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‘Nah, he’s a data analyst. And Rory’s a lawyer.’ At my evident surprise, he shouts a single loud ‘ha!’, flinging his head backwards as he does. ‘No common sense whatsoever but incredibly smartwhen he needs to be. I mean, I’ve never required his services so can’t confirm firsthand, but I assume he knows what he’s doing.’
‘I believe you.’ I’m not sure I do, but I’m trying not to judge a book by its cover. ‘So is that your thing? Fintech? And marketing?’ I think about my horrific attempts at upselling, which I only ever do when Carl is in the vicinity. It feels fitting that Finn would know how to get people to buy things. He seems like the type of person who can talk his way into anything.
‘I’m not exactly passionate about it. It’s notdinosaurs.’He grins, his knee bobbing up and down. ‘But it pays well, and I’m good at it.’
‘Sounds like me.’ My forehead creases. ‘Except that being a barista doesn’t pay well. So not like me at all, actually.’
He laughs and runs a hand through his hair. ‘Forgive me if this is crossing a boundary, but you don’t seem like you love your job.’
‘Well.’ I purse my lips. ‘I’m not really a morning person. And I’m not exactly a people person either.’
‘I hadn’t noticed,’ he says politely.
‘But it’s easy to get out of my head there. I enjoy some parts of it. The coffee and the organisation, mostly. Sometimes I get to be a bit creative with the menus too. That’s usually enough to keep the boredom at bay.’
He swipes through his phone and shows me something I recognise. It’s a photo of one of the menus I drew on our chalkboard a couple of weeks ago, and my heart squeezes a little in my chest. ‘I always love the menus. Is art just a hobby for you? Or could it be a career?’
My insides coil at the thought. ‘Years ago I wanted to be a graphic designer, but I just haven’t got around to starting back up again. One day I will.’ Probably. Maybe. ‘So the coffee shop is fine for me, for now.’
We’re inching far too close to something real, and I don’t want to go near it.
‘If it works, it works,’ he says quietly.
I think it through for a moment and add, ‘There’s also a revolving door of employees, and I don’thatetraining them.’
‘So what you’re saying is, you’re in the process of building your own personal barista army.’ He drapes an arm on the back of the bench and angles his body towards mine. ‘Who are you fighting?’
‘Customers who give me exact change after I’ve already input a whole number in the till.’ He barks out another laugh and my mouth threatens to betray me with a smile. ‘I’m serious, I can’t do the maths. I pretend the till won’t let me add their change.’
‘In that case, I vow to only ever pay with my card.’
‘Setting an example to customers everywhere.’
I’m about to take another swig but he pulls the bottle back from me with a smirk. The caustic look I send his way doesn’t even make a dent.
We face the river, where fragments of light dart across a slick of darkness, and I have to tip our bottle almost vertically by this point to get any liquid out. At least Finn’s under no illusions about how classy I am.
My insides are warm and my eyelids are beginning to feel heavy, but I know myself after wine, and I know it’s only a matter of time before tiredness turns into irritation, so I’m about to call it quits when Finn does it for me.
‘Shit,’ he says. ‘I need to get going. My brother was mad he missed me on FaceTime the other day, so I said I’d call before he goes to school. He’s a bit of a talker, so I’d rather be at home for it.’
I register that he has a habit of over-explaining everything he does.
‘A bit of a talker,’ I repeat. ‘Wonder where he gets that from.’
‘It’s a mystery. But it’s in my best interests to be sitting somewhere comfy if I’m gonna be attached to my phone for an hour.’
‘Fine with me. Let’s go.’ Our shadows ripple down the stone steps as we head back to street level. I drop the bottle in a bin with a wince-inducing clatter. Sorry, recycling mafia. Maybe next time.
By this point, I’m ready for a quiet journey home. It’s been a long week, I’ve done way too much talking, and my bed is waiting.
‘I promise I’m not following you,’ he says, as we both take a right.
‘That sounds like something that someone who’s following me would say.’
‘I live in Brixton,’ he says by way of explanation. A sigh escapes me at the realisation that I’ll have a companion for the entirety of my Tube journey.
When we reach the platform, a train’s just pulling away, and the board says the next one is in five minutes. I am an ardent supporter of the Tube, but any wait over three minutes feels like a personal affront.
