Before Lena sent the message, Nate called.
It was half past five. She had been watching the time despite herself.
“Have you found a room?” he asked.
“No. I have to get home tonight. Jo's cover fell through.”
“Oh.”
She heard his breath, then the sound of a door closing.
“Seven train,” she said. “I need to be at work by eight.”
“Right.” A pause. “I'm glad you told me. But that's not why I'm calling.”
Lena waited. He didn't fill the silence quickly enough to make it comfortable.
“I didn't like how we left it,” he said. “I've been thinking about it while I should have been thinking about lights.”
“You said you'd call.”
“Yes.” His laugh was short and unhappy. “I nearly sent a message about seeing you another day. Something easy.”
She rubbed her thumb over the torn edge of the drawing.
“Why didn't you?”
“Because I hadn't answered you properly.”
“You hadn't.”
“I know.”
He went quiet. She could hear somebody talking farther away.
“I want you,” he said at last. “I don't know how to stop worrying I'll ruin it again. You came through the door with a bag and I got scared. That wasn't you doing anything wrong.”
“The trip wasn't very clever.”
“No. But I could have said what I meant instead of staring at the clock.”
She rested her forehead against her hand.
“For a minute I thought you were sorry you'd asked me back.”
“I'm not.”
She let him finish.
“I have five minutes at six. Can you come to the side door? I'd rather see you than keep trying to do this down a phone.”
“Yes.”
She went back to the theatre, walking more slowly now. Nate came out at six with his jacket over one arm. He looked tired and slightly embarrassed to see her, which frightened her less than a bright, effortless smile would have.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
He held out his hand. She took it.
He kept hold of her hand. She could feel him searching for a way to begin and waited.
A door opened behind him. Somebody called his name, then saw Lena and apologised before going back inside.
She wanted more than five minutes. She also wanted him not to have to spend them finding a speech she would like.
“I'm glad you called,” she said.
He nodded, his thumb moving over hers.
“I heard something you didn't say earlier. I was angry before you had a chance.”
“You can ask me.”
“I did ask. I didn't believe you.”
He didn't tell her that trust would be simple now. She looked at the small work mark on his cuff, then moved closer.
He kissed her softly. She put her hand against his chest and stayed there for a moment after the kiss ended.
“I've got to get my train.”
“Message me when you're home?”
“Yes.”
He watched her cross the road before going back inside. She had no evening to rescue. She had a bag to carry, a job in the morning and something he had said when it would have been easier not to call.
On the train she watched Ashford's lights slide away and cried quietly enough that the woman opposite didn't look up. She hadn't lost him. She hadn't won him either. She was tired enough to cry over a torn drawing and a night that hadn't happened. She didn't have to make him guilty of leaving to explain why it hurt.
She messaged Jo the arrival time.
Her sister replied with a thumbs-up, which was neither angry nor affectionate enough to tell Lena how morning would go.
At home, after eleven, Lena unpacked the blue mug and put it beside the kettle. She ate toast standing up, set two alarms and slept.
At eight she unlocked the café. Jo was already there, sorting a delivery she'd hoped not to be present for.
“I could have done that,” Lena said.
“I know. It arrived early.”
Her sister looked tired enough that the whole cost of the trip became visible at once. An extra evening on her feet, an early morning, the other things she'd moved to make Lena's surprise possible.
“I should have checked with him.”
“Yes.”
“I came back.”
“You said you would.”
“I'll take the delivery. You go.”
Jo hesitated, then handed her the list.
“Check the milk. They missed one last week.”
“I will.”
She did. One box was missing again. She called while the driver was still nearby, brought him back and sorted it before the café opened. Jo left at half past eight with instructions Lena didn't need but let her give anyway.
The morning was busy. A customer wanted to tell a long story while three others waited. Lena had to interrupt kindly, then found she'd put the wrong breakfast on a tray. She corrected it before carrying it out. No audience applauded. The job had to be done whether she was tired or sorry.
By lunchtime her shoulders hurt. She ate a proper sandwich because she had promised Jo she would. When her sister returned, Lena was serving the last garden table, and the kitchen wasn't waiting for Jo to rescue it.
“Collection all right?” she asked.
“Yes.”
Jo set her bag down. “Thank you for getting here.”
Lena nodded. She could accept the thanks without turning it into complete forgiveness.
That evening Nate called.
“Still speaking?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He laughed with relief. She did too.
“I've got Sunday free,” he said. “All of it. No theatre. I'm in Ashford. Do you want to come Saturday after work, or Sunday morning? I've checked.”
Lena sat at the kitchen table. The offer was so ordinary that she wanted to cry again.
“Sunday morning. I'm off. I can stay if I take an early train Monday, but I'll check the café first.”
“Stay Sunday night,” he said. “If it works for you. I want that.”
She smiled at the table. “I want it too.”
“I can meet you at the station. Not between calls.”
She smiled.
“I'd like that.”
He asked what she wanted to do. She said she wanted breakfast somewhere he actually liked, then a place she could draw without having to spend the whole day drawing.
“I can do that,” he said.
“Don't promise sunshine.”
“I wouldn't dare.”
They talked a little longer about the day they'd really had. He told her the evening show had gone well. She told him about the missing milk. Neither story was especially romantic.
She liked that they stayed on the phone for them anyway.
Afterward she called Jo before buying the ticket. Her sister could open Monday if Lena started at ten, and Lena agreed to take the whole Tuesday close as usual. She checked the early train: four hours, with time to walk from the station.
Then she booked.