Sebastian goes over to the counter and queues up behind Elliot, and I start panicking about what Elliot will do when he sees our table has been crashed by the Walking Selfie.
“It’s so strange bumping into you like this,” Ollie says, taking off his scarf. “I just texted Megan about half an hour ago asking for your number.”
“Really?” My voice comes out in a squeak. I cough and try again. “Why’s that?” My voice now sounds as deep as a man’s. I look down at the tablecloth and wish that it would magically come to life and wrap itself around me to hide my shame.
“I was going to ask you if you fancied meeting tomorrow lunchtime?”
I glance at Ollie, wondering if maybe I haven’t woken up yet and everything that’s happened so far has just been a dream. I pinch my leg under the table to check—a little too hard.
“Ow!”
Ollie looks at me, concerned. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I . . .”
“You looked like you were in pain.”
“I was. It was—it —” I rack my brains for some kind of explanation. “I think I’ve been bitten.”
“Bitten? By what?”
“Er. A flea?”
NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! my inner voice yells at me.
Ollie moves away slightly in his seat.
“I mean, i-it wasn’t a flea,” I stammer. “Obviously! I don’t have fleas or anything—it just felt like . . .”
I shift uncomfortably and the leather padding on my chair makes a loud noise. A loud farting-type noise.
“That wasn’t me—it was my chair!” I yelp. Why, oh why, did I have to sit in the chair with some kind of built-in whoopee cushion? I shift again, trying to make the same noise, to prove to Ollie that I didn’t just break wind, but now, of course, my chair remains deadly silent.
Ollie stares at me. Then he sniffs—he actually sniffs the air with a pained expression on his face. Oh my God—he thinks I farted. He thinks I have fleas and I farted! I start praying for an asteroid to hit the café, or for the zombie apocalypse to start—anything to make Ollie forget what has just happened.
“Oh no! Is that the time?” I say, not even bothering to look at my watch or my phone. “I have to go. Have to get to work.” I stumble up from my chair.
“But what about tomorrow?” Ollie says.
“Yes. Absolutely. Text me.” Finally, I say something that doesn’t sound insane. That actually sounds quite cool. But then, as I gather up mine and Elliot’s coats, I trip on my scarf and crash into a waitress carrying a tray of toasted paninis. Cutlery is sent clattering to the floor and a terrible shocked silence falls upon the café. I can feel everyone’s eyes burning into me. Somehow I make it over to Elliot without any further disaster. “We have to go,” I hiss at him.
“What?” He frowns at me. “But what about our food?”
“Get it to go and bring it to the shop. There’s been an emergency. Thank you. Bye.”
And, with that, I fling his coat at him and stumble out onto the street.
Chapter Four
It takes about two hours for my cheeks to return to their normal temperature. Elliot thought the whole thing was hilarious. He even said I should have told Ollie, “Better out than in”! But he doesn’t understand. What happened today was the closest I’ve ever gotten to being asked out on a date by someone I have an actual crush on. I bet in the All-Time History of Dating no girl has ever told a boy who has just asked her out that she has fleas—and then farted! Or at least sounded as if she farted. That has to go down as the worst response ever !
From my seat behind the counter, I look around To Have and to Hold. Andrea is over by the rails of dresses helping a young woman decide between a Barbie- and a Cinderella-themed wedding. The young woman’s fiancé is sulking in an armchair in the corner after being told we don’t do a Grand Prix theme. It’s only about three o’clock but outside the light’s already beginning to fade. The shoppers rushing by look grim-faced and wind-swept. I’m glad I’m in here, even if I am working. To be honest, coming to the shop doesn’t ever feel much like working. Mum has created such a beautiful space it’s more like coming to a fairy grotto, what with the twinkling lights and the scented candles and the music. I reckon we must be the only shop in Brighton—if not the UK—to play background music on a vintage record player. But the crackling of the needle on the vinyl really adds to the atmosphere, especially with our playlist of soulful love songs. It’s impossible to leave To Have and to Hold without feeling all warm and melty inside. Unless of course you’ve just told the boy you’ve had a crush on for the past six years that you might have fleas.
To take my mind off “Flea and Fart Shame,” I decide to go and check the window display. Every couple of weeks Mum changes the display to feature our newest theme. At the moment it’s Downton Abbey so the bridal mannequin in the window is wearing a white ruffled long-sleeved dress with a collar so high it looks more like a blouse. I notice that the brooch on the collar has gone slightly askew so I climb into the window to adjust it. When I turn around to go back, I see a couple outside looking at the display. The woman is gazing at the bridal gown and although I can’t hear what she’s saying I can definitely lip-read that it’s “Oh my God!”
As I walk back to the counter, the bell over the door jangles and the couple walks in.