Chapter 2

2

I don't know why I'm surprised to see Cute Guy actually waiting outside for me.

But there he is in his pale-blue shirt and dark jeans, both hands tucked into his pockets and my denim jacket tucked neatly through the crook of his elbow.

My stomach lurches and, once again, it's a reaction that has everything to do with him and nothing to do with the alcohol I've been drinking. Whatever possessed me a few minutes ago at the bar, it's long gone now. The music is so loud I can feel the beat of it out here on the street. The air is cool against my hot, sweaty skin and suddenly all I can focus on is the gross, wet sleeve of my blouse and the way it's plastered to my arm.

"Listen," I tell Cute Guy, before he's noticed I'm outside. He starts, looking around. My mouth is dry; I peel my tongue away from the roof of my mouth and try again. "Listen, I don't… I don't do this kind of thing. And, like, I wasn't trying to, you know. Invite you home. Hook up with you, I mean."

He scoffs, and just when I brace myself for a slew of derogatory cusswords and him storming back inside, he says, "Well, that's good, because I was really looking forward to some cheesy chips. No offense. I'm sure hooking up would've been fun, but…"

Now it's my turn to make a scornful noise. I snatch my coat from him and fold it over my arm, covering my stomach. "And the charm just continues. I really hope this isn't how you try to flirt."

"I mean, normally I start by introducing myself and complimenting the girl."

I wait.

Cute Guy laughs, almost in disbelief, but squares his shoulders and shrugs, his hands open at his sides, palms facing me. His eyes crinkle a little at the corners. They're such a nice green. Like the first leaves in springtime.

"I'm Lloyd."

"Lloyd." I don't know why I repeat it, but I like the way it rolls off my tongue. That's like honey, too. "I'm Annalise. I like that your shirt isn't wet. That's an impressive feat."

"Is that your attempt at flirting with me, Annalise?" he teases, then puts his hands back in his pockets and jerks his head to one side. "Come on. Like I said, I know a place. And there's a portion of cheesy chips with my name on it."

Lloyd begins walking down the street and I hurry after him, stumbling a little. My right hand slips around his left arm as I steady myself, and his skin is warm through his sleeve. I hang on for a few steps, and he gives me a sidelong look.

"Don't flatter yourself," I tell him, wondering if he can see me blush in the dark, or if it'll just look like a trick of the light under the streetlamps. This whole situation is so unlike me that I blurt out exactly what's on my mind. "I'm not usually much of a drinker. But I am sobering up enough now to realize that walking off with some guy I don't know is not my finest moment."

"What is your finest moment, then?"

I don't even have to think about it. "I got a spot on a really prestigious internship this summer. I worked really hard for it. Too hard, probably, but…"

"Congratulations."

"Thanks."

"Wait, that wasn't a bit of a farewell party, was it? I haven't lured you away from your own ‘goodbye and good luck' celebration with the mere promise of cheesy chips, have I?"

I burst out laughing, my hand tightening around his arm reflexively.

I'm sure the girls in my college halls would have thrown a party for me when I moved out a few weeks ago. Goodbye and good riddance! they probably thought.

"No," I say. "Tonight was more of a ‘hello' thing. Meeting the other interns. I'm at Leeds for college, so I'm just here for the summer."

"Ah. Obligated fun. I get it."

"Is that why you were out tonight?"

"Yeah—a friend's birthday." He tosses me a smile. "They won't miss me, I'm sure."

"You guys aren't close?"

He hums, unsure, and instead of giving me a direct answer just says, "Everyone heading different places for college and figuring their lives out was always going to change things, I guess."

"Has it changed you? I—I mean…" I don't even know if he goes to college. I don't even know how old he is. For all I that feel Lloyd is a kindred spirit, I don't know the first thing about him.

"I've never been much for a night out. Family stuff, you know? Between my dad and working with him through the summers and—" He draws a sharp breath, making a visible effort to relax before smiling at me again. "But I guess I don't need to explain that kind of thing to you, if you're spending your summer on an internship program that you worked too hard to get."

I know he's trying to distract me before I pry into something he doesn't want to talk about, but it works. I've been bursting with pride ever since I got that "Congratulations!" email, wanting to tell anyone and everyone about it.

"They take a really small number of applicants," I find myself saying, "so it was kind of a long shot, but I really thought I had a chance, you know? I ticked every box on their list. I did so much research, prepping for all their rounds of interviews. I had all these extracurriculars from school and I even took on an extra module at college studying computer science just to try and build out my CV, and let me tell you, I suck at computer science. It was a realslog."

"But you did it," Lloyd says, sounding impressed. Or maybe I'm imagining that, and he's doing a good job of hiding his real reaction and he thinks I'm a try-hard dork who needs to get a life. I'd like to think he is impressed, though.

"I did it. Out of everyone who applied, they picked me. Even if I had to lie on my application that I was a second-year, but it's not like I lied about anything important. So…"

He laughs. " So. Why lie, though? Why not just wait till nextyear?"

"This way, I can do another internship next summer. Plus, if I hadn't got in this year, I would've had another shot at applying next year. It's all going to help me be in a better position when I apply for jobs after I graduate."

And it's not like I had plans for the summer anyway. At least a full-time job, however temporary, will help cover up that fact so my family doesn't worry about me being too much on my own.

Aloud, I add, "And it was obviously really worth all that extra effort this year, because now I'm on the internship program."

"How do you know it's worth it if you haven't started it yet?"

I blink, not understanding the question.

Of course it's worth it. Arrowmile is famous for making electric vehicles; they have a rent-a-scooter initiative near my university, and in the last couple of years they've won numerous industry awards. This internship will help my CV stand out, and it's a good networking opportunity. They even pay their interns a decent salary and cover our accommodation, which is why there's so much competition for a place on their program. And at the end of the summer, all the interns give a presentation on their work over the past twelve weeks to senior managers and board members; if you impress them, you get fast-tracked for an actual job with Arrowmile when you graduate. This internship could be a total game changer for me.

Lloyd stares back for a moment before shaking his head and saying, "So you lied to get your dream job, you don't get out much, you don't—normally—leave your friends behind to go for food with some random guy…Tell me something true about you, Annalise."

Annalise. I like the way my name sounds, when he says it.

I always go by Anna. Everyone always shortens my name anyway, and at some point, I defaulted to it, too. I don't know why I told him my full name instead of "Anna," like I normally do.

I'm glad I did.

I consider his question for a moment. Tell me something true about you.

We've turned onto another, busier street. This one is narrower, but the buildings are brighter, with lights pouring out from shop front windows and smells mingling in the air: kebabs, burgers, pad thai. Lloyd walks past them. I follow.

And I tell him: "I don't believe in love."

He makes a funny choking sound before stopping dead and turning to me in disbelief. "You don't believe in love? What does that even mean?"

"I think it's…overrated. Commercialized. I think that relationships are something that you have to work at and put effort into, and I'm not saying that you can't have feelings for someone, but I think the whole ‘love conquers all' thing is just…fake."

I know it is. I thought I was maybe in love with my ex-boyfriend. We started dating after A levels. He was the first guy who'd ever really shown much interest in me, and when he said, "I love you," I said it back because I knew I should, and thought I probably did love him, I just didn't know it yet. It was something I'd have to work on, like everything else in my life, I figured.

I didn't love that spending weekends with him meant I missed a deadline for an assignment or failed a midterm. I didn't love that I was jeopardizing my entire future over a guy I didn't picture that same future with. I couldn't fathom a feeling where I would be willing to pack away pieces of myself to make space for somebodyelse.

So, no, I don't believe in love.

"Well. That's…" Lloyd scoffs to himself, blinking dazedly. "That's one way to put it."

I'm still holding on to his bicep, and use it as leverage to swing myself around in front of him, holding him at arm's length.

"Oh, what," I guess, "you're a ‘love at first sight' kind of guy?"

"Maybe I am."

"I bet you fall for a new girl every week."

He gives me a dry smile. "Lucky for me, there's still a couple of days left this week for me to find her." Then he glances over my shoulder and starts walking again, gesturing for me to follow. "Almost there. Come on. I promised you cheesy chips, didn't I?"

He did, and I soon find I'm not disappointed.

Lloyd has taken us to a small, cramped takeaway with blue-and-white checkered tile flooring. A queue wraps down the street. Thirtyish minutes later, we're each holding a polystyrene container of the most delicious chips I've ever smelled—Lloyd's are stuck together with gooey melted cheese and mine are doused in rich brown gravy.

"A proper Northerner, then," he remarks, watching me dig in with a little wooden fork the moment we're out of the shop.

"Did you think the accent was just for show?" I take a mouthful of chips and groan; nothing has ever tasted so delicious. The fresh air has helped mitigate the aftereffects of the tequila, but the chips settle my stomach. I wave a chip at Lloyd, flicking drops of gravy onto the pavement. "Your turn. Tell me something true about you."

He smiles to himself, the kind of smile like there are a thousand secrets on the tip of his tongue just waiting to be told. The kind of smile that's only halfway there, just begging to be kissed at the corner of his lips.

"Well, I believe in love, for starters. Not just the one great love that they boast about in movies and stuff. I think if the right people meet at the right time, under the right circumstances…I think you could fall in love with just about anyone."

"That's sounds more like fate, if you ask me." This guy really is a romantic at heart—and, I think, I'd be silly to think of this connection we have as anything special, if that's how he sees the world. There's a lump in my throat and I swallow it down to ask, "Tell me some other things about you. Fun, silly stuff."

His grin this time is a lightning strike, flooring me with its brilliance. "I tried to teach myself to sew after the Andrew Garfield Spider-Man came out, because I thought it was cool that Spider-Man made his own costume. My mom used to make me and my brother all our costumes for school concerts and stuff, so she showed me a bit."

"That's adorable. Dorky, but adorable."

"Were you looking for something more tough guy? Hate to disappoint you there, but I'm an established failure on that front. Like, I almost got a tattoo when I was eighteen. It was a group thing on a break with some friends. My brother went first, and then I chickened out and then everyone else got bored or backed out as well, so now he's the only one stuck with this stupid little SpongeBob on his arse. It's been almost two years, but he still brings it up constantly."

"Your poor brother," I lament. "Oh man. That is cruel. Were you supposed to get SpongeBob, too?"

"Patrick. We all drew lots for which character we'd get."

I laugh. "I can't believe you let him do that and then bailed on him. You could've at least had the decency not to let him go through with it if you were going to back out."

"Hey! I had every intention of getting Patrick on my left arse cheek until I saw that needle. It could've been worse. Will could've ended up with Plankton, or something. How about you—any siblings you bailed out of matching tattoos with?"

"Two half brothers, but no matching tattoos. They're a lot younger than me. We get on great, though. Mostly. When they're not leaving honey in my shoes or making me be goalie when they play football."

"Oh no. Not the honey shoes."

"I mean, it happened once, " I grant, "but that is one more time than anybody should have to put their shoes on and find them full of honey."

"It really is," Lloyd agrees, nodding, his face gravely serious.

I cut him a look, not sure if he's teasing or not, but it's me who cracks a smile first. I knock my shoulder into his and mutter, "Shut up," but I hope he knows I don't mean it. The last thing I want right now is for him to shut up.

He doesn't feel like such a stranger anymore. Nothing about this feels strange, actually. It feels… nice. Right. Like this is exactly where I'm supposed to be right now, and this is exactly how my night was supposed to go. Maybe he's on to something, believing in fate….

We emerge onto the riverside, with its wide pathways. The streetlights bounce amber ripples on the ink-dark water; a small boat cuts through it, gleaming white in the dark. Up ahead, the lights of the London Eye glint, replacing the stars on a cloudless summer night in the city.

My arm bumps into Lloyd's again as we walk and eat our chips and tell each other all sorts of true things about ourselves. Inconsequential, miscellaneous things like what kind of movies we like or the last thing we listened to on Spotify. Big secrets, like how he's on a gap year from a law and economics degree and isn't sure he wants to go back to it at the end of the summer, and how I hate that my mom got back in touch with me again three years ago, acting like she never left when I was little and like everything was fine, never stopping to consider if I wanted a relationship with her again. Lloyd tells me how his dad used to smile when his mom was still alive.

"You mean, used to smile more?"

The look on Lloyd's face is so lost, so sad, it's heartbreaking.

"No," he says. "I mean, he never smiles anymore at all. I miss that, almost as much as I miss her."

We talk about our star signs because he believes in horoscopes. I confess how glad I am to have a break from the catty people I lived with at college and that next year I'll be living with more like-minded people from my course instead. He bemoans the Japanese classes his dad made him take, but is more upbeat when he tells me he speaks a little Hindi; his mom taught him what she could remember.

I laugh when he says he writes poetry, because of course he does, this boy with his quick heart and kiss-me lips, and he tells me he's sorry that my ex-boyfriend and I couldn't manage to make things work after we went away to different colleges and broke up over Christmas break.

"It can't have been easy," he tells me, his voice full of sympathy. "I had a rough breakup at the end of last summer, so I get it. It sucks when someone breaks your heart."

" I was the one who broke up with him," I point out, but then find myself admitting, "The hard part was when he said he shouldn't have been so surprised, and it was no wonder I didn't have many friends at school, because I'm cold and unlikable."

"Jeez. He said that?"

I bite my lip, feeling like I've gone too far. I haven't told anybody else he said that.

I'm too scared if I do, people will only tell me it's true.

With our chippy takeaways long since finished and the wrapping discarded, Lloyd's hand slips into mine.

"I don't think you're cold or unlikable, for the record. And that's something true."

Somehow I can believe it, coming from him.

We talk, and talk, and the city doesn't sleep and neither dowe.

Sometime way past midnight, we lean against the wall by the river, watching another boat go by and people walking along the opposite bank, all of us wrapped up in our own little worlds.

It's nice. Comfortable, and steady.

And none of it is real. Not really, not in any way that matters, because once I get home, I won't see Lloyd again after tonight. He's beautiful. He's charming, a romantic at heart, with an easy smile and a ready laugh. He's a dream guy, but that's all he is: a dream.

Still. It's nice to enjoy it for a little while. To pretend it is real.

I know that it could be. That I could ask for his number, say I want to see him again, suggest we go on a real date—but that's not what I'm in the city for, and not what this summer is about. All that matters for the next twelve weeks is my internship at Arrowmile. I have to give it my all. I want to give it my all. I don't need some silly summer fling to distract me.

But still.

It's nice to pretend for just one night.

So when the conversation trails off, and I feel Lloyd shift closer, hear him murmur my name in a soft, heady voice, and his hand comes up to ghost along my cheek, I don't stop him. I twist to face him and let my eyelids flutter shut, enjoying the sensation of his fingertips along my skin and then brushing back the loose hair around my face. I tilt my face toward his, relishing the way his lips feel against mine.

He tastes of beer and chips, like summers at the seaside with my friends.

This isn't the sloppy, drunken kiss of a random boy on a night out. This is firm; confident. Grown-up and sobered up. His tongue teases at my lower lip and a shiver runs down my spine.

My hand runs over the firm planes of his chest and down to his hip, where it settles. Lloyd's other hand finds its way to the small of my back to anchor me close against him and I'm hit once more by the spiced, earthy smell of his cologne as it mingles with the mild, smoggy summer air. I swear he's so close I can feel his heart thundering, or maybe that's mine. Maybe both.

We kiss for seconds, for eons, and finally, all too soon, draw apart to catch our breath. He lifts his head, lips grazing my temple, and my breath catches in my throat again.

My heart hammers against my ribs, beating a tattoo of take him home, take him home, but I know I can't do that. Much as I'd like to. Much as it feels like he'd like me to. This is as far as it goes.

I can't afford to get swept up in some fleeting romance or even just a one-night stand. My brain weighs the cost of short-term fun against my long-term ambitions, and comes to the conclusion it always does: It's not worth it.

I'll just be the girl he fell for this week. He'll just be a fun story, a sweet memory.

I take a step back before I can forget why it isn't worth it and am too tempted to ask him to come home with me. Lloyd is breathing heavily, his hands falling to his sides as I move away.

"I should be getting home," I say, and then clarify in a very deliberate, exaggerated tone, "alone."

"Yeah." He clears his throat, then stutters a little when he continues to speak. "Y-yeah. Me too. I'll, um…I'll wait with you, while you call an Uber?"

"Thanks," I say, not rejecting the offer because it's late and I don't know this city well. I can tell he's offering because it's the polite thing to do, not because he's angling for an invitation to join me.

We wait quietly, two feet apart, for my driver to show up. I try not to pay too much attention to the fare back to Clapham, writing it off as a one-time necessity.

Before long, a Prius idles on the curb at the pickup point and Lloyd stands with his hands in his pockets again.

"Well, it was nice to meet you, Annalise."

"It was nice to meet you too, Lloyd."

He seems to chew over his next words, but eventually flashes me a quicksilver smile and says, "I'll see you around, maybe."

"Yeah. See you around."

He closes the car door behind me, all chivalry and charm. My lips tingle with the imprint of his kiss. I almost feel a little sorry that I never got his number, and that I'll never see him again.