Norah was the first to drop the eye contact. The moment had passed. ‘So, we’re good, right? We can just go back to normal?’ she asked as she fidgeted with her coffee cup, her voice hopeful but tinged with doubt.

Poppy cleared her throat, trying to find her voice again. ‘Sure, yeah. Normal. Like it never happened,’ she said, forcing a smile that felt as natural as Norah’s.

Norah’s face softened with relief. ‘Great. I was worried we might get weird.’

Poppy raised an eyebrow. ‘Weird? Us? Never.’

They both laughed, though it was more of a nervous titter than genuine amusement. Poppy could feel the lunch crowd beginning to trickle in, the murmur of voices growing louder. She needed to wrap this up before the café turned into a bustling madhouse.

‘Look, Norah,’ Poppy said, leaning in slightly. ‘Whatever happens, we’re still friends. Always.’

Norah smiled. ‘I hope so. I would hate for this to go sideways. I like having you as a friend.’

‘Me, too,’ Poppy said. ‘Right, I better get back behind the counter.’

Norah gave her a small nod, and Poppy got up from the table. She headed back to the counter, bracing herself for the lunchtime rush. As she started taking orders and making coffees, she couldn’t help but steal glances at Norah, who was finishing her coffee and scrolling through her phone, looking as if nothing had happened.

But something had happened. Something significant. Poppy felt it in the pit of her stomach, a gnawing sensation that wouldn’t go away. She tried to push it down, focusing instead on the steady stream of customers. But the feelings kept bubbling up, no matter how many lattes she made.

As the lunch rush hit its peak, Poppy found herself in a rhythm, exchanging pleasantries with customers, flashing her best customer-service smile, and keeping things moving. But her mind kept tripping over the night before. It had felt so good before it felt so fucking awful.

She glanced at Norah again, who was now chatting with another customer, some bloke. He was clearly trying it on.

Poppy watched them talk, and she thought, She turned you down because it’s just not going to be you. Ever. Because you’re never in the right time or place, and you’re never the right someone. But it will be someone else one day. And you’ll have to watch.

As Norah slid out of the café a minute later, Poppy put in an order for a bacon sandwich, and she thought about her guitar, sitting at home. She wondered if she might have the energy to smash the thing to bits tonight.

Thirty-Two

Jesus, this was what you got for making even a slight effort. Unwanted male attention.

‘I need to go. Catch you later,’ Norah said, taking two steps back from the random guy with a dad goatee who was trying to engage her in inane chitchat.

‘Can I get your number?’ he begged.

‘I don’t have one. I’m a Luddite,’ Norah lied. ‘Never touch technology.’

‘So, how does anyone contact you?’ he asked suspiciously.

‘I’m psychic. I sense that someone wants to talk to me, and I find them. See you around,’ she said. She’d have preferred to simply say, ‘No’, but you never knew how they’d take it. Better to be weird.

Norah looked over at Poppy, who was busy with some pretty young woman at the counter. She watched Poppy giving the woman a genuine smile she couldn’t seem to summon for Norah. She felt a pang of jealousy, which was extremely stupid. All was well now. They’d had a silly moment, but they would move past it.

Norah walked briskly away from the café. She walked back to Orchid Street and let herself into her mother’s house, the familiar scent of her mother's plugin air freshener wafting up her nostrils aggressively.

‘Norah, is that you?’ her mother’s voice blared from the kitchen.

‘Yeah, Mum. Just got in,’ Norah replied, picking up her laptop from the table and opening it. She had about a minute to get logged in.

Her mother appeared in the kitchen doorway. ‘I didn’t see you come in last night. Must have been a long guitar lesson.’

Norah sighed, already feeling the fatigue from dodging her mum's probing. ‘I guess so.’

Her phone buzzed. Max again. Hi, how’s it going? She muted him and stuck her phone back in her pocket. They’d already put together a Freddie custody schedule. What more was there to say? Norah had no interest in being buddies.

‘You and Poppy seem to be spending a lot of time together,’ her mother tried again, her tone sly.

Norah forced a laugh. ‘We’re friends, Mum.’

Her mother’s eyes narrowed. ‘Of course you are,’ she said.

Norah sat on the pull-out sofa, now in day mode, and logged in. ‘I’ve got some work to do, so I need to focus.’

‘What is it you do, again?’ her mother asked, following her to the sofa and plonking down next to her.

Norah groaned inwardly. ‘I work for an online flower retailer, Mum. I have said.’

‘Of course, of course. But you can talk to me while you work, right?’ her mother pressed, budging closer on the sofa.

Norah’s screen lit up with a barrage of customer inquiries. ‘Mum, I need to concentrate.’

Her mother peered at the screen. ‘Who are all these names?’

‘Customers,’ Norah replied, trying to maintain her patience. ‘People with flower-related questions and complaints.’

‘Like what?’ her mother asked, not getting the hint.

Norah sighed. ‘Like delivery issues, wrong orders, stuff like that.’ She cued up the next customer and pasted in her form opener.

Her mother nodded thoughtfully. ‘Interesting. So, what’s this one about?’

Norah glanced at the complaint coming up on the screen. ‘It’s about a missing bouquet. I need to check the tracking and get back to them.’

As she started typing a response, her mother was practically sitting on her shoulder. ‘Why would a bouquet go missing?’

‘Mum, please,’ Norah said, her tone edging towards desperation. ‘I need to do this without distractions.’

Her mother huffed but stayed put. Norah tried to focus on the task at hand, but her mother’s presence was like a persistent itch she couldn’t scratch.

She clicked through the order details, trying to make sense of the tracking information. She cued up another complaint, identical in nature, moving between them for speed. She could feel the pressure to get the cue down mounting.

‘Looks like it was delivered to the wrong address,’ she muttered, more to herself than to her mother.

‘Maybe you should have used a different courier,’ her mother suggested.

Norah gritted her teeth. ‘Mum, I really—'

Her mother’s landline rang. ‘Hold on, dear, I need to take this,’ she said, stepping away to answer the call.