Page 24 of Leaning In

“Wow,” Tom says, putting the mug down and giving it an admiring look. “You’re right, this is delicious.”

I push the plate of pastries towards him. “Try the almond croissant before I eat the whole thing myself.”

“It’s really that good?”

“I’m serious. I’ve elbowed strangers to get to the last one.”

Tom tears off a piece obediently, eyebrows lifting the second he tastes it. “Ok. I understand now. This is amazing.” He takes another piece and pops it into his mouth, closing his eyes.

“Thank you.”

“You’re very smug about this café,” he teases.

“As I should be.” I tear off another piece of pastry. “I have excellent taste.”

“Debatable. You did willingly read a book where Henry VIII was apparently six foot three, emotionally available and a poet.”

I do a double take. “Wait. How do you know he was six foot three and a poet?”

Tom takes a very deliberate sip of his drink, not answering me.

“Did you look up the book I mentioned yesterday?” I ask.

A faint flush creeps across his cheeks. “I might have already read it,” he mumbles.

I just stare at him for half a second before dissolving into laughter. “I thought you said they were historically inaccurate.”

“They are.”

“Tom.”

“I was reading it for research purposes,” he says with complete sincerity. “One of my students brought it up in class last year. It was essential for me, as their teacher, to understand the cultural context.”

“And was the cultural context shirtless yearning?”

He points at me with his coffee cup. “Academic shirtless yearning, given that our Earl was secretly some sort of wierd professor, and Henry was a poet.”

I shake my head, smiling into my mug. The pair of us finish the last of the pastries. Tom looks longingly at the plate, before standing and going to order another almond croissant.

“So,” Tom says when he gets back to the table, “how long have you been doing yoga now?”

I startle slightly at the sudden change in topic. “About a year?”

“Are you enjoying it?”

“Mostly. I spend at least half the class lying on the mat wondering if death would be easier. But I do think I’m getting better. You should try it.”

He laughs softly. “I think I’d be awful at it. Running’s more my thing. Actually, I swear Kath was trying to convince you to start parkrun at one point? How did that work out?”

“She was. I told her if I ever willingly wake up at seven in the morning to run in public, she has permission to assume I’ve been possessed.”

“Don’t under-estimate her. She’ll convert you eventually.”

Tom bringing up his sister reassures me that this really is fine with her. He’s not dancing around the topic. I still need to speak to her, but maybe this will all work out. Like Sophia said, I was overreacting. The way I always do. I know I can be overdramatic. Lots of people have told me that in the past.

I ask about his school and he lights up, leaning forwards as he talks about a new outreach project he’s trying to get funding for. There’s something unfairly attractive about watching someone speak passionately about something they care about.

At some point the sun shifts lower in the sky and the garden fills with golden afternoon light. Neither of us seems in any rush to leave, despite the fact that other groups have come and gone, and we’ve now had multiple drinks refills.