Chapter 21 Cynthie #2
I laugh. “No. As they’d be the first to tell you, they work for themselves.
They have other clients too, but they’re with me whenever I need to be presentable for something, and I usually have them written into my contracts, so we’ve done almost all my films together.
It’s perfect, like having family around. We have a lot of fun together.”
“And Liam’s husband wasn’t at the brunch, but you all get on?”
“David.” I nod my head fondly. “Yes, he’s great.
He’s actually Theo’s assistant and he travels a lot.
He’s very uptight, super fastidious, secretly big-hearted, and he adores Liam.
The two of them balance each other out.” I take a sip of my wine, thinking about it.
“Liam needs someone with a little bite, you know?”
Jack makes a sound of agreement and then very casually says, “Theo is Theo Eliott, right? You guys used to date?”
“Years ago,” I agree. “Now he’s one of my closest friends. Our real legacy as a couple is that we set up Liam and David. They’re much better suited than Theo and I ever were.” I laugh. “A lot of the time now it seems wild that we were together for so long.”
“How long was it?”
“About five years.” I move to the cooktop, heating the ghee in a pan. “But honestly, given our respective schedules I’d be surprised if we spent as much as a single year in each other’s company, all told. It wasn’t the right time for either of us… or the right person.”
“Yeah, I know what that’s like,” Jack says, his expression rueful.
“I heard something about you and one of your costars on the show…” I say, adding ingredients to the pan so I don’t have to look at him.
No need for him to know that I googled his love life, or that I had weirdly hostile feelings toward the series of perfectly nice, attractive women he’d dated over the years.
Jack groans, tops up the wineglasses. “No, that was total fabrication. Not even a publicity thing, just wishful thinking on the part of the fans. Em’s just a friend. It’s a pretty hard line for me, actually. I don’t date people I work with. It’s always a bad idea.”
He adds this last part absently, but as the words settle in the air, both of us tense.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” Jack manages after several seconds tick by where it’s not just my disastrous relationship with Shawn that fills the space between us, but a whole lot of unspoken history. “I only meant—”
I wave my hand airily to cut him off, which would probably be more convincingly casual if I weren’t holding a glass and sloshing wine down my front.
“Don’t worry about it,” I say, rubbing at the stain.
“I can’t exactly disagree with you given my current situation.
It’s a good thing you and I are only pretending to date.
” I’m very careful not to make any reference to anything that might have happened between us in the past. What we did could hardly be called dating, anyway.
Jack slides from his stool and moves around to the sink.
After a moment he hands me a warm, damp washcloth for my wine-stained sweater.
While this is perfectly nice of him, it does bring him into my personal space, which I could live without.
I don’t trust myself around him. The urge to rub myself against him like a cat is alarmingly strong.
He leans back against the kitchen counter, and I can’t stop my brain from leaping to another kitchen, to another time when Jack and I were alone together. My gaze moves to his mouth and my fingers tighten around my wineglass. I set it down and turn my attention to dabbing at my clothes.
“It’s actually a rule I learned from my dad,” Jack says, and despite his conversational tone, my eyes fly back up to meet his. I thought we would be shutting down this line of conversation, but it seems not. “He kind of drummed it into me when I was starting out.”
“Oh?” I give up on my sweater, turn back to the curry, which is simmering now on a gentle heat, filling the air with the warm scent of spices. “Didn’t he and your mum meet when they were starring in a film together?”
Jack chuckles wryly. “They did, but I’m not sure he sees the irony. He’s not the most self-aware person you’ll ever meet. Their relationship is one of the reasons I’ve stuck to that particular rule, though.”
I wince. “That doesn’t sound great.”
“Nothing about the pair of them is great. Let’s just say that Lee and I didn’t exactly grow up in a household that modeled healthy relationships.
I was always very certain I didn’t want to end up like the two of them.
” Jack has his arms crossed now, one hand still cradling his wineglass.
I’m surprised that he’s opening up like this, but even more surprised that he doesn’t seem self-conscious about it.
He looks and sounds relaxed, an open book.
It’s not at all what I expected of him. Again, the line between past and present wobbles precariously.
He takes a step toward me, and I stiffen, but Jack only peers over my shoulder with interest, looking at the food on the cooktop.
“This smells incredible. Where did you learn to cook?”
I smile, feeling my shoulders relax. “Hannah’s parents. Her mum’s side of the family are Bangladeshi, so I make a mean chorchori, and her dad is Italian, so I know my way around a plate of pasta too. Food was always a big deal in their house, and they taught us both to cook when we were kids.”
“I remember you saying you were close with Hannah’s family,” he says, and he steps back, returning to his stool and allowing me to unscramble my brain a bit.
“Yes, Nadiya and Enzo, they’re like my surrogate parents. Actually, they were over a couple of months ago for a visit. It was really good to see them.” It was also right before the metaphorical shit hit the fan and my life imploded, but best not to dwell on that.
Jack only nods, and he doesn’t ask any follow-up questions, but he looks pleased, and maybe he knows I offered up that tiny nugget of personal information as a peace offering.
While I finish cooking, he makes small talk about some of the people we both know in the business.
“Okay, this is done,” I say, dishing the food onto two plates. “Where do you want to eat?”
“It’s nice out,” he says. “Is there somewhere to sit in the garden?”
“Sure.” I lead him out the sliding French doors to the deck. He brings the rest of the wine with him, and we sit at the dining table under the enormous rustic pergola. I light a citronella candle held inside a misshapen, paint-splattered clay holder that Priya made at school.
We dig in and Jack murmurs in appreciation. “Holy shit,” he says. “This is delicious.”
“I’ll pass on your compliments to Nadiya. She’ll be delighted. She’s a big Blood/Lust fan.”
“Well, let’s raise a glass to the chef and her teacher,” he replies, raising his wineglass, and I tap mine against it.
We sit in a companionable silence for a bit, and I relax in a way I wasn’t expecting. It really is a beautiful evening, warm with a slight breeze, and the little white stars of the jasmine that creep over the pergola smell deliciously heady.
“This is nice,” Jack says, finally breaking the quiet.
“Yeah,” I agree. “Weird.”
He laughs. “Who would have thought you and I could get along peacefully for a whole evening?”
“Not Hannah. She wanted a contingency plan in case I murdered you.”
“Ah well, the night is still young.”
“What do you think about ice cream and a movie?” I ask. “In the spirit of peaceful interaction, I’ll even let you choose the film as long as I have veto power.”
“Sounds good to me.” Jack gets to his feet. “But as you cooked, I’ll clean up.”
“You won’t hear me argue.”
He scoffs. “Well, I suppose there’s a first time for everything.”
I only laugh and head inside.
“I know what we should watch,” Jack says, carrying a pan to the sink. “I’ve been thinking about it all week.”
Jack chooses While You Were Sleeping .