Page 27 of Hot Mic

‘You know,’ Robin said, throwing a glance sideways at Sienna as she eased carefully around a bend in her hatchback, ‘I wouldn’t hate some music.’ She reached for the dash.

‘Keep your hands on the wheel,’ Sienna said sharply. She was clad in a cashmere knit jumper and high-waisted wool slacks that together had to cost far more than the car they were sitting in, holding herself stiffly as if terrified the upholstery might rub off on her. ‘I don’t want you veering into oncoming traffic because you’re trying to find the perfect track.’

Robin tutted. ‘There is no traffic. We’re on a country road.’

‘Precisely. People are much more likely to drop their guard when they can’t see other cars. And then their attention drifts and bang! You’re upside down with your head facing the wrong way.’

Robin rolled her eyes. But then a Range Rover jumped out of an invisible turnoff way too quickly, and Robin had to slow down to avoid being clipped. ‘Dickhead!’ she cried.

‘Told you,’ Sienna said haughtily.

‘Imagine how smug you could be right now if we’d died,’ Robin shot back.

‘It would be the ultimate “I told you so”,’ Sienna agreed.

‘Did you just make fun of yourself?’ Robin asked with a surprised snort.

‘You really think I’m a humourless square, don’t you?’ Sienna said, without much defensiveness.

Robin considered a snide remark, but she didn’t actually want to hurt Sienna’s feelings. Saying something nice wasn’t an option either because, well… They didn’t really do polite off the clock. By the time she thought of a middle ground, the moment had passed and bringing it back up would have been weirder still.

Robin hoped her conversational skills picked up by the time the date really started. But did she even need them? Tucked in her back pocket was a scrappy piece of paper with questions scribbled on it. No fluffy icebreakers. No games. Just heavy, real stuff.

Sienna wanted intentional? She wanted a date that actually went deep? Fine. Robin was going to lay it all on the line. In fact, she was going to make this so wildly honest that even Sienna would end up sweating through that immaculate sweater.

Robin knew it would probably come back at her, but she was prepared to go down with the ship.

Kind of.

Robin swung the car onto a gravel track that cut through the trees, tyres crunching until they rolled to a stop outside her family’s old cottage. It needed a lick of paint, to say the least.

Robin killed the engine and pulled the key from the ignition. She turned in her seat to look at Sienna. Rain had begun to patter against the windows as Robin pulled her phone out of her jeans pocket.

‘No signal, by the way,’ Robin said, tapping her phone screen to show the dead bar before tossing the device into the cup holder.

Sienna unbuckled her seatbelt. ‘Great,’ she said. ‘Just the way I like it.’

But something in her eyes said otherwise.

Twenty-Three

Sienna stood in the centre of the cottage’s open-plan living room, taking it in. It was desperately in need of a good dusting. Cobwebs clung to the exposed rafters, and the air was stale.

Near the kitchen counter, Robin was bustling around with an unusually nervous energy, her usual swagger clearly on the fritz. She’d tossed her vintage yellow leather jacket over the back of a wooden chair, leaving her in her faded tee and dark jeans that looked soft from years of washing.

She dumped a tote bag onto the wooden counter, the soles of her scuffed Converse squeaking faintly against the flagstones as she pulled out a box of dried spaghetti, a jar of pre-made bolognese sauce, a plastic tub of vegetarian mince, and a bottle of red.

‘Behold, the menu,’ Robin announced, her gravelly voice slightly higher than usual as she gestured wildly to the ingredients. ‘Spaghetti bolognese. It is literally the only thing I know how to make without burning the kitchen down.’

Sienna smiled politely. So that made two people who were being a bit weird.

Sienna looked around at the faded framed prints on the walls and the worn leather armchair in the corner. ‘It’s nice. Whose place is this, anyway?’

‘It was my granddad’s,’ Robin said quietly. ‘He left it to me when he passed. I usually just come down when I need to get out of the city for a bit.’

Sienna looked at the exposed beams, then back to Robin. ‘Have you ever considered moving in properly?’

Robin paused. ‘No. I have too many good memories of it as a kid,’ she said, looking down at the mince. ‘I don’t really want to bring adulthood in here.’