Page 73 of You Float My Boat

Jesus. All my words seemed to have fallen out of my head this morning.

‘Shit. I’m fucking this up.’

I watched him. A version of Charlie I’d never seen before; kind of nervous, kind of bumbling and very awkward. All of which bolstered me, and I found myself laughing. ‘Charlie, are you okay?’

‘Yes. Yes, I’m good.’ For a second he kicked the ground, shuffling the gravel under his feet. But then he looked up, and his grin, the self-assured Charlie grin I knew so well, spread across his face, and my chest, once more, was on the verge of giving out. ‘I came on purpose. I wanted to see you. Is that weird?’ His grin widened, while I just stood there trying to figure out what was going on and what alternate universe it was I seemed to be in. ‘Yup, I’m making it weird.’

‘Weird that you wanted to see me?’

He nodded deeply. Earnestly. ‘Yeah. I just … we haven’t seen each other for a few days, as you’ve been rehearsing with Stella. I know we’ve been texting, but it’s not the same thing.’

His gaze searched my face; I did my best to hide my amusement that he felt he needed to explain the difference between texting and seeing each other, while alsotrying very hard not to leap in the air at his declaration that he wanted to see me.

‘No, Charlie, of course it’s not weird.’

I wasn’t exactly sure what it was. Weird wasn’t the right word, confusing maybe. Unexpected, definitely, but not weird. It had been a couple of weeks since we started our fake relationship and I still didn’t know what to make of it. I wasn’t a fake relationship aficionado or anything, I’d never been in one before, but I was pretty certain you didn’t spend time together outside of when was pre-arranged, or necessary. Or as agreed in the rules.

But here my fake boyfriend was, standing in front of me, declaring he wanted to see me.

I was starting to wonder if maybe I didn’t understand how a fake relationship worked. Or maybe he didn’t.

My fist curled in; the words I’d written on it had long washed off but I could clearly do with another reminder. THIS IS NOT REAL.

‘So, do you have time for lunch? Please tell me you don’t have to rush off to something we forgot to add to the schedule. Did I miss a rehearsal?’ He grinned, like I wasn’t struggling with some kind of internal turmoil, and I wasn’t second guessing everything. No, he was just standing there, perfectly Charlie Masterson-esque looking as handsome as I’d ever seen him, asking me if I had time for lunch.

‘You want to go for lunch?’

‘Yes, I do,’ he laughed, holding his hand out for me to take. ‘Come on, there’s somewhere I have in mind.’

‘Okay then, lead the way.’

His long fingers wrapped around my hand, his fingertips brushing across my knuckles ever so slightly, before he led me off down the narrow cobblestone street, away from the English faculty, toward the Bodleian.

‘There’s a great place I want to take you to,’ Charlie nodded, guiding me through an alleyway at the top of which there seemed to be a crowd gathered.

It was large enough to assume there was a busker present. The lunchtime rush was always a coveted time, and especially when it wasn’t raining they could earn quite a bit of money. The crowd, however, turned out to be a long queue, all waiting outside a small store front over which a dark wooden, slightly tattered sign swung slowly in the wind.

Flanagan’s: Purveyors of Bespoke Sandwiches

To the side of the door was a small hole in the wall, where a red-headed woman was handing out brown, wax-paper bags to whomever was at the front. As we got closer, I realized there was an entirely separate line for anyone trying to get into the shop.

‘What is this place?’ I whispered, my brows knitting together in confusion, looking back up at the sign, because for the life of me I couldn’t ever remember seeing a queue like this for a sandwich. Especially in the freezing cold.

‘I thought Brooks might have told you about it.’ Charlie’s hand squeezed mine tightly and he leaned into me, his face lighting up with a broad smile. ‘But I’m so glad I get to be the one to introduce you. This is Flanagan’s. Itopened when we were in first year, and became legendary. It’s kind of a secret, not that you’d know from the queue, but anyone who does know about it keeps it on the D/L because there’s a limit on orders every day and no one wants to get here only for them all to go.’

I’d been holding his gaze the entire time, and not once did he look like he was joking about this secret sandwich shop. Even when his story became more preposterous.

‘The line used to start forming at eight a.m. on Fridays, until they put the rule in you couldn’t queue for someone else, or hold a place in it.’ He pointed to a sign by the hatch saying exactly that. ‘Some of the third years used it as initiation for the first years.’

‘For a sandwich?!’ My eyes widened in disbelief. ‘What happens on Fridays?’

‘Roast beef,’ he replied with all the solemnity of a high court judge.

‘Charlie … come on.’ My head dropped with a loud laugh. He could tell a tale, I’d give him that. ‘There’s no way people were getting out of bed to queue for a sandwich.’

Charlie held his hands up. ‘Hey, I love sleep too. But you need to try it before you pass judgement.’

‘No. There’s no way.’ I shook my head, firm.

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