I sipped my hazelnut latte. Ollie and I had returned to the same café for breakfast. Families clustered around tables stacked with bowls of fruit and sugary treats.
I needed the caffeine. After my familiar nightmare I’d lain awake for hours, comforted by Ollie’s gentle breathing. At least Juliet wouldn’t be at the station today so no one would mock me for staring vacantly into space.
Ollie tipped another sachet of sugar into his mocha, his little finger pointing. The sun broke through the clouds and lit up the blond streaks in his hair. All natural, he’d assured me. The waitress came over with our breakfasts. I bit into my almond croissant while Ollie concentrated on cutting his waffles into even triangles, each perfectly bite sized. Something warm spread inside my ribcage as I watched him.
‘I need to talk to you.’ Ollie set down his knife and fork either side of his disassembled meal.
I slipped my hands under the table and wiped my instantly clammy palms on my trousers. Witnessing one of my nightmares usually put people off, but I’d hoped Ollie was made of sterner stuff.
He sucked on his bottom lip, searching for the right words. I should put him out of his misery, tell him I’d heard this too many times for anything he said to be original, but I didn’t want this to end even a second before it had to.
I should have known something was wrong. This morning, he’d stared at me for long moments between each lingering kiss. He was uncharacteristically quiet as we showered together, and had insisted we come out for breakfast somewhere he knew from experience would be busy. He couldn’t know I wouldn’t make a scene, too used to partners darting in and out of my life to protest.
‘What is it?’ I might not help him over the finish line, but waiting was excruciating. I edged my nails into the sides of my thighs.
‘I don’t know what this thing is.’ He waved a hand over the table. ‘I don’t need to, not really.’
‘Okay.’
Ollie pressed his palms together in a long steeple. ‘I know we haven’t been seeing each other for long, and I don’t know how you feel about me, not really, but the more time I spend with you, the more I like you, and not talking about that was making me nervous.’
‘You’re telling me you like me?’ I clarified, the vice-like grip of my fingers bruising my legs.
Ollie grinned. ‘Yeah. I really do.’
I loosened my hold on my thighs and breathed out, shaky like I’d been running for miles. ‘I like you too.’
‘That’s good.’ Ollie picked up his fork and speared a triangle of waffle.
It wasn’t quite as simple as that. ‘I want to be honest with you. I haven’t had many relationships, no serious ones, and I don’t know if I’ll be much good at it. I’m always busy at work and I’m not great at talking about how I feel and there’s stuff from my past—’
‘Hey.’ Ollie reached across the table to catch one of my flailing hands. He linked his fingers through mine, skimming over my knuckles. ‘I’m all for honesty, but we can cross these bridges when we come to them, yeah?’ He let go, leaving my skin tingling. ‘Anyway, I’m great at talking about my feelings and shit, so I can teach you.’
I took a bite of my pastry, mulling over his words. I wasn’t sure it would be quite so simple as skipping across a bridge together when my issues surfaced, but I didn’t mind leaving them for now.
‘I’d like to be exclusive.’ Even when Barnabas was alive, I hadn’t been good at sharing.
Ollie chewed around a grin. ‘I’d like that too. Do you want to be my girlfriend?’
I scrunched up my nose and he laughed, light and carefree. I wanted to make him laugh all the time, let the sound seep into my bones.
My phone buzzed, then kept on buzzing. I flipped it over.
‘It’s the station calling.’ I stood up. ‘I need to take this.’
I hurried out of the café. Ollie carried on eating, a smile playing around his lips. I wanted what he was offering, but it was too easy to make promises at the start of a relationship. I wouldn’t hold him to them. I’d keep him for as long as I could, until something I did or said wedged itself between us.
I answered the call. ‘This is Detective Sergeant Gabe Martin.’
‘Morning, ma’am. There’s been a fire at Dunlow Manor.’