Page 72 of Meet Me After Life

The vinyl makes a scratchy sound as the song ends and the album is finished.

‘You said you wouldn’t touch,’ I say, incredulous.

‘I lied.’ No remorse.

Who took the first step closer, we’ll never know. I’m looking at him through my lashes. He’s looking down at me as though he’s searching for something in my eyes. I hope he finds it. I hope he always finds it.

Maybe he has. His chin tilts down, and mine up. My lashes flutter and he looks so close. Is he getting closer? Should I close my eyes? I close my eyes. Fastest surrender in history. Anglo-Zanzibear has nothing on me. Walker’s still holding my hand. I can feel him pulling me closer still, I can feel his grip tighten, I can feel his breath against my lips when he says, ‘I’ll be retiring now.’

My eyes pop wide open, shocked, as if someone had poured a bucket of cold water over my head. Did I misread the situation? I don’t think I did, but maybe… I try to meet his stare, but Walker won’t look at me.

Right. Well. That’s embarrassing. But embarrassment is my specialty. I’ll make a swift recovery.

He looks pointedly at the door. I suppose that’s my cue to leave. I nod, take a step away from the ledge and go to gather the remaining pieces and frames, but Walker’s shadows have already seen to them all. They lift and hover through the opening in the roof and out of sight.

I make my way over to the same ajar door and walk through. I pause at the top of the steps and look up. He’s there, trying not to watch me leave. ‘Sleep well,’ I say.

His features contort into a rueful thing. ‘No rest for the wicked,’ he says. The door slams with me on the other side.

Chapter Eighteen

The Showcase

I smooth my hands down the front of my dress and check myself in the ceiling mirror. I should have gone with the green. I feel like this red makes me look too ruddy. I like the cut of the dress, but I can’t tell if I like it on me. I’ve never felt like I could pull off backless, but I thought I’d step out of my comfort zone. I wish I hadn’t. I don’t think it works. It’s kind of hard to get a gauge on what I actually look like though. I’m in my luteal phase this week, so everything I’ve put on looks like pure horse-shit to me.

That damn silly-string lock of hair comes loose again when I tilt my head to check myself. I wonder if I should just cut it off and be done with it. But then it’ll probably grow back as a cow lick and Walker will have even more ammunition to tease me with. I push it back again and hope my will alone will keep it there.

‘You look… adequate.’

I wish my breath wouldn’t always catch.

I spin and flutter my lashes. ‘Oh, stop it. You’ll make me blush.’

Walker regards me from his position leant against the doorway, one foot kicked over the other.

‘The showcase.’ He begins to walk towards me and stops close enough I’m forced to crane my neck to look up at him.

‘Yes.’

‘All the frames are there?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you looking forward to it?’

‘Yes…?’ I trail, confused. This is borderline chitchat. Walker hates unfunctional speech.

He looks me over. His green eyes scale the peak of my pinched brows and dive below to the bow of my lips.

‘Who’s… going?’

What in the fuck is this? What is going on here?

‘Well, me, obviously, and then there’s Hot—’ I pause and pivot. ‘Are you trying to make small talk?’

‘Am I not allowed?’ he shoots back with an imperious eyebrow raise.

‘No. It’s strange and unnatural. Like… like…’