The Art of Starting Over

Chapter 8 - A Different Life

The waitress returned with our drinks and took our order. I reached out for the bottle of water, but Mr Cordina got to it first.

"I may be a 'proper arsehole', but I am also a gentleman," he growled, pouring the cold water into my glass. He said it without a hint of malice, but the impact of his words was striking.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude," I apologised genuinely.

"So why were you?"

"It seems to be a default reaction of mine as of late."

His half-smile threatened to make an appearance again. "As of late? Or around me?"

My mouth went dry again, another reaction I seemed to be having a lot of lately. Co-incidentally, it was also around him. 

He took his lower lip between his teeth, peering at me expectantly. My mind raced for something to say.

"Mr Cordina—"

"Jeremy," he corrected.

"Right, Jeremy," I said, perfectly aware of how strange his name felt on my tongue. "Do you think we can start over, maybe?"

He gave me a mildly surprised look. Almost suspicious.

"Um... tell me something about yourself," I went on, feeling as stupid as I ever had in my life. Maybe that Flirting 101 class wasn't such a bad idea after all.

I half expected him to roll his eyes and leave the table right there and then, but his expression softened as he furrowed his thick brows.

"Okay. Well, you already know who I am and what I do. I live in Marsascala. I just turned thirty-two—"

I gasped in surprise. "Did you really? I thought you were younger."

The right corner of his mouth twitched as he reached for his whisky. "Is it my boyish charm or my immature wit that fooled you?"

"Oh, definitely your boyish charm," I retorted sarcastically without thinking.

This time, he did roll his eyes. "Christ, you sound just like my mother."

I studied him carefully, trying to evaluate whether he was being serious or cynical, but all I got was that infuriating blank face of his. I had the impression that his dig was more aimed at his mother than at me, and something in my heart ached for him.

"Well, thirty-two is a great age," I went on when he didn't say anything else. "And you have your own business and everything, so... I guess you're doing alright."

He considered me for a moment, swirling the whisky glass smoothly in his right hand. He brushed the rim slowly against his lower lip, and I caught myself admiring how perfectly symmetrical his mouth was. "Yes, you'd think so, wouldn't you?"

I didn't know how to answer that, so I just gave him a small smile.

"Do you ever wonder," he went on pensively, "what things would be like if you were born into a completely different life?"

I hesitated at his random question, wondering if he even realised how intrusive it was. "I do come from a different life, Mr Cordina," I said cautiously. "Things were very different before I moved in with Nanna Millie in her little house in Bormla. Things don't always turn out the way we expect them to. We have to believe it's for the best, right?"

His eyes flashed as he studied me thoroughly—kind of like the way Millie did when she knew I was evading her questions.

"Jeremy," he sighed after a while. Then he added, "Sounds like you're one hell of an optimist, Sparky."