Page 65 of The Key to My Heart

‘Phew.’ She laughs. ‘Thank God. Oh, Sarah’s here too. She’s— Oh, look, there she is. Sarah? Sarah? Sarah’s our supervisor, but she’s the one who needs the supervising really. Ha ha. Right, Joe?’

I stand, rictus grin on my face, drink at my lips. God, I wish I could see Tom, get myself out of this. Hollie’s nice, but I feel like I’m in a giant vice that’s slowly, slowly closing in on me, tighter and tighter.‘How did you find it? He never takes my recs, ha ha, we have so much fun at work, flirting loads, tossing cocktail shakers into the air in slow motion, our heads tipped back laughing, don’t we, Joey?’

I scan the room again. Tom. Tom, where the bloody hell are you?

Did I dream him up? A mirage, because I wish he was here. I take out my phone.

Me:I’m pretty sure we’re in the same room.

Tom(stand-in):Are we?!

Me:The Underworld?

Tom:What!? I’m at the bar.

Me:I’m … not.

Tom(stand-in):Ha ha. So, am I coming to you or are you coming to me?

Me:I’ll come to you.

Tom(stand-in):All right! (fox emoji)

I see Tom at the bar quickly – easy when he’s taller than most of the people in the room, and when he sees me, pushing (politely) through the crowds, he holds up his hand in a single wave. Something swims in my stomach at the sight of him. Relief. Relief that he’s here, that I’ve been able to excuse myself from Joe and Hollie and the sexual yearning that kept clouding around her, like some sort of poisonous gas.

‘Ah, it’s Natalie Fincher,’ Tom says with a grin. ‘In front of me, in high definition.’ I’m surprised when he leans and plants a warm kiss on my cheek, a brush of stubble.

‘It’s Thomas. Or as his mum sometimes calls him – Tommy Button.’

‘Heeey,’ he says, ducking, as if sharing a secret. ‘Keep that nickname under your hat ’round these here parts. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.’ God, he smells nice. ‘Drink? A margarita? This time I’ll get there first.’ He grins.

‘I’m good, thanks.’ I lift my cup. ‘Nursing a Coke. So, Heartt with two Ts.’

Tom laughs. ‘Indeed. And I take it this was your … surprise?’

‘Indeed again,’ I say.

‘Interesting,’ he says, holding his short whisky glass from above, by the rim. He leans, touches his arm to mine. ‘And how is he? Ol’Dishy Joe?’

‘Um. He’s fine. Yeah, we’re having a good time—’

‘Where is he?’

Someone squeezes by me, so close, their rough, scratchy jacket scrapes along my back, and knocks meoff balance (that’s what you get for wearing heels for the first time since 2006 because you’d sort of expected to go out for dinner somewhere nice, I suppose). Tom takes my arm.

‘Jesus, man,’ he says, throwing a narrow-eyed glance over his shoulder at the culprit. Then he turns to me and says, ‘Saved your life.’

‘Again.’

‘Again.’ Tom smiles, then looks down at his drink, swirling it in his hand. ‘But yeah, where’s he at? Little Surfer Dude?’

‘Oh, er – he bumped into someone he knows. From work. Someone he used todateactually.’

‘Oh. Shit.’ Tom raises an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth down-turning. ‘So, what, he’s shunned our Foxes, has he? Left her alone? On the night of hissurprise.Little, wee shit—’

‘No, no, it’s not like that. I’m fine.She’sfine.’

Tom laughs. ‘I’m joking, Natalie. And anyway, how did you like the music?’

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