Page 8 of Snap

"So, you don't like football. What do you like?" He walked beside me to the door, almost close enough to touch.

I wanted to say, 'I like you.' but it was too soon for such a corny line. Maybe in an hour or two?—

Truthfully, saying things like that wasn't usually me. I was all sarcasm. Bitchy on the outside, and… On the inside too. When I was five years old, I was going on thirty, maybe forty. It was downhill ever since.

Okay, I exaggerate, but I was in my mid-twenties and almost onto my fifth mother. My father was more interested in making money than he was in me. Who wouldn't be cynical?

Sometimes I felt sorry for his wives. Even the ones who were after him for his money. He was charming, and ready to give them the world, but you know what they say about money buying happiness.

I realised Ollie was looking at me and I hadn't answered the question. What did I like? I didn't have any hobbies, unless you count spending money and being frustrated with shallow people.

"I like photography," I said weakly.

"Oh, that's nice," he said. "Do you do that for a job?"

What did I say to that?

"I guess you could say it is. My dad wants me to work in his business, but I want to do my own thing. You know?"

"Yeah, I get it. You seem like the kind of woman who decides what she wants and goes for it." He seemed to be speaking from experience.

"You could say that about me, yes," I agreed.

I led him towards Café Fleur, a tiny little hole-in-the-wall with some of the best coffee in Storm Valley. As a bonus, it wasn't owned by my father. Or any of his friends. Or even me. It was just a place I liked to go, where they left me alone until I needed a refill.

"What about you?" I asked.

One of his eyebrows twitched upward. "Am I the kind of person who sees what I want and goes for it?" He shrugged with one shoulder. "I guess you could say that. I mean, I work hard. Outside of work I'm pretty… chill."

"I thought you might be," I said. Most of the guys I knew were either on the go, or on their phones. Or both. He didn't seem like that at all.

"But you aren’t afraid to ask out a girl you just met," I pointed out. Once I said the words, I realised I half expected him to tell me this was some kind of joke. That he knew who I was. That he was doing this for a dare or a bet. I glanced at him sidelong.

He was blushing again.

"It's not something I do often," he admitted. "Usually…"

"Usually what?" I prompted.

He sighed. "To be honest, I'm used to women preferring my friends over me."

There was something more, I saw it on his face, but I wasn't going to push. We just met, I didn't expect him to reveal all of his secrets straight away. I should at least wait twenty minutes.

Yeah, okay, I wasn’t exactly being forthcoming either. I wanted to, but this was nice. I didn’t want to mess up this moment. That was all this was, I knew that. I’m not just a cynic, I’m a realist. The one constant in my life is that people leave.

Dad said it was us against the world, but he was often absent on business trips or vacations. When I graduated high school, he was in Europe with wife three, or was it four? Maybe between the two.

He called, of course, but the call was brief. ‘How are you? Congratulations. I’ve gotta go, we have dinner reservations somewhere near Lake Como. I love you. Bye.’

My, "I love you. I miss you," were spoken to the dial tone.

I shook away the memory. "I don’t know who those women are, but they’re nuts," I said. I could have been referring to women’s preference for Ollie’s friends over him, or my father’s exes. Either way, it fit.

I pushed open the cafe door and stepped inside. I loved department stores, the warmth of Fleur’s was like a hug.

I shrugged out of Ollie’s coat, unwound the scarf and hung them on a rustic hat rack near the door.

"This is cute." Ollie looked around, taking in the timber panelled walls, timber tables and wide plank floors.

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