He stared at me and I shook my head, internally kicking myself. And you just wait, brain. I’ll give you fucking “Aruba, Jamaica, oh I wanna take ya.”

He was now looking at me like he had serious concerns for my mental health. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “I’m just really nervous and you were going to ask me something yesterday but you didn’t and I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours freaking out and I’m pretty sure Merry is—” His expression was growing more concerned so I stopped talking. “Not relevant to this conversation, sorry. You were going to ask me something. Please put me out of my misery.”

He smiled and the bus came to a stop and he brushed up against me again. He didn’t apologise, which could either mean he wasn’t sorry for the physical contact or he was a mannerless jerk, and I hoped to all the gods it was the first.

“Yes, I did want to ask you something,” he said. “And there’s no right or wrong answer. You need to do what you’re comfortable in doing. I don’t want to influence your decision.”

The bus jolted forward again as we took a right at Cleveland. Shit his stop was next. “If you don’t just spit it out, I’m pretty sure Merry will hunt you down. Not sure she can take much more of me not knowing what you were going to ask me.”

“You told her?”

“Of course. I might have mentioned it once. Or eighty-seven times.”

He looked out the window and made a face when he saw his stop was coming up. “I just wanted to know,” he said. “You know, the support group I run?”

“Yes.”

An amazing explosion of blush coloured his cheeks. “Well, I was just wondering if you were thinking of coming back.”

“Oh.” I couldn’t have hidden my disappointment if I tried. Of course it was about his meeting. It wasn’t about me at all. “I was planning to, yeah. Do you like need to know for numbers or something? Because that’s fair. Or if you need to change venues because we got interrupted by the drunk, horny couple. Oh God, did I make someone feel uncomfortable with all my crying and you need to tell me that it’s probably for the best if I don’t come back? Because you can just tell me. I’ll understand.”

“No, no. Nothing like that,” he replied and the bus slowed to a stop. “Shit. I wish we had more time than five minutes a day.”

Wait, what? He wants more time with me?

“Um, me too,” I replied in that traitorous breathy voice. “I mean, what even is five minutes?”

The doors opened and people started to pile off the bus. He looked a little panicked. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. Are you free tomorrow? For a coffee, say two pm? I have more questions and—”