Page 22 of Leaning In

“You really like him, huh?”

I don’t say anything, instead I continue staring at the cushion in my lap, tracing the pattern with my fingers.

“You’re catastrophising,” Sophia says gently, “yes, she’s been bad before, but just because Mum’s impossible, doesn’t mean you have to organise your entire love life around avoiding fallout.”

It’s very rude of her to be this rational as she points out the flaws in my conflict-avoidant life strategy.

I let out a weak laugh and try to deflect. “Isn’t that literally what you do?”

Sophia nods. “Yeah, but there’s a difference between me actively not seeking out a love life since Ryan, and you denying something that’s literally waiting in the living room.”

“I’m going to go and tell him we can’t do this,” I tell her. And she frowns, eyes sad.

“You don’t have to,” she says. “You should give him a chance.”

A tiny spark of hope ignites in my chest. I press it down, but it flickers stubbornly. I keep tracing the pattern on the cushion as I consider her words. Maybe I could speak to Kath, and she’d be fine about me dating her brother. Maybe Mum wouldn’t run him through the wringer.

The spark of hope rises further, refusing to be quashed. Probably becuase I really, really want to think this might end up working out.

“Just talk to him,” Sophia suggests. “Don’t write him off straight away, Claire. He doesn’t deserve that.”

I let out a slow breath, thinking again.

She’s right.

Or maybe I’m just desperate for her to be right.

“I’ll talk to him,” I say, and Sophia claps her hands.

Her eyes shine. “I’ll stay in here whilst you embrace your inner girl boss.”

I grimace and stand to leave the room.

Tom’s still in the open plan kitchen living room, perusing the bookshelf. I stand in the hallway for a moment taking him in. It’s cute that he’s made such an effort. His shirt looks very uncrinkled, his hair looks neat, and the coffee he brought me still sits on the counter.

Tom crouches down to look at a book more closely.

“Spot anything you like?” I ask as he runs his finger along the spine of one of my history books.

“So this is why you did so well in that history round in the pub quiz,” he says, turning to smile at me.

“No, I promise it was all teenage you helping me with school.” I walk to perch on the arm of the sofa. “So, you came to see me.”

“I said I would.” He straightens, watching me in a way that makes my stomach tie in knots. “I wanted to ask you on a date. I didn’t last night because I…” Pink floods his cheeks. “Last night got a bit distracting.”

I bite back a smile.

“And before that,” Tom continues, rubbing the back of his neck, “I wasn’t totally sure you’d say yes. But now that I’m capable of forming coherent thoughts again, I wanted to ask you out properly.”

Warmth floods my veins, enough that I could believe I was back in hot yoga. The thirteen-year-old inside me wants to break into song, or at the very least punch the air. Possibly multiple times. But then just as suddenly as it came, the warmth floods away.

I chew my lip. “What about Kath?” The question comes out smaller than I mean it to, and suddenly I can’t look directly at him.

“I’ve spoken to her.” Tom gives me a soft smile. “Two weeks ago actually. Told her I wanted to ask you on a date, and she was all for it.”

“Really?” My heart lifts slightly. Maybe I was overcomplicating things.

“Really.”