Page 38 of 56 Days
“Drinking.” He takes another drag. “Too much, maybe. You?”
“Dining.”
“How is it?”
“The food is great,” she says, “but the company is awful.”
“Bad date?”
She laughs sharply, as if the idea of her being on a date is utterly preposterous.
“Bad boss. Bad job. It’s a work thing.”
“What do you do?”
She takes a short, light drag. “I’m a kind ofhead-hunter.” Releases a thick cloud of smoke. “Recruitment. Finance. All that boring stuff.” She holds the cigarette close to her face and watches the orange glow of its tip burning through the paper. “Anyway, it’s free food and a night out. With the way things are going, we might not get to have many more of those this side of Easter, so...”
She takes another pull and winces.
“You reallydon’tsmoke,” Oliver says, “do you?”
“Am I that obvious? No. Not regularly. I just like the smell—and how they’re acast-ironexcuse to get away from people when the need arises and you’ve already used up a socially acceptable number of bathroom breaks. They’re my very expensive, verybad-for-you escape hatch.” She stubs her cigarette out on the wall and nods toward what remains of his. “If that tastes like the sticky strip on an envelope, it’s because they’ve probably been in my bag since Christmastime—at least.”
“It tastes fine,” he says. “Thank you.”
“Areyouon a date?”
The look she gives him as she asks this suggests more than an idle curiosity.
“The truth is,” he says, “I don’t really know.”
But he silently addsI hope so, which surprises him.
And then worries him.
“Well...” She gives him a little wave as she turns toward the doors. “Either way, enjoy the rest of your night.”
He goes back upstairs with the aim of bringing this evening to a close at the earliest opportunity. He pays the bill while Ciara’s in the bathroom so having to pay it later won’t delay their leaving. He gets the waiter to take away what’s left of his cocktail and drinks determinedly from his water glass, trying to dilute the dominance alcohol currently has in his bloodstream. He’s resolved to remain alert for however long it is until there’s a natural moment to suggest they go, sitting rigidly, his physical discomfort a reminder that this isn’t a situation into which he should relax.
If Ciara notices a change in him, she doesn’t let on. She’s at least a little drunk, too. Her eyes look different now, her pupils larger than before, and here and there she trips a little over words or stutters once or twice before she gets them out.
Maybe she’s just not that observant. She didn’t question why he was gone so long or seem to detect the smell of smoke on his clothes or breath. He didn’t even have to bother coming up with a lie to explain them.
Anotherone.
She jokes about the cultlike nature of her company’s orientation program while he watches the levels in her glass. As she lifts it to her lips to drain the last mouthful, he suggests they go.
She nods enthusiastically. “Sure. Let’s.”
She seems a little unsteady on her feet so he gently steers her to and then down the stairs with a hand on her back. She’s carrying her coat over her arm and he can feel the heat of her skin through the thin material of her dress.
He wonders whatshecan feel.
They face their own reflections in the dark glass of the doors, and he is struck by how good they look, coupled together.
And then, how quickly this has happened.
Three days ago they didn’t know each other. Now she is beside him, letting him touch her, telling him things about herself. The speed of it feels dangerous, like a race car approaching a tight corner without any working brakes.
