Plus One – Part 2: Coffee in Daylight

The coffee was too strong and the bread was still warm. They sat at the long wooden table under the bougainvillea, sunglasses pushed up, a notebook open between the three of them and a pen that kept running out of ink.

"Rules," said Jiya, uncapping the pen. "Because we're grown-ups, and grown-ups write things down."

"We used to write rules to stop the laundrette from flooding," said Alex.

"And we failed every time," said Mira. "This time we're going to do better."

They wrote for an hour. Jiya wrote Nobody decides for anyone else. Alex wrote Check in before every step, and after. Mira wrote Anyone can say stop at any moment, and no one sulks about it. They argued over the wording, crossed things out, laughed at each other's handwriting, and in the end the page was messy and honest and entirely theirs.

"Can I say the frightened thing?" asked Mira.

"Yes," said Jiya.

"I'm afraid that you two will be closer than I'll ever be to either of you. That I'll be the one watching from the sofa."

Alex reached across the table and took her hand. "Then we'll make sure you're not on the sofa," he said. "You're in the room, or you're not. And if you're not, we'll still have breakfast."

"And I'm afraid," said Jiya, quietly, "that I'll want something from you that I can't give back."

"Then say it," said Mira.

"I want you to tell me when I'm being selfish."

"I will," said Mira, and smiled, her eyes bright. "Every time."

They spent the afternoon at the beach, swimming in the warm, clear water, lying on towels while the sun baked their shoulders. They talked about nothing much. The music in the bar down the road. The boat that had sunk in the bay in 1998. The sad little parrot in the hotel reception who had learned to swear.

In the late afternoon, when the light had turned gold and the shadows were long across the sand, Jiya sat up and looked at them both.

"Can I ask you something?" she said.

"Yes," said Alex and Mira together.

"Would you both like to have dinner with me tonight, just the three of us, and then walk back along the beach, and see where that leads? No expectations. Only yes, and no, and green."

Alex grinned. "Yes. Obviously."

"Yes," said Mira, a little shyly. "But I'd like to kiss you both first, if that's allowed, before the wine."

"Allowed," said Jiya, laughing. "Ask us properly."

Mira leaned in towards Alex, slowly, and then turned to Jiya, asking with her eyes. Alex did the same, then waited with a steady, tender patience while the two women kissed, soft and curious, and then he kissed Jiya, warm and sure. Every kiss was asked for and answered.

When they finally drew apart, the three of them were breathing unevenly and laughing softly into each other's shoulders.

"Green?" asked Alex.

"Green," said Mira.

"Green," said Jiya, and her voice was warm and unhurried. "Very green. Now let's go to dinner before the parrot starts swearing at us."

They walked back along the sand together, hands linked, the sun sinking into the sea behind them, and nobody was the third wheel at all.