Entwine by Rebecca Berto

and I didn’t take a lunch break, so I can leave at four. Is it okay to meet ten minutes after that, or so? We can meet at Federation Square.”
    “But are you okay?”
    Sarah held her breath. Counted to three while she focused. Do not cry. Do not let your voice break. Breathe .
    “Sa—”
    “I’m here. See you then?”
    “Okay.”
    “Okay,” she replied, and slowly put her phone down, pushing it to the back of her desk, her thoughts a million miles away. She figured, forty minutes until finish time wasn’t so bad.
    The reality was different. She had to proofread a final manuscript against the marked up changes to make sure they went in, and she couldn’t keep her mind the on words, so she had to keep going back.
    Four o’clock hit, and she packed up, and hoped for a better day in the office tomorrow and some good luck on her side, for once, as she walked to Fed Square to meet Malik.
    The bustle of people was a welcomed distraction. People in the city during peak times were crazy. At least half of them ran late for their cars, the bus or train, day-to-day. Others had their head stuck in their smart devices. Sarah couldn’t focus on anything but not getting trampled, and meeting Malik.
    She figured she’d just stand in the middle, with it being an open space, and see if she could spot him when he arrived. But, even though Sarah was five minutes early, he was already sitting on a bench, his knees separated and his hands clumped together, resting between them.
    Sarah looked up to the sky, thought of the blue clouds, and willed that image out of her head. She’d need more than some erotic thoughts to get through their next conversation.
    Malik waved her over. He was torturing her, she was sure of it. She knew those pants. They were a smidgen tighter around his hips than his other pants, and no matter her efforts, with her gaze she traced the shape of the bulge from his penis. She wondered what it’d feel like elongated in her palm. He wore the shirt, too. She felt worse, seeing that. Sarah had got so worked up around him, she knew she’d sweated a little bit last night, and he must have, too. He must have gotten up early to wash it in the hope he’d see her today. Instead, he got a message about Nigel Langham, the one person he hated most beside his ex-wife, not knowing the day he had ahead of him.
    “Hey, you,” he whispered in her ear.
    He had wrapped his arms low on her back, pressing their hips together, and just for that moment, it felt so right that Sarah let go and let it happen; encouraged it, even. She slipped her hands between his waist and corded inner forearms, and pressed him tighter to her, turning her head to the side and resting her ear on his chest. When the urge to look at him grew too great, she tilted her head up, and Malik led her chin up so their lips met. His kiss was less hungry than last night, and more tender. More like the kiss a husband would give his wife after a stressful day at work, after he’d passed through the front door.
    That thought zapped her back to here and she pressed her hands against his chest, until he realised the kiss had ended. He looked down at her, worry wrinkling his forehead.
    “Sarah …”
    “Let’s sit,” she offered.
    Once he sat, he drew out his hand to rest on her thigh. Not high, just touching her, letting her know he was there.
    “Can I just start at the beginning, and catch you up to this point, now? No interruptions, no questions. I just need to say it in one go or else I’ll overthink, under-share, or not share.”
    Malik nodded.
    “My full name is Sarah Langham.” She noted his eyes open wide, but pressed on. “Nigel is my father and, when I was sixteen, I found out he’d been having an affair with some other woman for years. I came back from a party a couple of streets away to pick something up, and heard sounds. He was doing her in my mother’s and his bedroom. I ran off, and for the next week I just wrote it in my diary, feeling