Chapter 2
Two
CLARA
W atching your dinner cook is a guaranteed way to ensure that it is never quite done. Given the way the rest of the evening had gone, I wasn’t surprised that the top wasn’t browning the way it usually did.
I wasn’t even sure why I cared so much about getting the top of it beautifully golden. The only person it had to impress now was me, and even though it had been a struggle to get there, I knew it would.
I made a great lasagne.
My oven beeped for the fourth time in ten minutes, and I decided that would be the last time the timer went off. My hunger had finally outweighed my needless desire for perfection. As I placed the oven dish on a cooling rack, I noticed my phone light up with an incoming call.
I took a deep breath as I looked at the photo of me and my best friend, Becky, glaring up at me from the screen before I answered.
“Clo, is there a reason I can hear Gavin talking to Drew about how he might need to pull out of some stuff for the wedding?” Becky sounded mostly confused, but I could also hear concern laced through her voice. I fetched a fork from a drawer and started picking at my dinner straight from the oven-hot dish. I guess I was getting into this now.
“As of about twenty minutes ago, he called time on our relationship. Or maybe I did. The details are fuzzy. I don’t think I’ve fully processed them.” It was easier to talk about a constant pillar of my twenties crumbling to the ground than I thought it would be. And there were still no tears.
“What the fuck?” she spat.
I scoffed. “We broke up. He didn’t think it was working anymore, and I didn’t disagree with him, so we called it.” I took a too-hot bite of lasagne and instantly regretted it when it burned the roof of my mouth.
“Why would he pull this shit so close to the wedding?” she asked, mostly to herself.
I had known Becky pretty much my entire life, and since we were six, she’d been planning her wedding. The thing Becky was most excited about when she got engaged was the fact that she could finally put those well-crafted plans into action.
When we were younger, it was going to take place in a church down the road from where we grew up in Belsize Park, and she was going to wear a white dress with ten bridesmaids all lined up next to her in pastel blue. Now that we were adults, her plans had shifted. The bridal party was smaller, and there wasn’t a pastel blue or white dress in sight. It was also going to be a destination wedding because she realised at some point in our teens that she had never once stepped foot into a church in a religious capacity, and she didn’t want to start just for the sake of getting married. A private villa that her parents, Xander and Juliette, had hired was much more in keeping with who Becky was.
There was also a strict rule about partners in place. If your relationship hadn’t made it past the two-year mark, then they could not be your plus one. Becky did not want to pay for people, only for them to no longer be able to come because cuffing season had ended and so had the relationship. There was something deeply ironic about the fact that my decade-long relationship had been the one to fall apart before the I dos. Although it wouldn’t affect the numbers, it did have the potential to make things incredibly awkward.
Don’t fall in love with the best friend of your best friend’s boyfriend is the moral of that story.
“I don’t think he was thinking about your wedding when he ended things. It seemed more driven by the fact that he didn’t want to be with me,” I muttered.
“Sorry, I’ve been deep in wedding admin this week and literally thought earlier how at this point, nothing could be thrown at me that would derail those plans. But this isn’t about me, it’s about you. How are you feeling?”
“Well, I’m eating a lasagne—that I just got out of the oven—straight from the dish, so make of that what you will, Bex.” The pasta was still too hot, but the damage had already been done, so I started eating in earnest.
“Shit, did that day already come around so quickly? That was supposed to be the lasagne, wasn’t it?” I had only told one person about my plans to propose. Becky. And I only did that because I knew she could help me figure out what to propose with, as a ring was out of the question. If I hadn’t needed that assistance, then no one would have known. Why had I ever thought it was a good idea to marry that man?
“You mean the lasagne I was going to make on the evening I proposed marriage to my long-term boyfriend? Yes, yes it was,” I said, my voice muffled by the mouthful of pasta I was eating.
“Did he know?”
“Not until he came home and saw the box I hadn’t gotten around to hiding yet because this lasagne wasn’t playing ball. He brought it through to the kitchen and said it was a good thing he found it because it would have been pretty embarrassing when he said ‘no’. Then there was something about how I wasn’t the person he fell in love with anymore. I agreed with him, and then he left.” I shoved more pasta into my mouth. It was one of the best I’d made in a while, but that might have been because it had been such a fight to get there.
“He said what?” Becky asked in disbelief.
I sighed. “Bex, I love you, but as I am sure you can imagine, I am not in the right headspace to do a deep dive into the last conversation I had with my boyfriend. The headline is: Clara and Drew are no more.”
“Yeah, yeah, of course. Sorry, I just can’t believe it’s over. After all this time.” Becky sounded apologetic.
“He was right about one thing. He did save me from embarrassing myself.”
“Small mercies.”
I laughed. An actual laugh this time. “The smallest of mercies.”
Silence fell between us as I carried on eating.
“Are you still there?” Becky asked eventually, just as a knock on the door cut through the music, now playing at a much quieter volume.
“Yeah, but I’ve gotta go. Someone’s at the door.” I let my fork fall into the oven dish.
“I can wait while you go deal with that,” Becky said.
“No, no. It will be Jesse. I took in a delivery for him earlier, and he’s probably here to collect.” I headed towards the door.
“And that is going to take longer than thirty seconds?”
“Becky, I’ll call you later. Better yet, just come over tomorrow if you want. I have no hopes, dreams, or love in my future, so I’ll be here all day.” I was mostly joking, but it still managed to strike a nerve.
“I’ll bring the girls,” Becky said.
“Sounds great. Love you, bye,” I rushed out as my hand hovered over the front door handle.
“Love you too.” Becky hung up, and I slipped my phone into one of the pockets of my joggers.
I opened the door to find my neighbour, Jesse, standing there. His whole face lit up when he saw me.
* * *
Jesse had moved in across the hall from me when I was in the middle of trying to beat the plot of my romance novel into submission before its deadline. The continual banging and clattering from across the hall had enraged me like nothing else on that particular day, and so my introduction to our new neighbour had been throwing the front door open and shouting at them to keep the noise down.
To Jesse’s credit, he was as quiet as possible for the rest of the day. The following afternoon, he knocked on the door bearing cookies and a latte. My opinion of him did a complete one-eighty because he had brought me the pick-me-up I so desperately needed.
I’d invited him in in a bid to undo the terrible first impression I had made, and although he was wary of the invitation at first, he followed me into my flat. When we got into the kitchen, which doubled as my office because it got the most light, he immediately noticed the book I had splayed on the kitchen counter.
“Please tell me you like it.” He gestured to the book. Something about the quiet, almost scared way he spoke told me that the Jesse Bounds on the front cover was the very same one standing in my kitchen. I tended to go into fantasy books with as little knowledge as possible on what it would be about, so hadn’t looked at anything in the book that wasn’t the story itself.
“I’ve only just started it, but so far, so good.”
His shoulders sagged in relief as I snatched up a cookie and started eating.
I lost track of time after that. What had started as a much-needed editing break turned into getting to know our new neighbour, which then, somehow, led to a breakthrough with a scene that had been the bane of my existence since I had started writing the book. It was only when Drew came home that I noticed the entire afternoon had passed. Jesse briefly introduced himself to Drew, who spent the entire interaction with his chest puffed and his shoulders back, before he let himself out of the flat.
“Who was that?” Drew asked the second he heard the click of the front door.
“New neighbour,” I’d said, typing away on my laptop. I was desperately trying to cling to the flow I had found and could feel Drew pulling me out of it. Not that he noticed.
“Oh, you seemed annoyed by him yesterday and what, now you’re suddenly best friends?” he asked, the line of tension still running through his shoulders even though the supposed threat had left.
“He brought cookies and coffee.” I shrugged and then suddenly remembered Jesse’s book, still resting on the kitchen counter, although it was now closed. “It turns out that he is this Jesse Bounds, how cool is that?”
“I guess…if you’re into that sort of thing?”
“Well, I’m a writer, and I’m reading his book, so I’m into that sort of thing.” I’d put the book back down and carried on typing. Drew huffed.
“Did you actually get anything done today?” he asked.
“Yes, it’s been quite productive. I’m in the middle of something right now. Are you okay to deal with dinner?” I’d replied, not looking up from my screen. I didn’t need to see Drew’s face to know that he was annoyed.
“Guess I don’t have much choice if I want to eat.”
I’d ignored him, took myself into the living room, and carried on working.
* * *
That had been three years ago and the start of a ritual whenever one of us was on deadline. Cookies, coffee, conversation. All served as a reminder to take a damn break and not spend hours staring at a screen.
“Hey, Clara, are they here?” Jesse was a big guy. Tall, broad shoulders, solid. But he had a childlike glee to him as he stood almost bouncing on the spot in the hallway. It was cute.
I nodded and gestured to the box sat opposite my front door, just out of the way so it wasn’t a trip hazard. He stepped into my flat and picked up the box with ease, taking it into the living room and setting it on the coffee table. He removed his keys from his back pocket and ran one of them along the line of tape on the box.
His excitement was tangible as he pulled the cardboard open, and when I caught the first glimpse of the cover, I could see why.
It was a thing of beauty.
Castles and griffins. Rich purples and blues. His name standing out in an unexpected yellow font.
“Oh my god! This is better than anything I could have imagined. I mean, the illustrations were stunning when I saw them digitally, but seeing it in the flesh? Ugh, it’s a different kind of beauty.” He picked up a second book and thrust it in my direction.
I took it.
“It’s beautiful.” The second I spoke, I could hear that I didn’t sound okay. So could he.
“What happened?” he asked immediately, closing the box and setting his book down on top. I ran a finger along the embossed name on the book in my hands and took a deep breath.
“Drew left.” Admitting it for the first time had been easy. Easy enough that I thought it would stay that way, but I was wrong. Saying it for the second time made my eyes sting with the hot press of tears, and my throat closed up.
“Left how?” Jesse took a tentative step closer.
I tried to take another deep breath, but it stuttered in my chest. “We broke up,” I said quietly. It was all I could manage.
Before I could register what was happening, I found myself wrapped up in Jesse’s arms right before I started sobbing. Deep, guttural sobs that took over my whole body and stole my breath.
I don’t know how long we stood like that in the middle of my living room. Every time I thought I cried my last tear, a new wave of emotion hit me, and the floodgates stayed open as I grieved the last ten years of my life. Jesse held on to me tightly until the tears finally dried up.
I pulled out of his hold a little so I could see Jesse’s face. His eyes, one blue, the other both blue and brown, were full of concern as they darted around my face.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall apart on you like that.” My voice sounded ruined and thick.
“You have nothing to be sorry for. He was a huge part of your life. You’re allowed to cry about it ending.” He wasn’t pulling away from the hug. I didn’t want to either, but I needed to wipe my face, so I stepped back.
“I can apologise for snotting all over you with lasagne,” I offered as I rubbed the hem of my T-shirt across my face. There was a wet patch on Jesse’s blue T-shirt, evidence of the sobbing mess I had been mere minutes earlier. It was disgusting, but I didn’t have it in me to care.
“You made a lasagne?” Jesse asked, his eyes still concerned as they followed me walking backwards into the kitchen.
“Ummm…yeah. Tonight was supposed to—” I stuttered to a stop before I took a deep breath and continued. “I was struck by the urge. There’s dessert as well if you fancy it.” I managed a smile.
“You really went all out for a Thursday.” Jesse picked up his discarded book and followed me into the kitchen. I swivelled around when I crossed the threshold of the room and came to an immediate stop. Jesse wasn’t prepared for my abrupt halt and bumped into the back of me, his arm wrapping around my waist to stop me from falling.
“Are you…” He trailed off, and I knew he could see what I was looking at—the black box still resting on the now clean island. He let go and stepped around me, picking up the box and putting his book down on the counter. I went to move the lasagne from by the oven to the island, setting it down and picking my fork back up. I shoved a too-large forkful into my mouth. At least it wasn’t burning the roof of my mouth anymore.
“Are we not doing plates?” he joked as he fetched his own fork.
“This is a perfectly good receptacle to eat from.” I shrugged as Jesse started working on the other side.
“This is really good,” he said halfway through his first bite.
“You would not believe the way it fucked me around today to get it to this point.” I wiped the back of my hand over my eyes again. Jesse smiled as he took another forkful, and we sat in near silence, the only sound the clinking of our forks against the dish.
Eventually, Jesse spoke again.
“Him or you?” His tone was gentle.
I cleared my throat wetly.
“The question was never asked. But it would have been me. To him.” Now that the floodgates had been opened, apparently, the tears weren’t going to stop. I wiped a stray tear off my cheek.
“Did you a favour then by being a dick?” Jesse offered. I just shoved more pasta into my mouth. Suddenly, Jesse’s fork clattered into the dish, and he grabbed his book off the counter. “I forgot to show you the best part of this book.” He flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for and handed it to me. I took it with my free hand.
Never has a book been so fuelled by coffee and cookies. Thanks to Clara for the never-ending supply .
I read it three times before I realised that I was the Clara he was talking about.
“I’m your book dedication?” I blinked rapidly, trying to stop the tears from falling again. I had done enough crying tonight.
“I ran out of other people.” Jesse smiled and picked his fork back up.
I tapped his fork with mine. “Leave room for dessert.”
* * *
At one a.m., when I was back sitting on the kitchen island, eating ice cream with one hand and reading Jesse’s new book with the other, I remembered the velvet box was still in the room with me. I put the book down and looked for it, but no matter how hard I searched, I couldn’t find it.