The café was busy; children fought with sticky fingers over mounds of waffles, and couples flirted around steaming coffees. A lone man in an oversized wool hat squinted at his laptop, crumbs abandoned on a plate at his elbow.
Ollie sat across from me, his light brown hair damp from our shared shower. His tan skin, exposed from the shoulder down after he’d stripped off his jacket, was patterned with mismatched tattoos. He’d explained a few of them to me last night, until we’d gotten distracted.
He ran a hand through his tousled hair. I’d assumed he spent an age making it look like he’d just stumbled out of bed, but his effortless look really was effortless. He’d chatted the whole walk here, extolling the virtues of the café and deliberating between their many breakfast options, but had been quiet since the waitress took our order.
‘I want to know more about you,’ he blurted out.
I only had a second to blink at him before the waitress reappeared beside our table. I bit the inside of my cheeks as she served our coffees and rushed away. Conjuring a smile, I tried not to think about all the things I didn’t want to share. It wasn’t like Ollie was going to demand I tell him everything after spending two nights together, he just wanted to know some things. I could do that.
‘I propose we do it like this, since I get the feeling you’re not so good at opening up.’ He widened his eyes, giving me a chance to interject. ‘We ask questions, but the rule is we both have to answer.’
That was doable. I nodded, curling my fingers around my mug. The heat from the contents seeped into my chilled flesh. I could always lie if Ollie veered close to something painful. It would spell the end though, before this thing had really begun. I didn’t want that.
‘Let’s start off easy.’ Ollie wiggled in his chair, his white top shifting across his toned chest. ‘I feel like this is something I should know already, but what’s your job?’
There was a reason he didn’t know. When I met people from dating apps, I wasn’t interested in talking. I needed them to quiet the noise in my head for a while, and words were no use.
‘I’m a detective sergeant in the Major Investigations Team.’
‘What?’ Pinkness spread across his cheeks. He buried his face in his hands. ‘That makes what I do even worse.’
‘What do you do?’ I smiled at the top of his head. ‘You have to answer. It’s in the rules.’
He lowered his hands and mock glared at me. ‘I’m a model.’
‘That’s not so bad.’ I took a sip of coffee.
‘It’s stupid and frivolous.’ He pouted. ‘You’re off doing something noble, bringing bad guys to justice, and every day I’m prancing around in designer underwear.’
‘I’d pay to see that.’ His lips twitched upwards. ‘My turn to ask now?’
‘Yes, please. Move us away from my embarrassing lack of a proper job.’
I looked across the heaving restaurant, rubbing my fingers on my mug. ‘What’s your favourite colour?’
Ollie rolled his eyes, his cheeks flushed. It made him look younger. I wanted to reach out, feel the heat under his skin, but I kept my hands clasped around my drink. He seemed to like me, but that could change.
‘Red, you?’
‘Blue. Soft, like when the day is fresh and new.’
‘Good answer,’ Ollie said, all his ill humour dissipated. ‘How did you come to live here?’
‘Work. I was in the Met before, north London. I always wanted to be a detective and when the chance came to work down here with Juliet, I jumped at it.’
‘Sub-question.’ Ollie held up a finger. ‘Who is Juliet?’
I searched for the right words. ‘Juliet is the detective inspector I work with. She’s incredibly clever. I’ve learnt so much working with her. How to read people, how to find information everyone else has overlooked. She’s ruthless and works harder than anyone else and, despite her coldness and her distance, she cares. I know she does.’
I was slightly breathless at the end of my speech. Ollie beamed at me. ‘She sounds great. I’d love to meet her someday.’
‘You might,’ I said, my heart skipping for a myriad of reasons. Juliet would never want to meet him so it was a moot point, but this man, his ankles tangling lazily with mine, wanted to meet the important people in my life. Maybe he could even become one of them.
The waitress came over with two heaped plates before I could get too ahead of myself. Eggs and avocado on toast for me, a stack of pancakes for Ollie. He dribbled maple syrup liberally over the top.
‘How about you?’ I picked up my knife and fork.
‘I moved here for work too.’ Ollie turned the syrup at an angle, trying to close it without getting stickiness on the outside. ‘I was modelling in London but the rent was so expensive, everything was, and even though I was bartending as well I couldn’t keep up. I started looking elsewhere about a year ago and an agent down here offered me representation.’ He cut his pancakes into bitesize triangles. ‘It’s not what I want to do forever, but it works for now.’
His foot travelled up and down the back of my calf. I shook my head. A simple touch shouldn’t have such power over me.
‘Your question,’ he reminded me.
‘What about your parents?’ I asked, stumbling to the edge of dangerous territory. I couldn’t help myself. I knew the fire would burn but held my hand close to the flames. ‘Where do they live? What do they do?’
‘Cornwall.’ Ollie speared soft dough on his fork and held it aloft. ‘My dad’s a farmer and Mum practically runs the village where I grew up. I go back a few times a year, when I can afford it. You?’
‘They live in north London. Barnet. I lived with them until I moved here.’ I pushed my eggs around on top of my bread, dislodging a fan of avocado.
‘What do they do?’ Ollie asked, food pressed into one cheek. That should have been unattractive, but it made him look like a lopsided hamster.
‘My mum’s a carer at a home for disabled kids. Dad’s a carpenter.’
‘Do you visit much?’
‘I’ve not been back since I moved here.’ I poked my fork into an egg yolk. ‘My dad got mad when I told them I was moving. We haven’t spoken since.’
It had been eight months since I’d fallen into my mum’s soft warmth, eaten her food, relaxed in her mismatched kitchen and watched her bake. Eight months since I’d sat under my dad’s cold gaze, his reproach clouding the air between us. Turns out there was a big difference between plain silence because neither of you has anything to say and someone refusing to speak to you.
‘That’s tough,’ Ollie said. He offered me a small smile before selecting another triangle of pancake.
‘Does all of that count as your question?’ I loaded up my fork.
‘No.’ Ollie sucked maple syrup from his thumb. He moved his foot up my leg again and asked, ‘Do you have any siblings?’
I pulled my feet under my chair and set my knife and fork down.
‘I had a brother. Barnabas.’ I pushed my teeth together, hard. I didn’t want to lie. ‘He died when I was young.’
‘Oh, Gabe.’ Ollie reached across the table to lay his hand over my clenched fist. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘It was a long time ago.’ The warmth of his palm settled into my knuckles. I extended my fingers and twined them through his.
My phone pinged. I extracted it from my pocket and read a message from Juliet. Non-specific, but demanding I get to the station as soon as possible.
I grimaced. ‘I need to go to work.’
Ollie pulled out his wallet and threw a couple of notes onto the table. ‘You got drinks last night, let me get this.’
‘Thank you.’ I stood and put on my coat.
Ollie grabbed my hand as we wound our way across the café. ‘I have a sister,’ he said. ‘She’s a colossal arsehole.’
My laugh was more like a bark, startling the waitress as we passed through the door. Briny air beat over our faces as we walked down the street, but at least the rain had stopped in the night.
At the corner, Ollie pressed his lips to mine. ‘Have a good day of detecting.’