Chapter 23
SOPHIE
When Connie hears about this, I am getting the biggest ‘I told you so’. And there’s Harlow. The two of them together will be insufferable.
But it’ll be worth it. At least, I hope so. Maybe going out to dinner with Drew is a colossal mistake.
‘Gah!’
I sit heavily, eyeing the contents of my suitcase, which I’ve tossed all over the bed. This was supposed to be a work trip – only a work trip. I’ve got trousers and jumpers, and a couple of plain dresses – all practical, zero allure.
A flash of red catches my eye – peeking out from the inside compartment of my suitcase.
‘That little sneak,’ I laugh to myself.
I reach inside the compartment and take out my red dress. Harlow must have slipped it in while I was packing my toiletries in the bathroom.
My daughter, the matchmaker – just like her grandmother. I wonder if Connie put her up to this.
Either way, I could kiss Harlow right now.
After a super-hot shower to wash the travel day away, I brush my hair till it’s glossy, leaving it down, dot much-needed concealer under my eyes, sweep on some peach-coloured blush, slick on two coats of mascara, and dab ruby stain onto my lips.
I zhuzh my fringe, so it frames my face, then blow a kiss into the mirror.
Out of nowhere, a sharp pang rockets through me.
I’m getting ready for a dinner date and it’s not with Daniel.
I’ve brought his photo with me – I take it on every trip, including work ones – but it’s still packed, wrapped in my nightie.
But what would I even say to him? That the guy I thought was an arsehole for the past three years turns out not to be an arsehole after all? And that he’s hot as all get-out? That I want him to kiss me again – the way he did that night in my kitchen. Our kitchen – Dan’s and mine.
I draw in a deep breath and huff it out, Harlow’s voice echoing inside my head again. Dad would want you to be happy.
I look myself in the eye, blinking back tears. I don’t want to have to redo my mascara.
‘Dan would want you to be happy – even if it’s only for tonight.’
Before I can talk myself out of it, I put on the dress, zip up my boots, and go downstairs to wait for Drew.
‘Okay, I’m just gonna say it.’
I drop my head to one side, breaking into a smile. ‘Say what?’ I ask slowly.
‘Actually, never mind.’
‘Come on, you can’t leave me hanging – say what?’
Drew opens his mouth to speak, then clamps it shut, his lips disappearing between his teeth.
‘Drew. Is it about me? You don’t like the dress?’ I ask, blatantly fishing.
‘I love the dress,’ he says and a warm glow ignites in the pit of my stomach. ‘And it’s not about you…’ He narrows his eyes and I set down my cutlery, abandoning my food until he tells me whatever ‘it’ is.
‘Okay, I’m gonna come off as a dick…’ He leans in close, beckoning me with his hand, and I tilt forward. ‘…but I kinda thought the food would be next-level, you know? A high-end resort – in Switzerland. It’s breaded meat and mediocre fries,’ he whispers dramatically.
I sit back and bark out a laugh.
He shrugs. ‘I’m just saying…’
‘It’s traditional.’
‘Is it?’
I’m fully laughing now. ‘Yes.’
He eyes me dubiously. ‘Hmm, well, you seem to like it,’ he says, indicating my nearly empty plate.
‘I was starving – and anyway, there’s no such thing as a bad chip. It’s like pizza – even the bad ones are good.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Come on! You never had hot chips at 2 a.m. on your way home from a club?’
He stares at me so intently, I shift in my seat.
‘You’re a lot more fun than I thought you’d be.’
I splutter out a half-laugh. ‘Um, thank you?’
‘No, I mean— Okay, that sounded bad.’
‘Ya think?’
But I’m not mad – he was just being candid, and I can be a little too serious sometimes.
‘Well, turns out you’re not how I imagined either,’ I admit.
‘That why you’ve hated me for three years?’
I hesitate, my mouth falling open. ‘I never hated you.’ His brows shoot up, challenging me. ‘It’s just— You seemed… well… aloof.’
‘That’s a good word,’ he says, nodding, his eyes fixed on the table. ‘Aloof,’ he says, drawing it out. Oops, I’ve struck a nerve.
‘Drew…’ He eventually looks up. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to be hurtful. I—’
‘No, you weren’t,’ he replies, dropping his eyes back to the table. ‘Besides, that’s pretty much spot on – has been ever since—’
He stops himself, sliding his wine glass closer and taking a swig.
‘It’s okay,’ I say, ‘we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.’
Should I steer us back to casual chit-chat or do we call it a night? I wonder.
‘At my last job, back in St Paul,’ Drew begins, his gaze unfocused, ‘I worked with a good buddy of mine – Blair. We joined the agency at the same time, both of us straight out of college, and right away it was clear we were going to be friends – a similar dynamic to you and Jane. So, we teamed up – we were partners on pretty much every campaign. He was the more creative one, I was the guy who was good with the clients, who got shit done, who kept us on track. And we’re talking years – best buddies, killing it at work… ’
‘Did he betray you in some way – take credit for your work or something?’
Drew looks at me as if he’s still deciding whether to spill.
‘He was sleeping with my fiancée. They were having an affair.’
‘Oh my god,’ I blurt. ‘Shit, sorry – but… what the fuck?’
‘Right?’ he says, snorting out a wry laugh.
We’re quiet for a moment, then I’m reminded of something.
‘Hey, do you remember when you met Connie at the Emberstone party and she was with that guy Keith?’
‘Hmm, maybe,’ he replies.
‘Well, same thing happened to him.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah. Well, similar – his wife and his best friend ran off together.’
‘Yikes. I guess it’s pretty common,’ he says with a shrug.
‘Still, doesn’t make it any easier on you. It’s a double whammy.’
‘Or, in my case, a triple whammy. My fiancée, my best friend, and my job,’ he says, counting off on his fingers.
‘Oh right. Geez, I’m really sorry, Drew.’
‘Mmm.’
His eyes hold mine, that confident facade stripped away and the vulnerability in his eyes making my breath hitch.
This explains so much.
‘Well, you know my sob story, right?’ I ask, with a dry laugh. ‘Pretty sure a dead husband trumps a cheating fiancée.’
Drew’s eyes grow wide and he gawps at me.
Did I just say that?
I smack my hand over my mouth, smothering more laughter.
‘Was that your attempt at… What was that?’ he asks.
I drop my hand. ‘I don’t know. Gallows humour?’
‘Sure,’ he says incredulously. ‘Yeah, let’s call it that,’ he adds, shaking his head at me, a crooked smile on his face.
I bite my lower lip, then release it. ‘Sorry, I—’
Laughter bursts out of me and Drew joins in, his laugh lines deepening as we lock eyes.
‘Like I said, Reid, you’re a lot more fun than I thought you’d be.’
I give a little seat curtsey, taking it as a compliment this time, and we go back to our dinner.
‘So, do you usually go home for Christmas?’ I ask, pivoting to a lighter topic.
‘Actually, no, not since I moved to London.’
‘Do you miss it? You get white Christmases in St Paul, right?’
‘Ah, yeah – most years it’ll snow or there’ll be snow on the ground.’
‘I’ve always wanted a white Christmas,’ I say, unexpectedly wistful, ‘but it’s always wet and grey in London.’
‘Yeah, but I’m not gonna lie – I get that snow’s super Christmassy and all that, but what you see in the movies versus living in the snow…
very different. It was my job to shovel the walk from when I was, like, eight.
So, you know, “Hey, kid, Merry Christmas – look what Santa brought – yada yada yada – now, get outside and shovel the walk – Grandma and Grandpa are coming over.” Then my mom would shove a reindeer beanie on my head, so I looked the part. ’
I laugh. ‘So, festive child labour then?’
‘Something like that,’ he says with a gentle smile. ‘Anyway, this year we’re bringing my mom and my aunt to London.’
‘Oh, that’s nice.’
He doesn’t mention his dad and I have a vague recollection that he died a while back, so I don’t say anything.
‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘We had to spring for business class – my Aunt Linda is a nervous flier – but it’ll be worth it.’
‘Good thing you got that bonus then,’ I say, regretting it the instant Drew’s expression shifts. ‘Sorry, that was tactless.’
‘No, no – all good. Chris and Gen are going in too so…’
Conversation stalls, and I shovel a couple of chips into my mouth – mostly to shut me up. Why did I mention the bonus? I hope it didn’t come off as sour grapes.
‘So, what about you?’ he asks after a stretch of awkward silence.
‘Hmm?’ I look up.
‘You and Harlow going to Australia for the holidays?’
‘As in “home for the holidays”?’
‘I see what you did there,’ he says, his expression playful.
I lift my eyebrows, taking credit for my crappy joke. ‘But to answer your question, no. Maybe next year – fingers crossed.’ I don’t tell him why we’re not going.
‘So, you’ll be with Connie then?’
‘Yeah,’ I reply brightly. ‘She comes over on Christmas Eve and spends the nigh— Oh,’ I say, stopping myself. ‘Maybe not now that Keith’s in the picture.’
‘So, they’re serious?’
‘I’m not sure. Maybe.’
Our waiter comes over to clear our plates and asks if we want dessert – a choice of chocolate mousse or apple strudel with vanilla custard.
‘How ’bout we get both and share?’ Drew suggests.
‘Sure.’
The waiter leaves and Drew tops up our wine, a Swiss Pinot Gris that’s going down a treat.
‘Hey, I really am sorry about Max,’ says Drew.
It’s come out of nowhere and at first I don’t know what he means, but then it hits me: Max’s keep-me-company proposition.
‘Don’t be. It’s…’ I lift my shoulders, letting them drop when I can’t think of what else to say.
‘He used to be a really good guy, you know. He was super popular in high school – Prom King, the quarterback who dated the head cheerleader, student body president – all of it. But he was kind to everybody, included everyone. He was never a bully or a dick.’
‘He wouldn’t be the first person to let fame go to their head.’
‘Yeah, but I think something else is going on,’ he says. ‘I think he’s lonely.’
I blink at him, surprised.
‘Really? But he must have people around him all the time.’
‘Yeah, but they’re not his friends – they’re either employees or people he works with.’
‘I suppose.’
‘And when it was just me and him – when I met him at the pub to ask about doing the Hargreaves commercials – he was more like I remembered.’
‘Hmm. Maybe he’s playing a role – Max the Movie Star.’
‘Could be – not that it excuses his behaviour in any way.’
‘No.’
‘You know, he invited himself to Christmas at Chris and Gen’s.’
‘Oh?’
‘I said it was fine.’
‘Good, yeah – no one should be alone on Christmas.’
‘Definitely not, but it’s a little…’
‘Sad?’ I offer.
‘Well, yeah.’
Our waiter shows up with our desserts, and Drew moves them to the middle of the table so we can share.
I wonder if that’s true of Drew as well – that he’s lonely. Both he and Max come off as confident, if not cocky, but maybe that’s a defence mechanism more than anything else.
Drew takes a bite of the strudel and moans. ‘That’s way better than the schnitzel,’ he says after he swallows. He dips his spoon into the mousse. ‘You’d better get in here,’ he teases.
‘Okay, okay.’ I take a bite of the strudel and Drew’s right. It’s incredible – the perfect balance of tart and sweet – and the spices!
He moans even louder about the mousse, making me laugh. ‘You right there, Sally?’ I ask.
He puts his fingertips to his mouth, then licks his lips. For a second I’m stunned and my pulse quickens. I know exactly how it feels to kiss those lips.
‘Sally?’ he asks, dragging me from my thoughts.
‘Yeah,’ I reply, clearing my throat, ‘you know, from When Harry Met Sally. That scene where she—’
‘Fakes an orgasm. Right.’
The word hangs in the air – orgasm – and I gulp, then look away.
If you only knew, Drew Parker. If you only knew.