his brows. He didn’t speak.
“Tea,” I said, the word coming out fainter than I’d meant it to.
He nodded but didn’t move.
I could hear the whisper of fabric as I smoothed my skirt down with a hand. Still too short.
Everything in the room seemed to retreat except him.
Somehow, without quite noticing, I’d stepped forward. I raised my chin to look at him.
“Liam—” My voice was quiet.
“Yes, Andrea?”
I opened my lips to speak. His eyes met mine, then dropped to my mouth. I lifted my hand, stopped halfway, then let it rest just below his collarbone.
He inhaled, chest rising under my fingertips.
“Is this—”
I kissed him before he could finish.