Page 10 of We Used To Be Magic

‘No, I don’t mind,’ he says, meeting my eye. ‘I just—’

‘Ezra!’

We both start, turning in unison to see a woman in chef whites. My first thought is how pretty she is, tan and lithe with sun-streaked hair drawn back into a stubby ponytail. My second thought is that I really hope she’s not about to yell at us.

‘Your break ended five minutes ago,’ she tells the server – Ezra, apparently. Thankfully she seems more exasperated than angry.

‘My bad,’ he says lightly. ‘Gimme a sec?’

‘You’ve had several,’ she says, before glancing at me. ‘Hi.’

‘Hi,’ I say, my voice suddenly small. ‘Um – sorry. I took a wrong turn.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ she tells me, gaze sliding back over to Ezra. She cocks an eyebrow, and for the first time I see his cool composure slip, a dull flush rising in his cheeks.

‘Duty calls, then,’ he says briskly. ‘It was nice to meet you.’

‘You too.’ I nod. ‘Um – I’m Audrey, by the way.’

‘Audrey,’ he echoes, hovering. For a moment I think he’s going to say something else but instead he just ducks past me, disappearing into the building and out of sight. The chef follows and I’m left alone, then.

Alone and feeling a whole lot more awake than I did five minutes ago.

EZRA

‘SO,EZZY,’CAROLINE SAYS LIGHTLY,SPEARING A STRAWBERRYwith her fork. ‘What’s this I hear about you canoodling with a model last night?’

‘ “Canoodling”?’ I laugh. ‘Seriously?’

‘I obviously didn’t use the word “canoodling”,’ Romy interjects, rolling her eyes. ‘But Caro asked me how your first shift went – I thought it was worth mentioning.’

‘And she was right.’ Caroline grins. ‘Spill, please.’

‘Is this why you invited me over for breakfast? To grill me for details?’

‘It may have been a factor.’

‘Wooow,’I drawl, as if I have any right to be outraged. Honestly, the only reason I bothered to trek over to their apartment was because I wanted to eat whatever Romy was cooking. It turned out to be cinnamon French toast with a walnut crumble and summer berries, so entirely worth a little light interrogation.

‘So?’ Caroline prompts. ‘What’s her name?’

‘Audrey,’ I say, getting to my feet and picking up the empty cafetiere. ‘Who wants more coffee?’

‘Don’t deflect! Did you get her number?’

‘I might have done, had your lovely girlfriend not interrupted us.’

‘You’re not getting paid to flirt,’ Romy says flatly.

‘You haven’t paid me at all, yet.’

‘Did you get a surname at least?’ Caroline cuts in. ‘We can totally find her with a surname.’

‘Nope. Sorry to disappoint,’ I reply, and admittedly I’m a little disappointed too. I mean – I’m not deluded enough to think that a few minutes of conversation amount to a meaningful connection, but it’s been rattling around in my head ever since. Honestly, I’m not totally sure whatdidstop me from asking for her number. Romy’s presence? Fear of rejection? A tragically misplaced sense of loyalty to Edie?

Anyway, I didn’t. And then they left, not long after, so it’s all irrelevant now. Done.

Romy is on her phone when I set the down the fresh coffee. Caroline is peering over her shoulder, obviously engrossed.

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