“I’ll just need to enter a contact phone number in,” he said. “That way if anything changes, we can let you know.”

I rattled off my mobile number. “And um, if you wanted to add that number into your mobile, you know, if anything changes, you can let me know.”

I wasn’t talking about hiring the room.

He looked right at me, into me. His eyes were intent, searching, questioning, a little wary, but maybe there was a spark of something else there too. Something that looked like hope. He let out a sharp breath and took out his phone. “I guess. You know, in case something changes.” He thumbed the number into his contacts; then he put his hand to his forehead, to his cheek, through his hair, to his heart. “Um…”

“Wanna get out of here?” I asked.

“Yes,” he squeaked.

He turned around toward the front door, but Mrs Alvarez spotted him. “Oh, thank you again, Jordan.”

“Anytime,” he said. “Tell Mr Alvarez the book he ordered will be here next week. And say hello to Catalina for me, won’t you?”

She beamed at him, and he made it to the door and someone else called out goodbye to him, and he waved and tripped and almost fell through the glass door. “Motherfucker,” he cried.

A young woman close by laughed and said, “Bye Jordan.”

He righted himself and patted down his shirt and fixed his hair. “Oh hi, Olivia. How are the exams going?” he asked.

“Good thanks, almost done.”

“That’s good, good. No need to tell Mrs Mullhearn I dropped another mofo-bomb.” He made a face, shaking his head.

She laughed again. “Hell no. I got you. Don’t you worry.”

He let out a sigh of relief. “I was just… we’re just…” He looked at me, found me grinning at him, so he grabbed my hand and dragged me out the door and up the street where he stopped, dropped my hand, and sighed. “Just one day. One day would be great where I don’t make an arse of myself.”

“I think you’re kind of great.”

He stared, blinked, then blushed a dozen shades of pink and red. “Oh look,” he said, as if suddenly realising where we were. “You need to try these,” he said, walking into the Thai restaurant we were outside of. “Hey, Sunan!”

“Hey, Jordan,” the guy behind the counter said. “The usual?”

He held up two fingers. “Two today, please.”

Sunan’s face lit up. “Oh, two,” he said, looking between us suggestively. “Special treat for special friend?”

Jordan didn’t miss a beat. “Without the side serving of innuendo and embarrassment, that’d be great.”

Sunan laughed and disappeared out the swinging door to what I assumed was a kitchen. “Come here often?” I asked.