Page 46 of We Used To Be Magic

‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Um – right. I’m blonde now.’

‘Yeah,’ he says, staring. ‘I noticed that.’

‘Right – I guess I should have mentioned it—’

‘No, no, it’s not a big deal!’ he says quickly. ‘Just – I wasn’t expecting it, is all. But it looks good! Not that it didn’t before, but – did you want to come in?’

I smile, stepping inside. Ezra shuts the door behind me, looking distinctly flustered.

‘It really does,’ he continues. ‘Look good, I mean. There was just that moment of cognitive dissonance—’

‘I know.’ I nod, hoping so badly that he’s not just being polite. ‘I get it every time I look in a mirror.’

‘Just woke up feeling like a change, or … ?’

‘Maybe,’ I reply, not wanting to get into the actual reason. ‘Or maybe I knew you’d be wearing a super cool hat and wanted to upstage you.’

I reach up to lightly ping the elastic string beneath his chin, and he laughs.

‘Oh, this old thing. You like it?’

‘What’s not to like?’

‘Then here,’ he says, pulling it from his head to place it atop mine, fingers brushing my jaw as he gently fastens it.

‘There.’ He grins. ‘I’m nothing if not a generous host. Speaking of, want a drink?’

‘Sure.’ I smile, trailing him towards the kitchen – my skin feels hot where he touched it, embarrassingly, and I watch as he slaps two cups down on to the marble island.

‘Sorry – no Prosecco, this time. Anything else you like?’

‘Um – what are you having?’

‘Whisky soda, which is disgusting. Whisky and lemonade?’

‘Sounds good,’ I say, watching him pour. The measure he allots for himself is considerably heavier, I notice, and he takes a brief sip before he adds any mixer, a movement so fluid that I wonder if he’s even registered it. I’m suddenly reminded of that evening in the park – his hip flask, and how casually he emptied its contents.

‘Here,’ he says, sliding my drink towards me before hoisting himself up on to the counter. I try to join him but even with my arms braced behind me, I can’t quite manage it until he jumps down and puts his hands on my hips, lifting me in a single motion and depositing me as casually as a bag of groceries. Then he hops back up just as easily, reaching for his cup.

‘Thank you,’ I manage, attempting to pretend that my brain isn’t short-circuiting from how effortlessly he just did that.

‘Thankyou,’ he replies. ‘I’m glad you came tonight. Kept me in suspense for a while, but …’

‘Sorry about that,’ I say quickly. ‘Is it someone’s birthday?’

‘Uh-huh. Mine.’

‘You’re kidding.’

‘Nope. Nineteen today. Entirely decrepit.’

‘You should have told me!’ I exclaim, horrified. ‘I would have gotten you something!’

‘Which is exactly why I didn’t.’ He laughs. ‘Honestly, it’s no big deal.’

‘Has it been a good day, at least? Did you see your family?’

‘Uh-huh. Did the mandatory sit-down dinner.’

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