Chapter Four #2
“When I get a chance, which isn’t as often as I’d like. Work gets pretty busy. But I made a full Christmas dinner with my housemates last year, which wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been considering our oven has like two shelves, and there’s barely any counter space.”
“Sounds like a success, though,” Lane said.
“It was. I’d love to have more time to cook, but as I said, work gets busy, and by the time I get home, I’m too tired to make anything elaborate.
Even at weekends.” One day I’d finally get through the long list of dishes I wanted to make, but for now most of them would languish there until I found a new supply of time and energy.
A decent kitchen would help as well since our shared one in London was nice but not exactly luxurious.
Functional was probably the best word for it.
Lane was leaning against the table now, watching me with an interested expression that made me feel both put on the spot and like I was the only man in the world. “Where are you working?”
“I’m an editor at Crimson Star. It’s a science fiction publisher.
I did an internship there the summer after I finished uni, and when I finished, they offered me a job.
” Crimson Star was a small but well-respected science fiction and fantasy publisher, and the internship had been one-in-a-million.
The publisher, Brian, had taken me under his wing, and I’d spent my summer learning as much as I could.
I’d managed to impress Brian enough that when an editorial assistant role had opened just as my internship finished, he’d offered it to me.
I’d been there ever since, and now I was one of three commissioning editors acquiring and producing an incredible range of novels. At least, I thought they were incredible.
“That’s cool,” Lane said, a little smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “You always liked books. I bet you’re really good at it.”
“Thanks. It’s fun. Busy but fun. I love my authors, and they make it worth it.”
“So are you working from here, then? While we get the house sorted?”
“Well, here and whatever coffee shop I can find. My boss, Brian, is happy for me to try home working for the summer since I don’t really need to be in my office to do my job.
Editing is a fairly solitary pursuit, and it’s easier to concentrate when I don’t have someone trying to ask me questions every five minutes,” I said.
“Yeah, I’m not sure you’ll get much done here. Building work isn’t exactly quiet,” Lane said with a wry chuckle. His laugh had deepened with age, becoming something low and warm, and it made me realise how much I’d missed it.
In truth, I’d missed a lot of things about Lane: his smile, his laughter, his dry sense of humour, and the way I’d been able to talk to him about anything.
I wanted to ask him if he’d kept tabs on me via social media the same way I’d distantly done with him.
In a fit of pettiness, we’d unfriended each other on Facebook back when we’d first fallen out, but I’d hardly used the platform in years.
I knew Lane had a private Instagram account because I’d found it once after a bad day and two bottles of wine.
My housemate, Nils, had taken my phone before I’d done something stupid like message Lane drunkenly out of the blue.
But I didn’t say any of that. Instead, I just said, “As long as you’re not asking me to fix the printer every five minutes, I’ll be fine.”
“Oh God,” Lane said with an exasperated laugh. “Not the bloody printer! I swear those things are evil. Why do we even fucking need them anymore?”
“Do you remember the time in IT when the printer just kept jamming and churning out bits of mangled paper with single words on them, and Mr. Dallimore literally opened the window and threw it out?” I asked, the memory sliding into my mind as if it had only happened yesterday.
“Oh shit. I remember that! And Mrs. Watson came out of her office to ask him what the hell he was doing, and he just said, ‘Electrical engineering.’” Lane snorted. “That man was something else.”
“Do you remember when Dan Liddle asked him if he knew anything about Halo, so Dallimore brought his Xbox in to run a class tournament with the winner having to face him?”
“Yeah, Lids got his ass fucking handed to him.”
“I’m pretty sure Dallimore once told me he’d spent his university days playing Halo and Call of Duty and smoking weed. He wasn’t that much older than us.”
“How did he not get fired?” Lane asked, shaking his head.
“I mean, apart from that he was a pretty good teacher, considering our IT lessons seemed to mostly involve designing things on Word.”
“I just remember us sitting in the corner, playing that weird bubble-shooter game with the pig,” Lane said. He raised an eyebrow and gave me a smile that made my stomach flip. It was a dangerous smile, the sort that would make me do so many things for him.
“Fuck, I’d forgotten about that.” I hoped Lane hadn’t noticed he’d just reduced my insides to jelly.
It should have been embarrassing that after all this time he could make me weak with just one smile, but I didn’t care.
I was starting to want things I knew I shouldn’t, but it felt like resistance was futile.
“Did we ever get any work done?”
“We must have at some point,” I said.
“I think you and Noah kept us on track. I remember Alex spending all his time trying to play his guitar.” Lane shook his head, amusement written across his face. “He couldn’t play for shit. Still can’t.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” I said. I took a step closer to him, then stopped, not knowing what the fuck I was doing. Maybe it would be better to change the subject and head back to the safe topic of work instead of continuing down this path and risking hurting myself.
Standing there reminiscing with Lane was bringing everything back—the good times and the bad. From the way Lane was looking at me with a softened smile and sad eyes, I wondered if he was thinking the same.
And not for the first time, I wondered if there was a way to bring back the past.