Chapter 9
CHAPTER
NINE
AVA
Lauren was right, a night out with the girls is exactly what I need. The three of us – Sophie, Lauren, and I – are standing at a high table at The Hole in the Wall bar, watching as Ryan attempts to sink the black ball with his eyes shut, in order to win a beer.
Somebody put the jukebox on and a few of the younger staff are dancing in the corner to a Jay-Z track that seems completely out of place in this dive bar.
The Hole in the Wall has been Smith and Carson’s unofficial clubhouse for as long as I can remember.
It’s run by Derek, an ex-soldier who started working here as a barman before buying out the previous owner when it went up for sale.
He’s a good guy who keeps an eye on the younger crowd as well as making sure our drinks are constantly topped up.
“So I said to her that crème pat isn’t actually French cream, but she insists that Paul Hollywood says it is.
” Lauren sighs, describing her meeting today with a bridezilla.
“I did a blind taste with her and she preferred the fresh cream profiteroles, but she still wants them the way Paul makes them.”
“It’s his eyes. They’re hypnotizing,” Sophie sympathizes. “He could persuade me to do anything.”
“Just give her crème pat,” I say to Lauren. “If that’s what she wants.”
“But it isn’t the best,” Lauren complains. “And I don’t want to serve something that isn’t the best.”
This is why Lauren is so good at her job.
She doesn’t accept anything less than perfection.
As well as running the Camelia Bakery, she also creates cakes and desserts for weddings and other events.
Her food is delicious and the main reason why we all go to yoga every Monday.
Sophie and I are always her willing guinea pigs when she has a new recipe to try.
“And then I made the mistake of telling her I’m friends with a weather forecaster,” Lauren says, turning to Sophie, who’s holding her hand up to Derek and mouthing something to him. “She wants me to ask you if it’s going to be sunny on the third of September.”
Sophie rolls her eyes. “You told her it’s not possible to accurately forecast that far ahead, right?”
“Yep, but she says she needs to know whether to have the tent open or closed.”
“Tell her to have it closed,” Sophie says. “That way she might not get bitten to death by mosquitos.”
Sophie is always getting asked about the weather, and it drives her crazy.
Not because she’s not interested in her job.
She loves forecasting. She’s one of the only television weather personalities who’s actually qualified in meteorology.
But she hates getting the blame when it rains. People hold it personally against her.
“How’s the weather looking for tomorrow?” I ask. “I have to weed my yard.”
“It’ll be cloudy from seven to nine but no rain unless you’re in the mountains,” Sophie says, and I immediately know she’ll turn out to be right.
“The sun should start to break through after that, and tomorrow afternoon will be glorious. Maybe too warm for yard work, so you might want to take a break after one.”
“Thank you,” I say solemnly. “I’ll take that into account.”
“You’re doing yard work?” Lauren says. “You got stuff on your mind?”
She knows that I think best while my hands are busy doing something. And since I have none of her culinary skills, weeding the yard is the best way to do it.
Sophie gives me an empathetic smile. We talked about my appointment at the clinic last night, after I’d fled the office. I haven’t told either of them about my run-in with Myles, or how I’d cried all over his chest.
It’s still too embarrassing to acknowledge.
“Yeah. I still need to make a decision about the insemination.”
“You should do it at home. At least that way you don’t have to drive afterward,” Lauren says, her voice too low for any of my workmates to overhear. Derek arrives with our drinks and we’re all silent for a moment as we take our first mouthfuls.
“Yeah,” I agree. “But I think I’ll do it with a kit. It would be weird having somebody in my bedroom making a baby with me, but not feeling attracted to them.”
Lauren swallows a laugh. “I guess that does feel a bit strange. But so would getting inseminated in the clinic, right?”
“At least in the clinic it would feel like more of a medical procedure.” I take another sip of my drink. “I just need to adapt to the idea of it,” I tell them. “I mean, it’s not what we grew up dreaming of, is it? Lying on a bed and putting a turkey baster inside of you.”
“I don’t think they actually use a turkey baster,” Sophie says.
“I know, but it’s kind of the same thing,” I tell her. “Just smaller.”
“They should use a specially made dildo,” Lauren interjects, and we both whip our heads to look at her. “Hear me out,” she says, trying not to laugh at our expressions. “It’d feel more real. Plus, if they did it right, maybe it would be enjoyable.”
“I don’t want it to be enjoyable.” I wrinkle my nose. “If I’m going to enjoy myself I might as well find a random guy and ask him to make a baby with me.”
“Haven’t you thought of doing that?” Sophie murmurs. Thank God the rest of the pub is too loud for anybody else to overhear.
“No.” I shake my head. Although I have to admit that when I did some Googling yesterday about donors it took me down a rabbit hole. There are guys who do that for a living. Actually go to your house and… yeah. “It would get too messy.”
“But you’d get some good sex out of it,” Lauren points out.
“And so would he. Win-win.” Sophie smirks.
“So that’s your choice in a nutshell,” Lauren says. “Spread your legs for a nurse, a turkey baster, or for a guy.”
“A hot guy,” Sophie adds, grinning. “I mean, at least you get some choice about that. You get none about the nurse.”
They both laugh at the expression on my face.
“Great,” I say. “Ride a hot guy senseless, or get inseminated by a dildo. Great choices.” I tap my chin. “I wonder which one I’ll choose.”
Neither Lauren or Sophie laugh. They’re both staring over my shoulder, their eyes wide, their mouths falling open.
And of course, when I turn around, Myles Salinger is standing right behind me, listening to every word I said.
MYLES
“Ladies,” I murmur, trying to ignore the fact I just overheard Ava talking about riding a hot guy. I really don’t need that image in my head right now.
Even if the guy in my imagination is me. Christ.
“Myles.” I recognize the blonder of Ava’s friends from that time outside of the office. She gives me a genuine smile. “How lovely of you to join us.”
“Yes,” Ava says. “It’s a really nice surprise.” Her voice is edged with sarcasm. I ignore it.
“Ryan asked me to come. To join in his birthday celebrations.”
“He’s right over there,” Ava says pointedly, inclining her head at a group of our drunken employees in the corner. Ryan is doing some kind of lewd dance with a pool cue. I turn my head back to Ava and her friends.
“Yes, I see that.” I take my tie off and roll it carefully around my fingers, making sure it doesn’t crease. When I slide it into my pocket, I catch Ava staring at my hands. I frown and look back down at them. Is there something wrong with my hands? Have my nails suddenly fallen off?
No. They’re just my hands. Long fingers, flat palms, veins that stand out too much.
“Can we buy you a drink, Myles?” Ava’s other friend says.
I pull my gaze from my hand and pull out my wallet. “Let me buy you all one. What are you drinking?”
She smiles widely and I smile back. “I’m so sorry, but I don’t know your names,” I tell them.
“I’m Sophie. And that’s Lauren.” Sophie holds her hand out and I shake it.
“Myles Salinger.”
“Oh, we know who you are.” Sophie winks.
“Do you work in publishing, too?” I ask them, just to make conversation. From the corner of my eye, I see that Ava is frowning.
Is she still angry at me about last night? Jesus, did she know I got a hard-on?
“No, I’m a meteorologist,” Sophie says. “And Lauren’s a baker. She owns the Camelia Bakery on Sunset.”
I look at Lauren. “You make those donuts that Ava brings in?”
She nods. “Have you tried one?”
“No, but the staff raves about them.” Ava remains silent, her eyes darting back and forth when each of us speaks like she’s watching a tennis match.
“Next time she brings some in I’ll make a special one for you,” Lauren says. “Tell me, do you prefer chocolate or citrus?”
“Citrus.”
“You’ve got it.” She narrows her eyes and touches her chin. “I’ll make you a lemon custard cream donut.”
“I look forward to it.”
“So Myles,” Sophie says. “Maybe you can help us solve an argument. Which do you prefer, fresh cream or crème pat?”
Ava gives a little laugh, like there’s a joke I’m not aware of. My eyes linger on her for a moment too long. Her hair catches the light and for a moment I imagine it splayed across my pillow. Pushing that thought away, I turn back to her friend.
“Fresh cream,” I say. “Crème patissiere is useful, but it’s so easily over sweetened.”
“You know what crème pat is?” Ava asks, her brows furrowing.
“I watch The Great British Baking Show,” I shrug.
Lauren’s grin widens. “Who did you want to win last season?”
“I had a soft spot for Jurgen,” I tell her. “But I was happy that Giuseppe won.” She elbows Ava in the stomach and Ava rolls her eyes. “Of course, it hasn’t been the same since Mary Berry left.”
“Right? Prue is great, but Mary was the queen,” Sophie says. “Didn’t you say the same thing, Ava?”
Ava lets out a long breath. “Something like that.”
“Do you bake, Myles?” Lauren asks.
“I burn water,” I tell her. “But I appreciate pastries and cakes very much.”
Lauren sighs. “You’re a man after my own heart.”
“What about weather systems?” Sophie asks. “Do you like those too?”
“I appreciate a good cloud formation,” I tell her, my voice deadpan. “Though I much prefer a cumulonimbus to a cirrostratus.”
“Oh so do I.” Sophie nods. “Until they start raining, of course.”