Free Valentine Joe by Rebecca Stevens Page B

scare you away.’
    Rose laughed. It was true. She did feel like she was in some sort of no man’s land.
    The boy held out his right hand. ‘How d’you do, Rose? I’m Joe.’
    Rose took his hand and for a moment they stood there in the moonlight looking at each other. ‘Hello, Joe.’
    â€˜It’s my birthday tomorrow,’ he said, releasing her hand and throwing her a sneaky look.
    Rose caught her breath. He was called Joe and his birthday was on Valentine’s Day? ‘February the fourteenth?’ she said. She couldn’t believe it.
    â€˜Not just a pretty face, are you, Rose?’ No one had ever called Rose pretty before. Well, except for Mum and Dad, but that didn’t count. ‘Yup, same day every year. Comes around like clockwork. Tick tock, tick tock.’
    â€˜Valentine’s Day . . .’
    â€˜That’s right. You can’t say no to me now, can you?’
    It’s a coincidence, thought Rose. It has to be. She shook the thought away. ‘Depends what you’re asking.’
    â€˜Ah ha! I’m asking you to join me for a bite to eat at a little estaminet what I happen to know in the vicinity. It ain’t far and they do a cracking egg and chips.’
    Was he asking her out? Like – on a date?
    Rose had often thought about this moment , talked about it with Grace and Ella: what you’d say when someone asked you out. If you didn’t like them, how would you say no without hurting their feelings, and if you did like them, how would you say yes without looking too keen? And it was funny, because now it had happened she knew exactly what to say. She said:
    â€˜All right.’
    â€˜All right!’
    Joe held out his hand. Rose took it and they walked down the street together, leaving a trail of footprints behind them in the fresh snow.

A s they turned into the little side street, picking their way across broken pavements and slithering in the snow, Rose began to feel she’d been there before.
    â€˜There she is,’ said Joe. ‘The finest estaminet in town. Well, the only one open this late.’
    There was a window lit by a single flickering candle. And now Rose realised where they were. It was the street she’d walked down when she’d gone off on her own after dinner with Grandad. The street where she’d seen the little girl in the doorway of the café .
    â€˜Look at it,’ Joe went on. ‘The light of the world, shining in the darkness, calling out to us, “Egg and chips . . . come and get my egg and chips . . .”’
    Rose giggled. ‘It’s a caff,’ she said.
    And it was the same café , she saw that now. But something had happened since she was last there. The shutters were open, and the windowpanes were broken. There was rubble on the pavement outside.
    â€˜Call it what you want, sweet,’ said Joe. ‘Long as it’s got a bit of a roof and serves hot grub, it’s good enough for me.’
    As he made for the door, Rose stopped him. ‘I’ve been here before,’ she said. ‘What happened to the window?’
    Joe shrugged. ‘Caught the force of a blast, by the looks of it.’
    He held the door for her, and she stepped inside. The café was a tiny place with only a couple of tables and a small counter at the back. It was just as cold inside as it was in the street and there was snow on the floor that had blown in through the broken window. Joe made for the table furthest from the door and pulled out a chair for Rose. They were the only customers.
    â€˜Egg and chips, m’lady?’ said Joe.
    â€˜I’m not hungry, thanks.’ She was still full of the pizza she’d had earlier.
    â€˜Sure? Well, you’ll just have to watch me eat. Not a pretty sight. Bong jour ?’ he called out. ‘Madame?’
    Rose waited, wondering if the same woman would appear, the mother of the little girl who’d