Ava:

It’s not stupid. I’d rather you ask than not. Shows you’re thinking about me.

James:

Actually, I haven’t stopped thinking about you.

I freeze. My heart doesn’t.

Ava:

Why?

James:

Truthfully, I don’t know.

Ava:

Oh. Well, thanks for being honest.

James:

You made me promise to, remember? OK. So the reason I’m messaging…do you want to meet? I was thinking dinner?

Ava:

Are you asking me out on a date?

I hold my breath and watch as the three gray dots that indicate he is typing something blink at me for an inordinately long amount of time. They blink while the moon rises further overhead; while shooting stars flash across the sky; and somewhere in the universe whole solar systems implode. They blink as the tide gently recedes into the distance and the earth tilts on its axis.

James:

I think so.

Ava:

You know I’m dying, right?

James:

Yes.

Ava:

Did my mother put you up to this?

James:

No, absolutely not.

Ava:

Are you asking me out of pity?

James:

No! I’m asking because I enjoy your company.

Ava:

In that case I’d love to.

James:

Really?

Ava:

Of course. Name a time and place. My calendar is wide open. For the next few months at least.

James:

I’ll pick you up. Tomorrow night. Six o’clock.

Ava:

I shall be waiting.

James:

Good night, Ava.

Ava:

Good night, James.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Not quite what you were expecting, is it?”

“No.”

He looks crestfallen. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s better than I was expecting.”

His face brightens again. “Really?”

“Let’s face it, when it comes to dining out in this town, the options are limited. And while I do enjoy both the Indian cuisine at the Maharaja and the Thai at the Lemongrass, sometimes you just can’t beat good old fish ’n’ chips.”

We are walking along the grassy beachfront in town, having just ordered and collected our dinner from Erik’s Takeaways. Even though James is carrying the newspaper-wrapped bundle, I can smell the food, and it’s making my stomach rumble.

“You forgot about the Pizza Palace,” James reminds me.

“Oops. Don’t tell Leonardo. He gets upset easily.”

“Emotional guy, Leonardo.”

“You’re telling me. I remember when Italy was knocked out of the soccer World Cup. He didn’t open the restaurant for a week. Just sat in his courtyard out the back drinking wine and weeping. Rose from the dry cleaners next door heard him.”

He arches his eyebrows. “And promptly told everyone?”

“Of course. You know what small towns are like.”

“I’m beginning to learn, yes.”

“Where did you grow up? I know it wasn’t around here, because there’s no way we wouldn’t have crossed paths before now. Also you have a certain…” I wave my hands around as I try to think of the right word; I fail. “…city air, about you,” I say lamely.

“City air?”

“You know, suave and cultured. Like you visit museums and art galleries and dine at restaurants with more than one fork on the table.”