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I nodded at her, and she flushed again. Over her shoulder, Dad shot me a wink. He was playing matchmaker, though I could hardly be mad at him for it.
“I’m not sure. I’ll have to see,” she replied shyly.
“Well, the address is number 10 Adam’s Row if you do decide to come. Shay, why don’t you walk Maggie to the bus stop? I want to have a chat with Mary before we go.”
Okay, so maybe Dad was getting a little too comfortable meddling. I glanced at Maggie, sending her a questioning look. To my surprise, she nodded. “That would be nice.”
Dad smiled happily before heading over to chat with Mary, leaving us alone. Maggie was digging in her bag, pulling out some cash, clearly intending to pay for herself. Because I couldn’t tell her it was on me, I reached out and touched her hand. She sucked in a breath, her eyelashes fluttering at the contact. I gently shook my head, then patted my chest to let her know I was paying.
“No, you don’t have to. I’m happy to pay,” she said, flustered, but I just held her gaze, not backing down.
“Oh, all right,” she finally allowed. “But next time, I’m buying.”
I smiled then because that meant she wanted to see me again. I hoped she planned to come for dinner tomorrow. The idea of her meeting my family, being in my house, appealed to me in a way I didn’t entirely understand. Inviting someone to your family home was something people did after weeks of dating or even months. Not that we were dating. Still, a part of me was eager to skip forward to a time where she knew my family and was comfortable coming to see me at my house.
She seemed to realise the meaning in what she just said and flushed further. I wanted to kiss her at that moment so badly because, although we didn’t know each other very well at all, I’d spent over half a year watching her. I felt like I knew her, and because I couldn’t use words to express how I felt, the instinct to touch her was stronger than normal.
I left some cash on the table, then motioned for her to lead the way. We left the café and headed in the direction of the nearest bus stop. A few moments of quiet passed before she said, “Your dad is a very nice man. You live with him?”
I met her gaze and nodded.
“Is it just the two of you?” she asked, and I nodded again.
“It must be nice,” she went on, almost to herself. “To have someone around.”
I remembered her telling dad she rented a flat on her own. I’d never lived alone, so I had no idea what that was like. We reached the bus stop, and the monitor said it was four minutes until the next one arrived. Only four minutes left with her. It wasn’t enough time.
She sat on the bench, and I followed suit, leaving a small gap between us.
I wanted to ask if she was going to come to dinner tomorrow, my fingers edging towards the phone in my pocket. I’d thought typing out the message was what made her flee on Friday, but maybe it was something else. Maybe she’d remembered she left something plugged in at home and had to rush back to make sure her flat hadn’t burned to the ground. Well, there was only one way to test the theory.
I pulled out my phone and began typing. Her attention was on the road, so she didn’t see what I was doing until I tapped her shoulder, and she turned. I held out my phone. On the screen it read, Will you come to dinner tomorrow?
Her eyes widened, her face turning pale, and my gut sank. My initial instinct had been right. For some reason, she appeared almost frightened to read my message. I didn’t understand, watching her throat move as she swallowed, then hesitantly she reached out to take the phone. She held it in her small, delicate hands, her brow scrunching as she stared at the screen.
She didn’t say anything for a long moment, and I honestly felt like I was missing something until it finally dawned on me. The memory of her sitting in Mary’s café, her brows scrunched as she stared at the menu, then her relief when Dad appeared and announced he’d ordered for her.
She couldn’t read.
No, that wasn’t it, I realised as I watched her study the screen. It wasn’t that she couldn’t read because she was clearly trying to, but she definitely had some kind of difficulty with it.
I was such a fucking idiot sometimes. Why hadn’t I realised sooner?
It was obvious now as I watched her try to decipher what I’d written, and something burned at my chest. I hated myself at that moment because she was trying to concentrate so hard, and her face was red like she was incredibly embarrassed.
