The bus was busy, standing room only, and as she grasped a handrail he manoeuvred himself so he she could lean against him. A gesture he’d have made for any girl he’d taken out, yet with Mia he’d done it instinctively.
‘You know I was wrong about the Smurf,’ he remarked a few stops later when the crowding had eased and they were the only ones left standing. ‘You’re more of a Smurfette.’
She craned her neck to look up at him. ‘I hope that isn’t a heightist joke.’
He bit into his cheek to stop from laughing. ‘Smurfette was the female. You’re not small at all. I mean you make it all the way up to my shoulder, so that’s definitely taller than the average Smurf.’
She elbowed him in the ribs and he couldn’t stop himself. He started to laugh.
‘There’s nothing worse than being average,’ she muttered, which only made him laugh harder. At which point she gave up and started to laugh with him. He could see the rest of the bus watching them, but he didn’t care. He was enjoying being with this girl with blue-tinted hair, sparky humour and a take-me-as-you-find-me attitude.
Enjoying himself so much, he almost missed their stop.
‘Shit, we need to get off.’
Just as the doors were closing, he wedged himself between them and they clambered out. ‘At last we’ve found a use for your hulking shoulders.’
He grinned as he headed towards Quay Street. ‘You think I’ve got broad shoulders, huh? Like the heroes in all those romance novels?’
‘Not in mine.’
It was the sly look she gave him that made him pull up short. ‘Wait, are you talking about the book you’re reading, or…?’ he trailed off when she raised an eyebrow at him. ‘Damn it, I don’t know if you’re having me on or not.’
‘Can you really see me writing a romance novel?’
He couldn’t. Not that he had any clue what a romance writer looked like, but surely it wasn’t blue hair with attitude? ‘That Barbara Cartland woman. She wrote romance and I remember seeing pictures in the newspapers when she died. She wore pink and had this daft long-haired mutt with her.’
‘So you’re saying all romance writers have to wear pink and have a small dog?’
‘Well no, obviously not, but…’ He huffed. ‘Put me out of my misery. Have you written a book?’ Now he’d asked her outright, she looked less cocksure. In fact as she turned away from him, he’d go so far as to say she’d gone shy. ‘Wow, you have, haven’t you? You’re a frigging author. That’s awesome, Mia.’
‘No, I’m not.’ She shrugged, finally turning back to him. ‘I’m trying to write a book, but I’ve got a long way to go.’
‘Long as in, what? You’ve only just started? Halfway through?’
‘I’ve written fifty thousand words.’
His jaw dropped open. ‘To a guy who finds writing a shopping list taxing, that’s one hell of a lot of words. Are you sure you need to write any more?’
The edge of tension he’d seen in her face disappeared and she snorted with laughter. ‘If I want to write a proper book, you know, one with a start, a middle and an end, one someone might want to publish, then yeah. I need to write about the same again.’
‘That’s your goal?’ They started walking again and this time when he reached to grab her hand to cross the road, she didn’t tug it away when they’d reached the other side.
‘It is. I don’t know why, but something in me has always wanted to write books.’
‘You mean instead of developing websites?’ He banged a hand against his forehead. ‘Shit, I forgot to say thanks for agreeing to do ours. Obviously I’ll pay you—’
‘No.’ She glanced up at him, a small smile on her lips. ‘Friends don’t charge. I get a free Manchester guide, you get a free website. We’re quits.’ Clearly seeing he was about to argue, she waved a hand at him. ‘In answer to your question, yes, maybe, one day, if I’m good enough, I’d love to write books instead of building websites. For now though, I want to write for fun and see how it goes.’
For the first time since he’d met her, he was aware of the gulf between them, not in class or wealth, but in education. Intelligence. ‘I can’t imagine writing being fun,’ he admitted. ‘Same as I can’t imagine working on a computer, doing all that whizz-bang techno stuff you do.’
He was aware of her eyes on him, as if she was trying to see inside his brain. ‘Because you’re a humble bartender, huh?’
He tried to laugh it off. ‘Nah, I’m not humble. I’m an ace bartender. It’s not just about mixing the cocktails, you know. It’s about multi-tasking, keeping your cool when it’s busy, keeping busy when it’s not. Being what the customer needs you to be, a shrink, a friend.’ He winked at her. ‘A flirt.’
‘You’ve certainly got that last one nailed.’ But then she did something that caused his heart to flip. She squeezed his hand and added softly, ‘Don’t put yourself down. You can’t imagine writing a book or writing code. I could never run a bar. I’d get flustered at the first sign of a queue, I’m not sufficiently organised or forward thinking to sort out stock and not good enough with people to make them want to come back every week.’
A lump rose into this throat and he couldn’t shake the gruffness out of his voice when he spoke. ‘Thanks. And for the free website. It means a lot.’ He swallowed a few times before attempting to speak again. ‘So this book, what’s it about?’ The question had been intended as a distraction but a thought occurred to him and he halted, tugging her round to face him. ‘Holy shit, it’s kinky, isn’t it? Please tell me it’s full of smut, leather and furry handcuffs.’
‘Furry handcuffs are the best smut you can manage?’
‘Hell no. I can go as smutty, as dirty as you want to go.’ And God help him, with Mia he wanted to go everywhere and anywhere she did. ‘Obviously I draw the line at sheep, or any animal frankly, unless it’s in the background, watching. On second thoughts, that might be a bit intimidating, being stared at by a cow when you’re going at it in a field, but it takes a lot to put me off my stride, so—’
‘For the love of all that is holy, stop!’ She put her hand up, laughter bubbling out of her. ‘Can we please change the subject? Maybe tell me where we’ll find this rain you promised?’
As if he’d choreographed it – and for all her sweet words about his organisational skills, he certainly wasn’t that good – a few steps later they arrived at their destination. Tugging at her hand, he nodded at the advertising screen outside the Everyman cinema. ‘There’s your rain.’
Chapter Fourteen
As Mia stared at the advertising screen, it slowly begun to sink in. ‘We’re going to the cinema.’
Luke pulled a face. ‘Please, don’t insult me. I’m not taking you to any old cinema. This is the best boutique cinema in Manchester.’
‘And we’ve come here to watch Singing in the Rain.’ She tried to think back to what she knew about the film, other than it was a musical and really, really old. ‘Is it even in colour?’