by Ally Blake
“No,” Armand assured her. “Do you?”
“You’re hilarious,” she deadpanned.
And Armand felt himself smile.
Even in the deep darkness, the room lit only by the static now playing on the screen and a small green exit sign over the door, he saw Evie’s gaze drop to his mouth and stay.
The room suddenly felt smaller. Warmer. Little shocks tingled across his skin. He felt like a teen, stuck in a closet playing Five Minutes in Heaven.
Only they were grown-ups. In a locked room. On their own. And they had half an hour.
“What do you reckon, soldier boy? Shall we do this?”
For a second, he imagined she’d read his mind.
Then she turned about, looking up and down and all around. “What do we need first? A key? A clue? A code?”
“Light,” said Armand, watching the very same play over Evie’s hair, the curve of her shoulders, the sweet planes of her lovely face. “What we need is light.”
* * *
“That was amazing!”
Evie spun around, arms out to the side, revelling in the feel of the air-conditioning on her hot skin as they burst from the Escape Room twelve minutes and eighteen seconds after they’d entered.
For it had been ridiculously fun. Intense—for sure. Especially considering the size of the room—they couldn’t move without brushing up against one another. Leaving Evie hot and flushed and wired. But the thrill of the game had taken them over, and once they’d found their beat it had been like a dance.
Armand had a labyrinthine mind, clever and flexible, twisting and turning and unravelling the trickiest clues with frightening speed. Leaving Evie to do her thing, to follow the breadcrumbs which stood out to her like fireflies in the dark.
She stopped spinning, wiped her damp hair off her face and faced Armand.
While she felt as if her T-shirt was sticking to her back, he looked as if he’d stepped out of the pages of a catalogue; his idea of “comfortable” a red-checked button-down shirt, chinos and elegant chestnut-brown dress shoes.
Adrenaline still coursing through her veins, she took a big, bold step his way. He didn’t budge, though his chin lifted, and he slid his hands into the pockets of his chinos.
“Come on, Armand. Admit it. That was fun. You, Mr Grouchy Pants, had fun. With me. Because we make a great team.”
Nothing. Not a high five. Not even a nod.
“I think it has a lot to do with our motto,” she said.
A single eyebrow kicked north. “We have a motto?”
“Yes, we do.” She took another big step his way until she was close enough to nudge the toes of her polka-dot lace-ups against the toes of his fancy shoes. Then made a banner in the sky with her hand. “No man—or woman—left behind.”
“I think you’ll find that motto belongs to another. The American Army Rangers, I do believe.”
“Pfft. Sharers are carers.”
“You be sure and let them know that’s how you feel.”
Evie tipped a few millimetres closer. “For the last few years I’ve pretty much worked in a room all by myself. This kind of ‘squad goal’ moment is a rarity. And I plan to revel in it.”
Armand looked down into her eyes. All dark and French and achingly gorgeous. Then his toe nudged against hers. Deliberately. And it was one of the sexiest moments of her life.
“Hey.”
Evie glanced sideways to find Jamie and his cohorts rocking up to them, with a kid wearing an Escape Room Challenge T-shirt in tow. She leapt back a step. But it was too late. The look on Jamie’s face said it all.
She held her breath as she awaited his reaction. When he gave her a smile and a wink the relief was palpable.
“You guys rocked,” said the Escape Room kid, his voice breaking only a little. “That was totally a record, you know.”
“A record, you say?” Evie bumped Armand with an elbow. “Doesn’t that make us the best team that ever was?”
The kid said, “Um, yeah. I guess. Anyway, you win a certificate. A team laser-tag session.”
“Seriously? That’s awesome. Thanks!” She glanced up at Armand to find he was watching her, a small smile playing about his mouth. Not quite as big as the smile he’d smiled in the darkness of the Escape Room, but it made the butterflies kick up a notch all the same. “Hey, any chance we could use this now?”
The kid shrugged. “I guess. Next session starts in half an hour.”
“Armand, Jamie, guys, what do you say?” Evie tugged her hair back into a ponytail. “We eat. We hydrate. And then we shoot at one another with lasers.”
“We’re in,” said Jamie, bouncing about like a puppy. His crew concurred.
“Armand? Remember our motto.”
She knew there was a chance he’d make an excuse. That his instinct was to edge away from the group. Then she saw the way the others looked up to him. Realised it would have been that way his whole life. The burden of leadership. She wondered then if he’d lost men during his Foreign Legion years. The chances were high. It would make making friends harder. Make letting people close harder still.
Before she could stop herself she reached out and took his hand, curling her fingers into his and drawing him back into the group. Showing him he wasn’t alone in this.
He looked down at her, the bruise in his eyes gentling.
After a few long beats, he cricked his neck. “Let’s do this.”
“Woohoo!”
CHAPTER NINE
BY THE TIME they left the arcade a light drizzle had begun to fall.
Once again Armand called a car and insisted Evie take it home. In the spirit of their motto, she insisted he do the same.
The ride was electric, buzzing with leftover adrenaline from their Escape Room win, their laser-tag demolition and whatever additives were in the chicken wings. Add the hum of tension that had been building between them all night—starting with small “accidental” touches and furtive glances and ending with their hands sitting millimetres from one another on the car seat—Evie felt as if her blood were filled with soda bubbles.
When the car pulled up outside Zoe’s apartment, she turned to Armand. “Thanks for the ride. And for staying. It was a good night.”
“Thanks for making me stay. And goodnight it is.”
Evie shot him a look. He gave her one back.
“Fine. Goodnight. See you tomorrow.”
He made the car wait until she’d run to the front of the building and opened the door.
Laughing, giddy, she waved him off, watching the car head around the corner to take him to wherever it was he spent his nights. She knew it was in South Yarra somewhere, as that was his train stop. But knowing some of his background now—from an idyllic childhood to growing up surrounded by priceless works of art, to his years living in the most basic, uncomfortable, dangerous places in the world—she had no clue as to the kind of place Armand would choose to call home.
She brushed raindrops off her puffer jacket and beanie and took the stairs two at a time to Zoe’s third-floor apartment, unlocked the door and walked in on Zoe and Lance getting it on.
“Oh, no. Oh, jeez. Sorry, sorry, sorry!”
Eyes burning with the image of a naked backside and so many limbs writhing on the futon—her futon!—Evie somehow made it back out of the door and into the hall. She slammed the door shut and leant against it as if it might hold back the horror.
“Evie!” Zoe called, her voice muffled through the closed door. “I didn’t know he was coming back. It was a surprise visit. I should have messaged you, or put a note on the door, but things kind of got out of hand fast.”
“It’s fine,” said Evie flapping a hand in the direction of her friend’s voice. “Look, I’ll get out of your hair for the rest of the night.”
“No! Don’t be silly. Come back in.
”
“Not happening.”
“Where will you stay?”
She hadn’t made all that many friends since moving to Melbourne. Working on her own at her last job, she’d done little more than wave on her way in and out. After the Eric fallout, even those she’d been friends with on social media had slunk away.
But she’d never needed much. Been happy with little.
It hit her then how much things were about to change.
Keeping her voice as calm as humanly possible, Evie said, “I’ll get a hotel room in the city for the night. Easy-peasy! Maybe something a little flash. A little gift to myself for getting the new job.”
“Are you sure?” said Zoe, cricking open the door.
Evie looked over her shoulder to find Zoe wrapped in a blanket from the back of the futon. One she’d knitted. One she would never again pull over herself while watching TV. “Positive. It was always a matter of time.”
Zoe sniffed. Her big blue eyes welling up. “I kind of imagined you living here for ever. Like a maiden aunt. Or a favourite pet.”
Evie laughed, even as it turned into a sob. “I’ve loved every second of it.”
“Me too.”
“Lance better treat you like a princess.”
“And I’ll treat him like a prince.”
Evie gave Zoe a quick kiss and hug before stepping back. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay? Bye, Lance!” she called through the door.
“Bye, Evie,” he called back.
Hooking her backpack over her shoulder, Evie headed off back down the stairs, heart thundering in her chest, thoughts fluttering uselessly inside her skull. She checked her watch to find it close to ten.
With no car she did all she could do and walked to the train station.
The air was still filled with drizzle—the kind that seeped slowly into one’s clothes until your entire body felt soggy. By the time she got to the station, rivulets of water dribbled down her back and her shoes were soaked through.
The platform was empty. Eerie. All concrete greys, mossy greens and sharp, gleaming blacks, as if the warmth function in a photo app had been turned right down.
Pulling her icy hands deeper into the sleeves of her jacket, Evie nudged her toes against the yellow safety line and sniffed. But it wasn’t the cold. A tear leaked from the corner of her eye and she dashed it away.
What the heck was she doing? Where did she think she was going?
She might have convinced Zoe, but the truth was she didn’t have money to burn on a last-minute hotel. Not with the fact she was only on a contract and the price of her granddad’s accommodation. And now Lance was back, what about tomorrow night and the next and the next?
She’d have to dip into her Just in Case account. Just in Case everything went wrong. She was her mother’s daughter after all.
Which was why the fortune cookie had hit her hard.
From the moment she’d arrived in Melbourne, Evie had been waiting for the other shoe to drop.
She’d done her best to mitigate any possible disasters.
Working at a job she could have done in her sleep.
Staying on Zoe’s futon.
Dating men she had no hope of losing her head over.
Her mother had been the opposite, leaving home at seventeen. Refusing to “get a real job” as she held tight to her dream of being an artist, sketching portraits at markets, busking with chalk art on the streets, sleeping wherever she landed each night.
Till she’d fallen in love, fallen pregnant and fallen on hard times. All that potential was for naught because she’d been in such a rush to live she’d tripped over her own feet.
Evie stared down the train tracks towards the city.
Choosing the comfort of familiarity over the risk of adventure hadn’t made a lick of difference to Evie’s story. Life had risen up and smacked her on the head anyway.
And yet... Maybe that was exactly what she’d needed.
She’d never have presumed to try for a job at Game Plan if she hadn’t lost her last job so spectacularly. She’d probably have lived on Zoe’s awfully uncomfortable futon for ever if circumstance wasn’t forcing her to get off her butt.
The fortune cookie hadn’t been a curse. It had been a revelation.
What it came down to now was whether or not she could follow that through. Continue taking safe, small steps through life, or surrender to adventure? Leap and discover how high she could go?
The lights at the end of the track began to flash. The screech of metal on metal cut through the chill night air and the train rumbled up to the platform. When the train doors opened she leapt inside. Found a random seat, tossed her backpack next to her and pulled out her phone.
She rolled it around in her hand once, twice, then with a hard, sharp out-breath pulled up the number she needed.
Three rings later, a delicious French voice answered. “Evie? What’s wrong? I saw you go inside—”
“I did. I’m fine. I’m sorry to call so late but—”
“What is it?”
“Lance is back. I walked in on him and Zoe...together.” She shut her eyes, but the image was indelible. “Anyway, I’ve let them be for the night. I’m on the train heading back into the city. And...”
And what, exactly? Her gut had told her to call Armand, but to what end?
Adventure! her heart cried.
But she hadn’t stopped to consider that there was a really good chance he wasn’t riding the same wave of revelation she was. He was still Armand. A lone wolf, brooding over internal bruises earned miles outside the boundaries of her own realm of experience.
Seeing a sliver of time in which to still save face, she opened her mouth to ask him to forget she had ever called when his voice rumbled over the phone.
“Stay there,” he said, ‘I’ll turn the car around.”
“I’m already on the train.”
“You walked there? It’s raining.”
“And I wondered why I was wet.”
He mumbled something under his breath in French.
“Are you sure about this?” Evie asked.
“I have a spare room. You will stay with me.”
He hadn’t answered her question, but she let it be. “Thank you. It’ll be one night, I promise.”
“Get off at South Yarra Station.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Evie,” he chided.
“Fine. Yes. I’ll do that. And I know which is your stop, Armand.” And maybe it was the snug cocoon of the train with the rain drizzling down the windows, or the soothing rocking of the carriage, but Evie found herself adding, “I’ve been well aware since the day you started taking my train.”
“Is that so?”
“I even remember what you were wearing.”
His quiet was loaded. Electric. She half thought he’d change the subject and yet found herself unsurprised when he said, “I’m assuming it was a suit of some description.”
“It was.”
“Of course, I have no idea which, so I’d have no hope of confirming or denying.”
“Grey,” she said, remembering the way the sunlight dappled the thread. “Subtle checked shirt. Green tie with white polka dots and matching—”
“Pocket square,” Armand cut in.
The train slowed. Evie pressed her feet into the floor to counter the rocking. “I’d never seen a real live contemporary human person with a pocket square before. I thought you so dashing.”
“Dashing?” he growled.
“With a healthy dose of mad, bad and dangerous to know.”
Soft, rough laughter eased through the phone, sending waves of warmth through her all the way to her numbed toes.
Then Armand’s voice sounded far away as he said something to the driver, no doubt asking him to take a
different turn.
Evie sat up as a handful of people hopped onto the train. She shot them a polite smile as they passed, settling into the seat a few up from hers.
“Armand?”
“Hmmm.”
“Thanks for this. I really appreciate it. You won’t even know I’m there.”
Again with the pause. As if he very much believed otherwise.
“I’ll see you soon,” he said, the phone clicking as he rang off.
Evie breathed out hard.
It had been a conversation. About getting a lift. From a workmate. Then begging a room for the night. But in that moment she understood how Zoe’s phone had kept her and Lance happily together for years.
Evie slowly dropped her phone into her lap, turning it over and over between her hands, before looking out of the window. With the night having well and truly closed in, all she saw was her reflection looking back at her. Dark eyes, dark hair, nuclear-green beanie with a radiation patch sewn into the front.
For a moment she caught a rare glimpse of her mother in her own face.
She remembered her more from photographs nowadays. But she knew she had her mother’s jaw, the splotch of gold in one iris, the shape of her smile.
The night she’d opened the fortune cookie she was at a dinner celebrating her twenty-sixth birthday. The same age her mother had been when she’d died.
The burden of which was not lost on her. Quite the contrary.
Maybe that was the message the universe had been trying to send her. It was time to go hard or go home.
* * *
Armand stood in the entrance to his apartment, tossing his keys from one hand to the other as he watched Evie take a turn about the room.
Not one to stand back, she ran fingers over the back of the soft leather couch, opened cupboards as she meandered through the warm, modern kitchen, took a spin beneath the repurposed chandelier. Her big, blue, puffy jacket squeaked as the cheap fabric swished together, the pom-pom on top of her beanie bobbing soggily.
“Jonathon put you up here?” she asked.
“Not exactly.”
He’d refused payment from Jonathon, even in the form of rent, choosing instead to invest in a property in his company’s name. First thing he’d done in that capacity in over a year, and it had felt good.
