Will's flat was above the café. Eva had been up there before, mostly to fetch a missing box or shout that a delivery had arrived. She hadn't seen it with the lamps on and the curtains drawn.
He had cleared the table by the window. There were two glasses, a bottle of wine and a bowl of crisps.
“Dinner?” she asked.
“An insult to the profession. We've both been eating all day.”
She took a crisp. The room was warm. Someone below was closing a car door, and the sound came up through the old window frame.
Will poured her a small glass.
“Still annoyed?”
“Yes.”
“Good opening.”
“You asked.”
He sat on the sofa. Eva sat at the other end, then moved a little closer because the arm dug into her back. He smiled when she did.
There was a photograph on the shelf of the café before the work started. The paint was shabby, the tables cramped. Eva had her back to the camera, holding both arms out to show Will where another table could go.
“I look like I'm directing aircraft,” she said.
“You were explaining that I didn't understand space.”
“You didn't.”
“There are twenty chairs down there now. I've grown.”
She smiled. He leaned forward, and she let him kiss her.
It was still good. That was the annoying part. His hand on her cheek, his warm shoulder against hers. She had been carrying the morning all day, and for a few seconds she wanted to put it down here.
Will moved back and looked at her.
“You could be here more,” he said.
“We've only had two evenings together.”
“I mean properly.”
She looked round the room again.
“Live here?”
“Eventually. If you wanted.”
She ought to have laughed at eventually, five days after Ben had left. Instead she pictured it before she could help herself: the stairs instead of the long walk home, this sofa, a mug waiting when she finished downstairs. His shirt over the back of the chair and hers beside it.
“It's very quick,” she said.
“I know.”
“I'm still finding Ben's socks.”
“I've got drawers.”
“That's dangerously persuasive.”
He laughed and kissed the top of her head. She liked it. She knew how much she liked it.
“You could have a bit of rest,” he said. “Do your planning. Let Nora take the routine evenings.”
Eva sat up.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“I move upstairs and Nora takes my work.”
“Not all of it.”
“The bits you decide?”
He moved his hand off the back of her neck.
“I'm trying to picture us happy.”
“Picture me with my apron on.”
“You could still do events.”
“I do events now.”
He leaned back against the sofa. She could feel the space between their legs where there hadn't been any before.
“You said I could keep my job,” she said.
“I meant it.”
“Then you offered it twice.”
He didn't answer at once. She waited.
“I shouldn't have got ahead of myself with Nora,” he said.
“How far ahead?”
“I'll sort it tomorrow. Before the supper. I promise.”
Eva set her glass on the table. “I'm not moving in.”
“I wasn't asking you to pack tonight.”
“I'm telling you.”
He looked at her face and nodded.
She got up. The crisps were still on the table. One of her socks had slipped inside her shoe, and she bent to pull it up rather than let him do anything kind.
“I like being here,” she said. “That doesn't make the rest all right.”
“I know.”
At the door he put his hand on her arm. She stopped.
“I didn't want tonight to turn into this.”
“Neither did I.”
She wanted to kiss him goodbye. She also wanted him to feel her leaving. She didn't like both wants being hers.
She squeezed his hand once and went downstairs.
The supper plan was pinned beside the kitchen. She checked it before she left, although she knew every line. Tomorrow they would do the meal. Before that, Will would have to say what he had promised.