Page 75 of We Used To Be Magic

‘Apparently not.’

‘Right. Can I offer a refresher?’

‘Smooth,’ I say, and though I’m trying to sound disapproving, the effect is somewhat diminished by the fact that I’m fighting back a smile of my own, giddy with anticipation. Ezra’s moving nearer – I can feel it, hear the creak of the armrest …

‘That wasn’t a no,’ he notes mildly, and no, it wasn’t. That’s probably why I can hear the blood rushing in my ears as he carefully brushes a strand of hair out of my eyes. Why I’m shifting in my seat to place my hand on his chest, brushing faded cotton with my fingertips as I breathe him in, the scent of his shampoo, his toothpaste, his skin …

Him kissing me felt like a question last night. This time, it’s an answer.

EZRA

‘YOU KNOW–IN ABETTER WORLD,THE HOSPITALITYSECTORwould be totally egalitarian.’

‘In a better world, wouldn’t everything be egalitarian?’

‘Obviously.’ Mac sighs. ‘But I’m specifically talking about the server and the customer being on equal footing.’

‘That table of twelve really got to you,’ I muse, swirling sake around my cup. We’re currently in a cosy, wood-panelled sushi bar uptown – Mac and Marika are meeting here for an appropriately chic ‘late lunch’ but seeing as Mac and I were on an early shift, he charmingly suggested that I come and ‘keep her seat warm’ until then. Being pathetic, I agreed – resisting the urge to text Audrey every time I’m otherwise unoccupied has recently become an Olympic-level sport, so I was glad for the diversion.

‘Who else? You know, one of them actually had the nerve to give me shit about my nose ring? Like that impacts my ability to wait tables, somehow.’

‘I only cleared their plates. Suspiciously clean, given that they apparently hated the food.’

‘I think servers should be entitled to fight at least one customer a month,’ he says seriously. ‘There’s not a single one of them that I couldn’t have taken.’

‘Nah, you’re too pretty. You don’t want to risk ending up like me.’

‘That’show you broke your nose?’ he asks incredulously. ‘A fight?’

‘More or less.’

‘Huh. I really didn’t expect that.’

‘Me neither. I probably would have dodged, otherwise.’

‘Who started it?’

‘That probably depends on who’s telling the story,’ I say, shifting in my chair. I don’t love this subject, actually, and I’m starting to regret bringing it up.

‘And that would be you, or … ?’

‘My old roommate.’

‘Ah. I mean – I don’t condone violence in any context, but that makes a little more sense.’

‘You wereliterallyjust talking about fighting customers.’

‘Hyperbole. Verbal evisceration is more my thing.’

‘Roommate troubles, then?’ I say, brisky amending the topic at hand.

‘Depends,’ Mac says. ‘Would you consider coming home to discover most of the furniture on the kerb “roommate troubles”?’

‘What?’

‘Everything except theTV, basically. The empty space is more “nurturing to creativity”.’

‘Bullshit.’

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