Upside Down

by N. R. Walker

  He snorted. “That’s the name of the book. It’s quite compelling, but it isn’t for everyone. I’d suggest skimming some reviews for some trigger issues.” Then he paused. “Do you? Have trigger issues? Because I could recommend a whole catalogue of lighter-themed books; there are thousands. I probably should have asked that before—”

  “No, it’s fine. I don’t have any triggers. I’m not into erotica. I don’t knock it at all, it’s just not my thing.” I scrubbed my hand over my face. “You know why.”

  “For asexual reasons.”

  That made me smile. “Yeah.” Then I sighed. “Okay, so if you were to download an audiobook right now, which one would you choose?”

  “Oh, probably The Odyssey or Atlas Shrugged. Maybe even some Dickens or Hemingway.”

  “You really love it, don’t you?”

  “I do. Though for a rainy weekend, I’d probably prefer to savour one of my favourites in book form on the couch. So for a commute or the like, I’d probably choose something from the bestsellers list or the editor’s choice. Something sci-fi or historical.”

  I smiled at how passionate he was about his industry, and just imagining him curled up on a couch with a book made my chest all tight. “Sounds perfect.”

  “I better let you go,” he said. “For your run.”

  “Yeah, I probably should, before it gets too dark and cold. But I’m really looking forward to tomorrow’s question. Yours this time, not Angus’. Not that I don’t think they’re good questions, I’d just rather hear your mind in action.”

  He was quiet a moment, then spoke softly. “I’m looking forward to it too.”

  “And I’m glad you called.”

  There was a brief pause, like neither of us wanted to say goodbye or for this conversation to end. “Tomorrow, then.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  Friday was crazy-busy at work. One of my biggest clients was gearing up for an interface change on their website, which meant hours of examining computer coding and scanning target networks and systems with both commercial and custom vulnerability scanners, amongst hours of simplifying reports for board directors and ensuring their IT department was up to speed. The fact that the client was my ex didn’t help any.

  It had been months of intricate planning and hard work, and thankfully, we were pretty much down to the final touches. But I had been so busy, I barely realised what time it was until Rachel knocked on my door and tapped her watch.

  Shit. I was going to miss the bus!

  I shut down my system, grabbed up my laptop, shoving it in my bag as I ran for the elevator. “Good luck!” Michael called out after me. I ran for the bus, smiling as I stepped aboard with only seconds to spare. I made my way up to the back of the bus where seats were spare, and I slid into one and put my bag beside me, keeping it for Jordan. It was then I noticed a few people watching me, smiling. I smiled right back, politely nodding in their direction, wondering if they were the soup crowd, but pretty sure they were.

  More people got on the bus and I had a feeling I’d have to give up Jordan’s seat. A guy came up confidently, expecting me to move my bag, and with a reluctant sigh, I did. But the small lady in the backseat intervened. “No, this seat is taken,” she said, putting her handbag on the seat. “You can sit here.” She moved over, giving him a seat beside her. He looked confused, but she grinned at me. “I look out for you,” she said, just about beaming, then she nodded to the front of the bus. “Here he is.”

  And yes, there he was. His coat was blue, his scarf and boots were tan, matching his aesthetic perfectly. His smile lit his whole face when he saw me, and he made his way up the bus. He nodded to the woman who had saved his seat. “Mrs Petrovski.” Then he nodded to the faces who had smiled at me. “Charles, Becky, Sandra, Ian.” And then he sat down. “Hey.”

  “Hi.”

  “I think we have an audience,” he said quietly.

  “I think so too.” God, my heart was hammering. “You look really good today.”

  I was rewarded with a rich blush. “Oh. Um, thanks.” He let out a rush of breath. “You do too. How was work?”

  “Busy.” I patted my messenger bag. “I’ll be working late tonight.”

  He wrinkled his nose. “Ew.”

  I chuckled. “It’s not so bad. You?”

  “It’s my turn to cook dinner, or buy it, I haven’t decided yet. I kind of feel like carbs, and I make a mean rigatoni so I might make that.”

  “Sounds good. Do you share cooking?”

  “Yeah. We have done for years.” He made a face. “Angus and I are very different. Actually, you couldn’t probably get two people who are more opposite, but as flatmates we get on really well.”

  “So, did you and he… ever…”

  He stared at me, then snorted out a laugh. “Oh my God. If you ever met him, you’d realise how funny that is.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to… imply anything.”

  He put his hand on mine, just briefly. Far too briefly. “It’s fine. So, questions? Should I go first, given it’s the last day.”

  “The last day?”

  “Of the week.”

  “Oh.”

  Mrs Petrovski swooned behind us, and Ian looked a little like a proud dad.

  “Guys,” Jordan hissed at them.

  “You can go first,” I told him, fighting a smile.

  “Oh, okay. Well, it’s kind of silly, but people always say it’s the best thing since sliced bread. Like today, I might have said to Merry I think Hennessy could possibly be the best thing since sliced bread, and it got me thinking, what was the best thing before sliced bread?”

  Sandra grimaced, but Charles nodded. “Fair question.”

  “Fair, but not overly romantic,” Becky added.

  Mrs Petrovski gasped. “He just said Hennessy was better than sliced bread.” She shrugged. “In a roundabout kind of way.”

  Jordan sagged. “That’s not embarrassing at all, and I didn’t think it was possible but my life is even weirder now than it was before.”

  I laughed and took his hand, threading our fingers. “It’s a great question, and given that bread was first sliced in the 1920s, I think, I’d guess the best thing before that would be the discovery of penicillin or perhaps the invention of internal combustion engines. Those things are pretty amazing.”

  He gave me a doubtful look. “Penicillin I get, but engines? The best thing ever?”

  “Yeah, sure. The first computer chip wasn’t patented until the 50s, so it predates that, but engines, definitely. They didn’t just revolutionise the transport industry but every industry; manufacturing, agriculture, not to mention—”

  “Okay, okay, I get it. I didn’t think of that.” He nudged me with his shoulder. “Your question. Quick, your stop is coming up.”

  He was right. We we’re almost at the intersection. “Okay, so it’s more than one question. It’s ten really fast questions, and I want you to say the first thing that pops in your head.”

  “That could be really dangerous and probably not safe for kids under the age of sixteen.”

  I laughed. “Try and keep it PG.”

  “I’ll try, but the first thing that pops in my head is usually motherfucker.”

  I snorted. “Well, I’ll try and ask questions that won’t warrant motherfucker as an answer. You ready?”

  He nodded, and the bus turned onto Cleveland Street. This had to be quick.

  “Dogs or cats?”

  “Dogs. No, cats. Both. That’s not fair, and we’re only up to question one, oh my God!”

  “Tomato sauce on eggs. Yes or no?”

  He made a face. “What is wrong with you? Of course not.”

  I snorted. “Comfy clothes or fancy suits?”

  “Jeans and a sweater, all day, every day.”

  “Paperback or ebook?”

  He stared. “Don’t you dare make me choose.”

  I laughed. “Sweet or savoury?”

  “Both. Together. At the same time
. You’ve had my mango fries.” He then shot our audience a frantic look. “That is not a euphemism.”

  I laughed again. “Favourite season?”

  “Autumn.”

  “Dream job?”

  “I have it. Just wish it paid more. Or maybe own a bookstore, but I suck at taxes and all things numerical so I’d probably go broke, which is why I’m probably better off sticking to my job.”

  “Celebrity you’d love to meet?”

  “Percy Shelley but I’ll need a priest, a Ouija board, and the blood of a chicken.”

  I burst out laughing. “Harry Potter house?”

  “Ravenclaw,” he answered without hesitation. Then his smile became a panicked frown. “That’s only nine questions.”

  “Was it?”

  He nodded seriously. “Yes.” The bus pulled in at my stop and I had to get up. I squeezed past him. He looked up at me with wide eyes. “Hennessy, you said ten questions. You can’t say ten and only ask nine, it’ll drive me crazy.”

  “Will you have lunch with me tomorrow?

  His smile was immediate and breathtaking. “Yes.”

  “I’ll text you later,” I said, making my way to the door, and the people around us clapped and cheered.

  I got off the bus laughing and Jordan was grinning from ear to ear. I’m pretty sure Mrs Petrovski hugged him from behind as the bus pulled away, and Charles gave me two thumbs up.

  Chapter Nine

  Jordan

  The text from Hennessy came in kind of late. Not that I was checking my phone every two minutes or anything. I was watching TV with Angus—well, he was sprawled on the floor watching TV and checking his phone, and I was lying down on the couch, alternating between staring at the ceiling and checking my phone. I was starting to think Hennessy wouldn’t text at all, and then when my phone did buzz in my hand, I dropped it onto my face. Angus cracked up laughing at me and I couldn’t even be mad.

  “Is it him? Your bus boy?” Angus asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Date tomorrow?”

  My grin would have given it away if he had been able to look away from his phone long enough to see. “Yep. And you?”

  He pointed his screen at me. “Yep. Tomorrow night, six o’clock. Their place.” His grin was wide and smug. He’d been seeing a married couple for some extramarital fun. “You?”

  “Eleven o’clock.”

  “Oooh, an all-day date.”

  “I hope so.”

  Angus grinned. “I hope so too, man. I know you like him.”

  “You be careful tomorrow, and if you need anything, you text me.”

  “I’m cool, they’re cool. You know that.”

  “Yeah, but you know. I just worry.”

  He snorted and waggled his eyebrows. “I’ll be in very, very capable hands.” I threw a cushion at him and he snatched it and shoved it under his head. “Same goes to you. If he tries anything or treats you bad, you text me.”

  I knew he would come to my rescue if I needed him, even if he was in the middle, the very literal middle, of one of his dates. Just as I would drop everything to help him, it’s what friends do.

  “I don’t think I need to worry about my bus guy,” I said.

  Angus craned his neck to give me a long look. “You really like this one, don’t you?”

  I nodded. “He’s different to anyone I’ve ever met. But he’s kind of like me, and he… I don’t know. He’s just a nice guy and he knows books and—”

  “I know, I know,” Angus said. “He doesn’t expect anything. Just promise me one thing.”

  “Okay.”

  “Tomorrow, find out if he’s on the same page as you.”

  I sighed. “Yeah. I want to know because it’ll be a step forward, but I also don’t want to know because what if he’s not on the same page?”

  “If he’s not, Jay, then you and me can watch that Colin Firth movie on repeat tomorrow and order in pizza and beer.”

  I smiled at him. “Thanks.”

  He gave me his serious face. “But if he is on the same page and he expects to be calling himself your boyfriend anytime soon, then I need to meet him, ’kay?”

  “Yes, Dad.”

  Angus laughed. “I usually only let a certain couple call me that.”

  I snorted. “Jesus, please don’t elaborate. There are things I do not need to know.”

  But ten to eleven the next day, I stepped off the bus at my work stop, and when the bus drove off, I scanned the park across the road to see if Hennessy was here already. But I was early, so I wasn’t surprised not to find him.

  I crossed the street and said hello to some dog walkers and there was a group of parents and prams with toddlers running amok. Which was fine. I’d take squealing and laughing kids over the screaming and crying kind any day. The sun was out, even though the air was a fresh reminder it was still winter. I shoved my hands in my pockets and waited, wondering what Hennessy had planned for us. His text message last night was short and sweet.

  Meet me in the park across from the library at 11am. I have a surprise planned. Can’t wait!

  Truth be told, neither could I. I was super excited about seeing him and what surprise he had planned, but the conversation we needed to have left me feeling a little anxious. But that all fell away when I saw him walking toward me with a takeout coffee cup in each hand and a stunning smile on his face.

  “Hey,” he said as he got closer.

  I had to do the breathe-in, breathe-out thing because of the effect he had on my not-automatic respiratory system. “Hey.”

  He handed me a cup. “Soy.”

  “Thank you.”

  He was still grinning. “You look great today. Love the white. Haven’t seen you wear white before.”

  I looked down at my white scarf, dark jeans, and white sneakers. “I wasn’t sure where we were heading, so I figured my cerise pink might not be appropriate.”

  He grinned. “I like pink, and I don’t care. If you want to wear hot pink, wear it.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I replied, happy he had no qualms about clothes and colours. After all, wearing bright colours against my drab uniform was my thing. “So, any clues about where we’re going or what we’re doing today?”

  He bit his bottom lip, looking a little nervous. “I thought we could go to the New South Wales art gallery. There’s a new exhibit I’d love to see, but if it’s not your thing, I thought we could check out the—”

  “Are you kidding? It is so my thing. It’s actually like a perfect thing, and the fact you thought of it without even asking me…” I stopped and studied him. “Did you ask Merry what my most perfect date would be? Or did your Truman-Show-perfect hologram program do some weird algorithm to find out what would be the best second date ever?”

  He threw his head back and laughed. “No! I promise! There’s a Brett Whitely exhibit I wanted to see, and I just needed an excuse.”

  “Oh my God, I love Brett Whitely!”

  He smiled and let out a breath like he was immensely relieved. “Shall we?” He nodded toward the bus stop.

  “We shall.” I was so excited, I was struggling to rein it in. He looked at me and I laughed. “Coffee and an art gallery. You’ve won me over already.”

  We sat on the bus, both smiling like fools, our sides touching from thigh to shoulder, neither of us in a hurry to put even an inch between us.

  “How’d your pasta go last night?” he asked.

  “It was so good, and the carb coma was great too.”

  He laughed. “Maybe you could make it for me one day.”

  My heart squeezed and I felt a little faint. “Sure. I’d love that. Um, how did your work thing go? Weren’t you taking some work home?”

  “Got it all done,” he replied. “Well, what I could get done. But it’ll give me a head start on next week. It’s one of my biggest contracts and it’s almost done, so it’ll be good to wrap it up.”

  “Are you just being modest, or is it a really big acco
mplishment that other internet ninjas would be envious of?”

  “Internet ninja?”

  “Yes, all that dark-net stuff you do.”

  He laughed, but he also blushed. “I like internet ninja. But okay, yes, I’m being a little modest. It’s kind of a big deal.”

  I bumped his shoulder with mine. “You can be honest with me. If you’re the best at something, you can just own it. I won’t judge. I’m totally the best librarian in all of Sydney, possibly Australia, just so you know.”

  He chuckled. “You are?”

  I nodded. “Yep. I have trophies and everything.”

  His grin widened. “They have trophies?”

  “No. But they should.”

  “Like the librarian Olympics?”

  “Yes! Oh my God, that is the best idea ever. I can see it now. Merry and I would make a kickarse synchronised cataloguing duo. We would totally smash Mrs Mullhearn.”

  “Who’s Mrs Mullhearn again?”

  “She’s our boss. She’s just recently celebrated her 258th birthday, and she’s an expert on Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tales and Merry and I are almost certain it’s because she bound the first editions herself.”

  Hennessy snorted. “Pray tell, which events would you smash Mrs Mullhearn in?”

  “Well, all of them. But I’m taking gold in the Decathlon of Motherfuckers. That’s where the contestants have to find ten ways to incorporate it into varying library scenarios. You get extra points for creativity and cadence. Samuel L Jackson is the presiding judge.”

  He laughed. “Lucky for you he’s not competing, because he’d be tough to beat.”

  “I know, right? He’s the master.”

  “Shit, here’s our stop!” he said, grabbing my hand and pulling me off the bus. It all kind of happened so fast I didn’t have time to object, not that I would have, but then we were on the footpath and there was no reason for him to be holding my hand. He’d actually held my hand a few times, so I was sure he had no issue with it. “Oh, sorry,” he said awkwardly. “I should have asked before now. I don’t know if you have issues with holding hands. Some people don’t like it, and if I made you uncomfortable—”