‘I suppose it’s too much to ask if you like what you see.’

Ezra’s voice was as startling as the renewed touch of his fingers, taking Edie’s as he sat down facing her. Ezra held her injured hand, wielding a pair of tweezers.

‘What does it matter to you whether or not I like your kitchen?’

He smiled wryly; his gaze fixed on the splinter. ‘It doesn’t. But I know you always have an opinion on everything and rarely hesitate to share it. This might sting.’ Ezra grasped the splinter with the tweezers and pulled it out. It had gone deeper than Edie had realized and her hand bled as the shard of wood parted with her skin. She hissed in a small breath at the sharp pain, a stabbing in reverse. Her hand throbbed, but then again, when didn’t it nowadays?

‘I didn’t know you wrote poetry,’ she said. ‘That’s all.’

Ezra looked up at her and Edie was suddenly aware of how close they were sitting. Her knees were between his; her hand, if not for being upturned in his, would have been resting on his thigh. She was expecting him to say something along the lines of fridge poetry not being true poetry, in which case she could contradict him, which would return the natural antagonism of their relationship to something she would recognize and could therefore handle, instead of this strange whatever had been going on between them for the past few minutes, or perhaps even the past few weeks.

‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me,’ Ezra said instead, and Edie, unprepared, found herself saying what she thought, instead of what she ought to say, which turned out to be:

‘That’s actually quite sad, isn’t it?’

Ezra smiled slowly. ‘I’ve always thought so.’

They sat there, not moving, her hand still in his.

‘It’s not poetry, though,’ he added after a moment. ‘It’s for Gilly. I did some reading and apparently it’d be good if she could memorize a few quotes from her required history texts for her final essay. If they’re up there on the fridge, she catches sight of them every time she makes herself yet another cup of tea.’

‘She does like her tea.’

‘She does.’

Edie glanced at the fridge, at the magnetic letters fastened there. ‘It’s good of you,’ she said. ‘To do that for her.’

‘It’s nothing,’ he said quietly. ‘You’re the one who took her in and gave her a new start.’

‘Well,’ Edie said. ‘Everyone deserves a second chance.’

‘Do they?’ Ezra asked, and still her hand was in his.

‘Ezra?’ came an unexpected call of a voice from the hallway. ‘Are you here?’

The interruption made Edie jump. She tried to pull herself away from Ezra, but he kept hold of her hand. The visitor was Rachel, and now here she was, standing in the kitchen doorway.

‘Oh!’ Rachel said, looking between them both, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t—’

‘Edie’s got a nasty splinter,’ Ezra said calmly, as he put down the tweezers and picked up an antiseptic wipe instead. He tore the packet open with his teeth and pulled out the wipe with one hand, still refusing to let go of Edie’s hand. ‘Sit still, for pity’s sake,’ he said, although Edie had the strange feeling that the return of his customary bite was for Rachel’s sake – or perhaps even for hers.