Page 24 of We Used To Be Magic

‘And you didn’t know that I was going to be there? At the gala?’

‘I –no.I swear to God, I’m not stalking you.’

‘I actually have no reason to believe that,’ I point out – half-joking, but he looks stricken.

‘I know.’ He groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘Just – in my defence, you looked like a celebrity and I was wearing a sweat-stained waistcoat. And not even my sweat, so – just an extra dimension of gross there.’

The tips of his ears are pink, I notice – he’s genuinely flustered. And so am I, but more so by his justification. The initial shock is wearing off, and I’m borderline giddy about seeing him again. I’d imagined it, hoped for it – even considered dropping by the restaurant under some made up pretence, like a lost earring. But I couldn’t get past how pathetic that felt, given the very real possibility that he’d forgotten about my existence the moment I left his line of sight.

‘You must think I’m pretty superficial,’ I tell him, attempting to play it cool.

‘No, uh – I just happen to have a very fragile ego. Huge, but fragile.’

I laugh, and notice his shoulders sag ever so slightly. Is he relieved that I haven’t run away screaming? Should I have? This is a very chaotic scenario, and Mac definitely could have spared a minute to outline exactlywhyhe was inviting us to this party. Then again, it probably would have taken longer than a minute – maybe he didn’t want to hinder his odds of seeing Marika again.

In any case, I’m here now. And in spite of the weirdness, I don’t want to leave.

‘Drink,’ Ezra says suddenly, his eyes lighting up like he’s just solved an equation. ‘I mean – would you want a drink? Can I get you one?’

‘A drink sounds good,’ I say, and he smiles, obviously relieved by the diversion as we move towards the kitchen area, where a truly staggering amount of alcohol occupies a marble island. Speaking of which – this apartment isreallynice. The ceiling is high, the floors dark, glossy hardwood. It’s old, probably pre-war but open-plan, a hallway leading out of the kitchen/living area.There’s not much in the way of decoration, though. Just a lone, half-dead plant and a few stacks of books, piled haphazardly against the walls. I want to look at the titles, if I get a chance. Then maybe snoop around to try and deduce exactly how someone who works in a restaurant could afford to live here.

‘What can I get you?’ he asks.

‘Uh, Prosecco?’ I venture. Ezra nods, and I watch him as he deftly selects a bottle, pouring with a steady hand. He’s wearing a sweatshirt and faded jeans, damp hair tucked behind his ears. He must have showered sometime before we got here and he smells like shampoo – it’s weirdly intoxicating. God –get a grip, Audrey.

He pushes a cup towards me. I take a small sip. It’s a little sour but I take another, hoping it’ll steady me.

‘So,’ Ezra says, watching me over the rim of his own drink. ‘Do you want to tell me again how modelling isn’t glamorous?’

‘Oh.’ I smile, remembering. ‘I’ve lost ground on that argument, haven’t I?’

‘A little. Any more black-tie events in the diary this week?’

‘Not that I’m aware of.’

‘All right. Good to know.’

‘Is it?’

‘Depends. When are you leaving the city?’

‘Um – not as soon as I thought, actually. Probably not for another week or so.’

‘Let me know if you want to hang out, then. I’ve been told I’m an excellent tour guide.’

‘Really?’

‘No. Want to hang out anyway?’

I laugh, feeling slightly hysterical. He’s justso… I don’t even know. Is there a word for feeling like you might have made someone up?

‘Yeah,’ I manage. ‘I mean – sure. Let’s do it.’

‘Cool.’ He grins. ‘Should we toast, then? To me overcoming social ineptitude?’

‘Surely we should toast to cosmic intervention?’ I point out. ‘This is abigcity. The odds of us crossing paths again were ridiculous.’

‘You believe in stuff like that?’

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