Page 50 of The Summer That Changed Us
‘Running out on you yesterday. Didn’t you get the note I left?’
I nod. ‘You could have shouted to me. Or texted. Phoned?’
He shuffles his feet. ‘I don’t have your number.’
I raise an eyebrow at him.
‘I’m not asking Milo for it. This –’ he waves a hand back and forth between us, ‘– is none of his business. He’s already overstepped that line once.’
This … there’s a this? A shiver ripples through me.
‘And I should have said goodbye, but I panicked and ran. Sorry.’
‘I guess we’re quits then,’ I say with a tentative smile.
His phone rings and I catch a glimpse of the blonde girl on the screen. He hits decline and puts the phone back in his pocket.
‘Girlfriend?’ I may as well find out.
‘Milly? Nah.’ He shakes his head. ‘Business partner.’
I’m not sure how that makes me feel. There’s a strained pause and I glance down at his trainers to see the satsuma-orange heel tabs. ‘I’ve got something for you.’
In a rush, I walk to the other side of the counter and bend down out of view to grab the brown A4 envelope I’ve stashed on the bottom shelf. I have no idea if he’s followed me, and when I stand, relief washes over me to find him on the other side of the counter.
‘This is yours,’ I say, offering it up.
He hesitates and to avoid feeling awkward, I put the envelope down on the counter.
‘I owe you a coffee, too.’
‘You owe me?’
I ignore his question and busy myself with the coffee machine, making a strong coffee with two sugars the way he used to like it.
He’s still standing, staring at me, when I put his coffee down in front of him.
‘One prize-winning coffee.’
His eyebrows scrunch.
‘The photo. Of the beach hut.’ The lack of response is making me decidedly uncomfortable. ‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ Ouch. Maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe this is all one gigantic mistake.
‘Yeah. That was me.’
I push the envelope towards him with my index finger. ‘I loved it.’ My voice has dropped in volume and I can’t meet his eyes.
The stool scrapes across the floor as he pulls it free from the counter to sit. He takes out the blown-up A4 photo of the yellow beach hut, stripey towel and the trainers with the orange heel tabs. It used up the last of my Lilypad stall takings to get it printed, but I’d thought what the hell.
‘Daisy.’ The softly spoken word hangs in the air between us. ‘I’ve always loved her. She reminds me of you,’ he says, still looking at the photo.
A spark flares to life inside me, ebbing and flowing to the rhythm of my heartbeat.
‘She’s not really changed, has she?’ I say, sinking onto the stool my side of the counter. ‘Did you try the handle? I chickened out.’
He takes a mouthful of coffee. ‘The day I took the photo? No, I didn’t.’ He runs his hands through his hair, ruffling it. It falls back across his forehead, settling into its quirky waves. ‘Sorry if I hit a nerve before.’ His eyes click to mine and don’t waver. ‘I wasn’t trying to upset you. I just wanted to check you were OK. Lil wasn’t wrong then? Are you closed for good?’
I nod, unable to confirm it out loud.
