Page 7 of Begin Again Again

“Thanks.”

Beth glopped sanitiser on her hands, hoping the disinfectant wouldn’t overwhelm theBabydollshe’d carefully spritzed all over herself. She’d have used more, but it was her last bottle and the fragrance was discontinued. She took her beer from Martha and headed out back. There were a few people clustered together, but most of the bench tables were empty. She sat at one and peeled off her pink glittery mask. She’d bought it at the start of lockdown when people were still trying to make masks fun. Half her lip gloss had come off inside it. She reappliedGlass Bombas a waitress appeared brandishing menus. “Waiting?”

“Um, yes. I mean, I hope so. First date.”

The waitress gave her a sympathetic look. “Drink?”

A vision of tequila appeared and evaporated in Beth’s mind. “I’m okay, thanks.”

“Okay, well I’ll be back with menus when they get here.”

“Sure.”

If they get here.

Stomach roiling with nerves, Beth pulled out her phone. Five past eight. She was late and he was later. She picked up her Zero and drank like it was liquor. Her brain wasn’t used to alcohol-free beer yet. It prickled with an excitement, but it would soon learn it had been goofed.

She pulled out her phone and openedThe Sober Lushto ‘The Answer is Yes,’ her favourite essay. She was halfway down the second page when she felt someone approach. Her stomach lurched, her mood surging so palpably she could have been on drugs. The Guy stopped in front of her. He was wearing the same work clothes she’d seen him in hours ago and he was even taller and better-looking than she remembered.

“Hi,” she said, stumbling to her feet. “How’s it going?”

“Good.” He kissed her cheek, and a tingle travelled down her neck and into her cleavage. Then she smelled it. Beer. Real beer coming through his skin in a musky, familiar sweat.

Her nerves jangling, Beth smiled up at him. “Want to sit down?”

“Sure.”

The way he dragged the ‘s’ clinched it. The Guy was drunk, or at least on his way. Relief mingled with disappointment inside her. She was hoping they might be nervous together. But on the other hand, if she couldn’t be tipsily confident, maybe he could.

The guy sat down heavily across from her.

“What’s your name?” she asked as he settled into the bench. “I’ve been calling you The Guy.”

The corner of his mouth kicked up. “You’re ‘Yelling Girl’ to me.”

“That’s better than ‘ginger.’”

“You’re not a ginger.”

Beth frowned. Was he so pissed he couldn’t see her hair properly? She twirled a lock around her finger. “What’s this then?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Auburn.”

He said it like it was in the dictionary. Like it had been carved into stone tablets.

Beth took a sip of Zero beer to cover her embarrassment. She’d underestimated him. And now she had to live with the fact that she was surprised a grown man knew what ‘auburn’ was.

The Guy studied her. His expression hadn’t changed, but something in the way he watched her made Beth feel like he was reading her thoughts. At the very least he seemed prepared to wait in amused silence for whatever she said next. Beth weighed her options: ignore, deny, panic, throw Zero beer in his face—

Why am I always thinking about throwing drinks at people?

The Guy waited, practically radiating amusement.

“So maybe I’m surprised you know what ‘auburn’ is,” she burst out. “But come on, is it fair that you’re tall and gorgeous and, like, twenty-six and can remember whole phone numbers, and now you know all the colours on the Bunnings Warehouse paint swatches? Can’t you let me be the articulate one?”

The Guy held her gaze for a moment, then grinned, exposing a slice of perfect white teeth. “I’m twenty-five.”

“Jesus.” Beth rubbed her eyebrow. “Are you sure your parents aren’t lying to you?”

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