Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Tai
My favourite time of day in summer was always the early hours of the morning when the sun had just risen. London was still quiet, and I could sit in my rooftop garden with a cup of tea and watch my small area of the city come alive around me.
It was when I did my best thinking, unburdened by the stress of work, meetings that could have been emails, and the looming threat of budget cuts.
Sometimes I listened to music, sometimes I read books, sometimes I just closed my eyes and breathed. And then there were the odd days like today where something was making me antsy and I couldn’t sit still. I couldn’t put my finger on what though.
Sipping my tea, I walked around my garden and examined all the pots, checking for weeds or pests or the occasional dead flower head that needed pulling.
I tried to think about what else I wanted to plant, mulling over my plans to start expanding upwards to make more use of the compact space, but even that wasn’t holding my attention.
It was like some force in the universe was trying to get me to notice it, but without telling me why or what it wanted. Ever helpful as always.
I sat back down in my chair, nearly sitting on my phone in the process, and I grumbled to myself as I pulled it out of my pocket.
The screen was slightly cracked where I’d dropped it a couple of times, and there were a few specks of dirt lodged around the edge where I’d used it while re-potting things last weekend.
At some point, I’d remember to clean it.
There were a few random notifications, but nothing interesting. A couple of them were from Heart2Heart, since my profile was still active from my latest, failed, attempt at dating and I sighed because I kept forgetting to turn off the notifications.
I wasn’t interested in whatever Tim from Tooting had to say about my peonies, as lovely as they were.
I swiped to dismiss them but caught one instead and the app suddenly filled the screen as it opened onto my inbox.
“Sod off,” I muttered as I tried to tap out of it, nearly dropping my phone again as I attempted not to spill tea into my lap.
A little bit sloshed across the bare skin of my thigh, and I grumbled to myself as I set the mug on the roof to wipe myself down.
At least the tea was cool and I was wearing shorts.
When I finally looked back at my phone, I realised I’d managed to accidentally tap my way onto the message boards.
They were a real weakness of mine, mostly because I was a nosy bugger and I loved reading about other people’s problems. Subreddits like Relationships, Am I The Asshole, and Off My Chest, were my kryptonite, even if some of the posts were fake.
I just couldn’t resist the lure of them.
I’d been tempted to delete the Reddit app off my phone, but I really liked some of the various gardening subreddits and had found them really useful when I’d first decided I wanted to turn this rooftop space into my very own urban jungle.
Giving in to my desire to snoop, I read through some of the posts across Heart2Heart’s various boards, but nothing particularly held my interest until I stumbled upon one under Platonic Connections.
It didn’t have any comments or real engagement, but the tone of the post fascinated me.
The poster wanted someone to go with him to his ex’s gallery opening, who apparently he was on good terms with, but then he’d offered dinner as payment for “surviving.”
Something really didn’t add up.
I tapped on the guy’s profile, but there wasn’t much information beyond his username, pronouns, a brief, vague bio, and a profile picture of him with a large, fluffy, white cat.
Okay, the cat was very cute. Almost as cute as him. Instant points from me.
I chewed my lip and debated whether to respond. I shouldn’t really. Especially since there was definitely something more going on. But there was a desperation in his words that made my gut clench as I reread them. Above all, this man sounded like he needed a friend.
That settled it.
Tapping out a message, I picked up my tea and watched the city wake around me. I didn’t know if I’d get a response, but at least I’d tried.
I spent the rest of the morning pottering around in the garden, taking measurements for the tiered stands I wanted to build and dreaming about what I might plant first. It was a little late in the year to start much, but I could test them out with some planted-out supermarket herbs or something similar.
By the time I finally checked my phone again, it was early afternoon, but there was a message waiting for me on Heart2Heart from the cat-loving cutie in need of assistance.
Jules: Survival probably wasn’t the best choice of words, although my ex can be a little particular? Sorry, that’s just making it worse. If you are at least open to a few more details, I’m happy to chat. And thank you for responding, I’ll admit this was the last gasp of the desperate.
I smiled as I read, his words endearing me more than ever.
My friends had always said I had a knight-in-shining-armour complex because I couldn’t resist helping people, but in this situation how could I not?
And getting some more details wouldn’t hurt.
It would give me a chance to see exactly what I was up against.
Tai: Particular sounds interesting. Is that the polite way of saying he’s a bit of a dickhead? And don’t sweat it, happy to chat more. Maybe we could meet in person and you can tell me all the details? Any plans for brunch tomorrow?
Jules: I have zero plans for tomorrow so brunch works for me, thank you. Do you have any suggestions? If not, the Cinnamon & Clove in Fulham is very nice.
Jules: And I wouldn’t want to say dickhead but I’m afraid it might be the most apt description. It’s part of the reason this whole situation is such a mess!
Jules: I’m sorry, I think I keep making everything worse. If it sounds too messy, you can just say and I won’t be offended at all.
Tai: Haha I can deal with messy. And I can deal with dickheads too, it’s kind of my speciality. Cinnamon & Clove sounds good, what sort of time? I’m an early riser so whenever is easiest for you.
Tai: Also, I have to ask who the adorable kitten in your profile pic is! Are they yours?
Jules: I’ll see if we need to book but maybe 10.30?
Jules: And that is Cécile, the love of my life! She’s currently glaring at me because there is a cloud blocking her patch of sunlight and she wants me to move it. Apparently I haven’t done a good enough job of controlling the weather today.
I chuckled to myself as a picture of a disgruntled-looking cat appeared. The side-eye she was giving the camera was truly spectacular, but I was more focused on what else I could see.
Cécile was sitting on some kind of window seat by a large bay window, which was clearly on the ground floor because I could see a flowering bush outside.
The room’s floor was wooden and the walls were a soft cream and it seemed like the curtains were blue and floral patterned, but in a way that screamed classy and expensive.
It was the first moment I’d wondered if I might be getting in above my head, because I was the furthest thing from classy and expensive.
Unless you counted my garden plans, which were always at odds with my meagre budget because living in London was fucking extortionate even if I was lucky enough to have a reasonably well-paying job in student support at London Metropolitan University.
No, I wasn’t going to judge Jules from one or two pictures. I was going to focus on how sweet and sincere he seemed.
And ignore the fact I’d already decided to help him.
Cinnamon & Clove in Fulham was smaller than I’d imagined, but as soon as I stepped inside the terracotta-painted building, I knew it had been worth the trip across the city.
The delicious smells of breakfast and baked goods and fresh coffee flooded my senses, and I had to stop and inhale for a second before looking around for Jules.
He’d sent me a picture of himself, so I knew who to look for, but when I spotted him at a table at the back, looking out the window with a dreamy expression on his face, I almost did a double take.
The selfie I’d gotten last night in no way did him justice.
He had soft, white-blond curls that fell slightly over his round face, and when he smiled at something, I saw two little dimples in his cheeks.
As I watched, he pushed his hair out of his face, then fiddled anxiously with his watch strap.
I was almost glad I wasn’t the only one suddenly feeling a wave of nerves.
I tugged at the bottom of my T-shirt and adjusted the sleeve of my leather jacket, more out of habit than necessity, before I walked over to him.
He spotted me a few seconds before I reached him, just as I was squeezing between two chairs and a buggy, my tongue stuck out in concentration.
I probably looked bloody ridiculous, but Jules smiled and waved, and suddenly I didn’t mind looking like a bit of a twat.
“Hey,” I said as I reached him. “You must be Jules. I’m Tai.”
“Hello,” he said, holding out his hand to shake mine. Oh jeez, he was all sweet and formal. I was a sucker for that. “Thank you so much for coming.”
“No worries,” I said, as I tried not to focus on how soft his skin was and instead pulled off my jacket and hung it over the back of the other chair, before sliding into it. I glanced around the restaurant, trying to recentre myself. “This is a really nice place. How did you find it?”
“I actually don’t live too far away, and someone from work suggested it.
And they do very good chai lattes and these lovely fruit Danishes.
They did one recently with passion fruit curd and white chocolate ganache, and I can’t stop thinking about it.
But, if you prefer savoury they do amazing shakshuka, and their poached eggs on toast are delicious.
” He smiled, but there was a nervousness to it.
Like he was worried he’d said the wrong thing or too much.
I had to push back the frown threatening to crease my forehead, because it rankled that this beautiful man had been made to second-guess himself. I could only assume this ex was somehow involved.
“Sounds great,” I said, shooting him my best encouraging smile. “I love poached eggs but I never make them at home ’cos they’re such a faff. I tried getting some of those silicone cup things—to cook them in? I used them once and gave up. I think I’m just not meant to have poached eggs in my life.”
Jules let out the tiniest quiet laugh, covering his mouth with his hand. “They are quite fiddly. I’ve never even attempted them, so you’re doing better than me.”
“At least I know it’s not just me who can’t make them.”
“Definitely not. My egg-based talents extend as far as scrambled eggs, and I will admit they are pretty good.” He leant forward across the table slightly. “The secret is just an obscene amount of butter.”
I snorted. “I’ll try that next time.”
He smiled, a sudden lightness lifting his features.
Then he seemed to realise what he was doing and sat back in his chair, and glanced away, almost embarrassed.
Okay, whichever dickhead had made Jules repress himself like this was going to find themselves on the end of my boot at this rate.
I hated bullies, and it was obvious poor Jules had been stomped and squished until the brightness of his soul was nothing but a dim, flickering flame, barely able to breathe.
I knew I couldn’t just ride in and fix everything, even if I wanted to, because that wasn’t how things worked. But maybe there was a way I could help him see he deserved more.
A member of staff arrived and took our drink order, promising to return in a few minutes when I’d actually been able to look at the menu. Not that I really needed it.
I already knew I wanted to get poached eggs.