Jonah told her there was a way through to the promenade.
Ten minutes later they were standing in a yard between a locked gate and a row of bins.
Ruby looked at him. ‘Lovely sea view.’
‘That gate used to open.’
‘Did you come through here as a child?’
‘Last summer.’
He tested the latch once more. It rattled, firmly locked. Ruby started laughing. She'd been careful on the first part of the walk: careful how much she said, careful to leave a comfortable space between them, careful not to mention Dan every time a shop reminded her of him. Now she was in a bin yard with a man who looked personally offended by a gate.
‘We'll go back,’ he said.
‘Do you want to leave it a note?’
‘I might.’
On the way out he noticed she was walking on the edge of her shoe.
‘Stone?’
‘Probably.’
‘There's a step.’
She sat on it and emptied the offending shoe. A tiny white stone fell out. Jonah waited, looking at the roofs instead of her foot. It made her feel less awkward than an offer to help would have done.
‘You'll be pleased to hear I've survived,’ she said, standing.
‘The town can be dangerous.’
They found the front by following a road Ruby knew. Jonah accepted her directions without defending his own, which earned him enough goodwill for the next wrong turn.
The sea was brownish green under a pale sky. A dog with very short legs chased a ball down the beach, then abandoned it to shout at a wave. Ruby and Jonah stopped to watch until its owner gave up calling.
‘That dog has somewhere important to be,’ Ruby said.
‘It's just remembered where.’
The wind pressed Ruby's hair across her mouth. She pulled it away. Jonah was standing close enough that she could see a pale line on his jaw where he'd missed shaving. She wanted to touch it, absurdly, after barely an hour with him.
‘What made you become a framer?’ she asked.
‘I liked making things. My first boss liked shouting. It worked for a while.’
‘You work for yourself now?’
‘Yes. Still get shouted at, but there's nobody to blame when I forget an order.’
She told him about the shared ceramics studio, the kiln she booked time in, the pieces that looked brilliant wet and dull once fired. He asked questions she hadn't expected: whether she liked making handles, what she did with work she didn't like, whether the red on the dish changed in the heat.
‘You really looked at that,’ she said.
‘You put it in my hand.’
‘People look at my hands quite often and don't see what's in them.’
He looked at hers now, briefly. ‘Do you keep the bad pieces?’
‘Some. I have a cupboard that doesn't get shown to visitors.’
‘I want to see that cupboard.’
Ruby's face warmed. He didn't rescue her with a joke. They walked on.
In a shop window farther along the front, a framed seascape had been bleached by years of sunlight. The sea was pink; the lighthouse had vanished except for its door.
Jonah stopped so suddenly she nearly walked into him.
‘There.’ He pointed. ‘Terrible picture. Lovely frame.’
‘You're wrong. That's wonderful.’
‘The lighthouse has dissolved.’
‘It's a ghost lighthouse.’
‘That frame's holding on by two staples.’
Ruby leaned closer to the window. Behind the glass were old postcards, a ceramic spaniel and a yellow plastic torch. ‘Would you buy it?’
‘The frame?’
‘The whole thing.’
‘Would you?’
‘If I had somewhere to put it.’
‘That's a yes with furniture attached.’
She laughed. He looked pleased and reached towards her, then stopped before touching her coat.
‘You've got something—’
‘What?’
‘Little bit of newspaper.’
He lifted a torn scrap from the seam at her shoulder. Probably from yesterday's box. His fingers brushed the fabric beside her neck, and she felt it through the coat.
‘Thank you.’
‘Any time.’
She had told him yesterday that she wanted a walk. It had been sensible to say. Standing beside the ghost lighthouse, she wished she had left the afternoon a little less sensible.
They turned back towards town when the wind got colder. Ruby told him she used to teach pottery workshops in her ex's bakery. The words sounded all right out loud.
‘You miss them?’
‘The classes, yes. The carrying chairs through sacks of flour, less.’
‘Can you do them somewhere else?’
‘I hope so. If the market works. I need people who aren't there because they already know him.’
Jonah nodded. A cyclist came past too close and he moved nearer to Ruby. Neither of them moved apart again.
When they reached the road to her flat, he asked about the bowls on her stall. Would she want something at the back to show their insides? He had an offcut that might work as a little display support. She could try it before he threw it away.
‘I can bring it tomorrow,’ he said. ‘If you're in.’
‘I'll be in later today.’
‘Today, then. So will the offcut.’
‘You make it sound so appealing.’
‘I'll clean it.’
They stood a moment longer. Jonah asked whether she'd like to come to the workshop the next evening. He had a hideous print waiting for a frame, and she could help choose its friends.
Ruby said yes before she had worked out whether saying yes was wise.
‘Six?’
‘Six.’
He smiled. She smiled back, and the small silence between them felt good.
At home Mae was on the floor, cutting pictures out of an old magazine. She tipped her head up as Ruby came in.
‘Well?’
Ruby shut the door and leaned against it. ‘We got lost.’
‘On a straight seafront?’
‘He found a shortcut.’
Mae started laughing. Ruby took off her coat and sat beside her. For ten minutes she told her everything: the gate, the pink sea, the little stone, the way Jonah had looked at the dish. Mae listened with scissors poised, making Ruby repeat the newspaper part.
‘And he asked you out again?’
‘Tomorrow.’
Mae laid down the scissors and squeezed her knee. ‘Look at your face.’
Ruby hid it in her hands. Mae pulled one away, still smiling.
‘You can like him,’ she said.
Ruby let her hand stay in Mae's for a moment. She hadn't realised how much she'd wanted someone to say it.