Before he left the shelter, Tom said one sentence that is now living in Nina’s head, rent-free: “I’m working from the café on Friday, if you fancy the same table.”

It sounded like nothing. It sounded like everything. Nina has been rehearsing what to say on Friday, and she already said yes on Wednesday.
Now it is Thursday night, and her brain is doing what it does best: finding problems that do not exist yet. What if she is talking too much? What if he is only being polite? What if the whole thing is happening in her head and nowhere else?

“You’re always doing this,” Emma says later, on the phone. “Building a whole story before the first page is even written.”

“What if it’s nothing?” Nina asks. “Then it’s nothing,” Emma says. “You’re not losing anything on Friday. You’re just finding out.”
It is a small thing to say, but it is exactly the thing Nina needs to hear at eleven at night, the night before a coffee that might mean everything or nothing at all.

Some doubts are just excitement, wearing a worried face.



