Page 9 of We Used To Be Magic

‘Whoops,’ he says easily, tucking the packet away again. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.’

‘No, I – that doesn’t mean I mind if you smoke,’ I say quickly. ‘Like – you can have this one, if you want.’

I offer the cigarette back to him, realising too late that it was in my mouth approximately ten seconds ago. He takes it, though, smiling faintly as he flips it between his fingers. The end of it is smudged with my lipstick. Thewrongend.

‘Oh,’ I say, awkwardly gesturing at it. ‘Bit of a giveaway that I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing, right?’

‘That and your general aura of vitality,’ he replies, smiling as he slips it into his pocket. ‘I mean – I figure a lot of models do smoke, but—’

‘How did you know I’m a model?’ I interject, surprised.

‘Educated guess. You’re tall, clearly not from around here …’

‘I could say the same about you.’

‘And it’s Fashion Week,’ he concludes. ‘Though if that’s all it takes then maybe I should give it a go.’

‘Is it something you’re interested in?’ I ask, resisting the urge to look him up and down. He’s wiry as well as tall with a cutting jaw and an endearingly crooked nose. I could definitely imagine him sloping down a runway in some fashionably-distressed ensemble, scowling the way that the male models always seem to. All of this to say he’s cute, basically, but I’m pretending that I haven’t noticed to lessen my chances of getting flustered.

‘It’s tempting.’ He nods. ‘But leave behind the glitz and glamour of the service industry? I don’t know.’

‘If you’re implying that modelling is glamorous, I promise you it’s not.’

‘Said the girl in the silver dress.’

‘This dress isn’t even mine!’ I protest hotly, surprising myself. Surprising him too, I think – his grin widens, exposing a pointed incisor.

‘That wine your table was drinking is a hundred dollars a bottle,’ he tells me. ‘What do you have to say to that?’

‘That I’m not drinking it. And I’mdefinitelynot paying for it.’

‘Is this a Cinderella scenario?’

‘Mm-hm. The carriage is out front.’

‘Better get moving, then. You’re about to miss your midnight window.’

‘I’m aware,’ I say, and I’m smiling too now. ‘Painfully so.’

‘Ah. Early start tomorrow?’

‘Uh-huh. I suppose you get to lie in, working here.’

‘I’m not sure. I’ve only had this job for twenty-four hours.’

‘For real?’

‘Yeah. But I’ve already been told that I’ve got a good handspan for trays, so I’m pretty sure I’m crushing it.’

‘Wow. Why are you here, then?’

‘This city or this restaurant?’

‘The city, I guess. I mean – you’re from England, right?’

‘More so than not.’ He nods, expression shifting slightly.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, abruptly realising I’ve overstepped. ‘That’s probably personal.’

---