Page 27 of The Refusal

“’Lo.” Fabian’s rough grumble echoes over my phone.

“You are having lunch with me,” I growl at him.

After a long silence, he chuckles on the other end of the line.

“Okay,” he says, “but you’re coming to Brooklyn.”

17

Jo

My stomach is sinking through the floor.

Down.

Down.

I swallow a yawn. Never again will I let Des and James organize my dating life. I glance around the dimly lit restaurant, the dark bamboo dividers and intimate seating. There’s a couple at every single table, and this makes my heart reside somewhere near my boots. I’d rather have gone bowling. Making small talk is a nightmare when you find out you’ve got nothing in common. Note to self: Make sure any first dates are at places where entertainment can be had—movie theaters, bowling alleys, ice rinks.

“—And, of course, then I had to rewrite the code for the compiler—”

I tune out again. Lewis is doing an outstanding job of convincing me that I shouldn’t be dating someone from the software industry at all. I thought we’d have shared interests, could bond over a mutual love of all things tech, but I clearly didn’t tick the sense of humor box. I knew he was a bust when I made a joke about his shoes, and he just blinked at me. He probably thinks I’m incredibly rude.

My phone vibrates on the table, and the illuminated screen shows a photo of Des making a face at me over his computer. His text is four question marks one after another. Lewis and I both glance at it at the same time, and I curse the fact I put it out on display. I snatch it up, smiling a watery smile at him.

“Sorry.”

“No problem, where was I …?”

“Compilers?”

“Ah yes!” His eyes light up as he sits forward. “I’m so happy you’re into this stuff, Jo. Normally women are not interested at all.”

I nod numbly. I wish I could text Des back.

I glance down as my phone—now on my lap—vibrates again. Fortunately, Lewis is in full flow and doesn’t pick up on my lack of attention.

“Do you need rescuing?” Is all it says and I’m light-headed with how much the idea appeals.

Suddenly, the screen switches to an incoming call, and the name Janus Phillips appears. My date stops talking mid-sentence as I hold it up to my ear.

“Sorry,” I mumble, “I’ve got to take this.”

I’m sure he’ll think that’s rude, too.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Jo, apologies for ringing this late on a Friday night.”

I give Lewis what I pray is a placating smile over the table.

“That’s okay; I’m just out for a meal.”

“Oh, yeah, anywhere nice?”

“Zenkichi.”

“Oh, awesome place! Is it a special occasion?” he says.

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