Chapter 5 Andrea
Andrea
The Fox & Filter was bustling. Thank God there were no faces I recognized from work. Having lunch with a hot gym instructor would be circulated in a Teams chat by lunchtime—especially since Gerald thought I’d gone home.
My phone pinged.
James: ANDY! Aren’t you dying to know what it is?
I set the phone on the table and looked at the man across from me. “Sorry—work friend.”
Chesty smiled. I still didn’t know his name. I’d cried on him and used him as emergency cushioning, but names had apparently been too intimate.
“Water?” He was already raising a hand to get the waiter’s attention.
“Yes, please.” I held up the phone. “I just need to answer this. He gets emotional if I don’t reply.”
He nodded as if it were perfectly reasonable.
Me: Yes. I’m dying. Tell me.
James: I know who the new owner is. Not good.
A cold fizz ran over my forearms.
Me: Who?
James: Well, put it this way. Monish saw Gerald saying Guten Tag to the bathroom mirror, so money’s on the ancient German billionaire.
Fuck. It was him.
Me: Not Wilhelm von Roth?
James: The fossilized frankfurter himself.
The man opposite filled my glass.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah. Just … work stuff.”
Perhaps Gerald had a mini break to Berlin lined up. It was meant to be very popular with middle-aged men rediscovering techno.
I lifted the glass and the ice clattered like a maraca. Involuntary table percussion—perfect. I set it down and sat on my hands. Maybe I needed something stronger than water.
“So,” I said quickly. “You know my name, but I don’t actually know yours.”
“Oh, I normally wait for at least two shared disasters before I give that up.” He smiled. “What if you turn out to be a stalker?”
The waiter appeared. “Ready to order?”
“Don’t happen to serve paninis, do you?” Chesty smiled in my direction.
“Actually, sir, we do.” The waiter rattled off options.
“I’ll have the cheese and tomato,” I said. “And a plate of chips, please.”
“Same for me.” He reached for his glass and took a sip.
“I thought you said you weren’t hungry?” he said, after the waiter left.
“I thought you said lifts don’t fall?”
He huffed a little laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah, yeah. Touché. It seems I oversold the safety mechanisms.”
Apart from the ruffled hair and mascara smeared across his T-shirt, he looked obscenely together considering what we’d gone through.
It was hard to imagine I’d had my face smooshed into that chest just over an hour earlier.
I could still remember how he smelled. Cotton T-shirts.
Summer skin. Cocoa? Something I definitely shouldn’t know.
I tugged at the sides of my skirt under the table and attempted to cover my legs. Nope. It was still too small.
“It’s Liam, by the way,” he said. “Before we hit disaster number two.”
Liam.
He had a posh sort of way of speaking that didn’t really fit his personal trainer vibe. Probably one of those high-end fitness gurus who charged two hundred pounds an hour to tell people their glutes were lazy.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Liam.”
I reached for my drink again, but my hand was still wobbling. I pulled it back, but it was too late—he’d already seen it.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
I wished he’d stop being so nice to me. I felt like I might unravel.
“Yeah. Just … a bit of an odd day.”
Liam’s phone buzzed, and he looked at it briefly before turning it to silent.
“You don’t have anywhere else you need to be?” I asked. Surely he’d be losing money if he left his clients hanging.
“Nothing that can’t wait.”
The waiter reappeared. “Sorry, we’re out of tomato—we could do cheese and ham, or cheese and pickle.”
“Pickle,” we both said.
“And a Harveys Bristol Cream,” I added. I needed something to steady my nerves.
“Of course. Anything for you, sir?”
“Ah … sure.” A small cough. “I’ll have the same.”
We watched as he left.
Liam turned to me. “Sherry?” I couldn’t tell if he was horrified or impressed. Probably horrified. “That’s what my gran drinks.”
“It’s medicinal.” I folded my arms. “Plus, it tastes like Christmas. Anyway. You’re getting the same, Gramps.”
“Couldn’t let you drink alone.” He shrugged. “Although next time, I’d probably lean toward beer over lunch.”
Next time?
My eyes flicked up before I could stop them.
Shit. Too obvious.
He didn’t mean next time with me.
Did he?
No. Probably just next time he ended up saving someone from death in an elevator. Not that it mattered. I was absolutely not in the market for complications. I could barely handle lunch.
The sherries arrived, and I took a sip. It was sweet and festive—like drinking a doily. Turkey and tinsel. Nan. Happier times, before Dad died and Mum got all … Mum.
Liam put his drink to his lips, pursing like he was hiding a shudder. The small crystal glass looked ridiculous in his large hand.
There was a sharp tap on the window to my left.
Jesus. Seriously?
James was pressed up against the pane, waving frantically, eyes darting between Liam and me. The man had no shame.
I gave him the smallest finger wave I could manage and turned back to Liam like this was normal. Had he seen him? He had his eyes down like he was studying the table.
James’s face vanished, and my phone pinged almost immediately.
“Ah—sorry,” I said, smiling awkwardly.
Please don’t let him come in.
Please don’t let him—
I picked up the phone again.
James: Is that the lift man? The actual lift man? YOU DIDN’T TELL ME HE WAS BUILT LIKE A SECURITY DOOR!!!
Me: Stop looking through windows like a stalker.
James: I will not. You are on a DATE! With a man who could physically reassemble you if you broke!
I glanced up. Liam was politely pretending not to notice.
Me: It’s not a date. We’re just eating.
James: Please. Every hookup starts with people “just eating.” ORDER SOMETHING STRONG AND BE THE WOMAN YOU WERE MEANT TO BE. DO IT FOR ME!!!
I muted my phone and turned it face down before he could send another paragraph ending in exclamation marks.
“Sorry about that, my phone won’t shut up,” I said.
“More work stuff?”
“Just my friend. The one from the … er … window.” I tipped my head toward the glass. “He thinks I’m on a date.”
He made a sound through his nose like a laugh. “I see. Aren’t we?”
What? Was he … hitting on me?
“I don’t think either of us would want that,” I said quickly. “I’m basically a walking hazard sign right now.”
I still couldn’t believe what had happened with Rudy—how fast someone you loved could turn on you without warning.
Liam leaned back in his chair and looked out the window. “Same.”
Oh.
“It’s been a shitty few months,” he added, almost offhand. He tipped the rest of his sherry down his throat. “Getting stuck in a lift with you has actually been a highlight.” He gave a crooked smile. “Pretty grim, I know.”
We sat there for a moment. The sherry felt warm in my stomach, and when I lifted my glass again, my hand had stopped shaking.
The paninis arrived with a clatter of plates and cutlery.
“Another sherry, please,” I said. What the hell. I could always leave my car here overnight if I had to. I gave Liam a look like I was daring him to stop me.
Liam didn’t hesitate. “I’ll have one too, thanks.”
Hmm. Okay. The waiter nodded and disappeared.
“God, listen to us.” Liam shook his head. “Hanging on by a thread.”
“Right? At this rate, we’ll need name badges and a weekly meeting.”
“Bare minimum,” he said dryly. “At the very least, a regular supply of sherry.”
“If you’re after a therapist, I’ve got this?” I picked up my bag and offered it to him.
He laughed, then leaned forward on his elbow. “Not sure I’m mentally tough enough for your handbag.”
His face was suddenly very close, his brown eyes warm and sharp.
“I … um … yes.”
The waiter arrived with the sherries, and Liam picked his up and looked at it.
“Well, good for us,” he said. “Here’s to day-drinking sherry and ignoring unsolicited advice from bossy electronics.”
I laughed. “And to politely ignoring dick graffiti when you’re trapped in a lift with a stranger?”
“There was dick graffiti?” he said. “Didn’t notice—too busy deciphering ‘wait for ass.’”
“Oh God.” I clapped a hand over my mouth. “I’d forgotten about that.”
We clinked, tapping our little crystal glasses together like a pair of old ladies.
“And to disaster number two,” he said, lowering his glass slightly. “Whatever that ends up being.”
The warmth in my chest deepened into something distinctly less wholesome.
Before I could decide what to do with it, Liam’s phone buzzed. He turned it over, and a name flashed: Bonnie.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I do actually have to take this one.”
“Of course.” I waved him away, and he stepped outside.
Bonnie.
Who was she—a client? A girlfriend?
Not that it mattered, as I wasn’t in the market anyway.
I picked up my phone. Three messages from Eliza—two texts and a photo of Mr. Darcy starfished in the laundry basket. She was on her way out, back tomorrow.
So much for medical supervision. Oh well. Netflix and hot chocolate with James would have to do.
I was halfway through typing a reply when my phone buzzed again.
Rudy: Andy. Please. Answer me. Yesterday was a mess.
Oh great. The waitress shagger. I braced myself for the tsunami of apologies.
Rudy: I miss you, Andybear, I just need ten minutes. That’s all. Please? It’s not what you think.
There it was—the stupid, automatic urge to believe him.
The pub door creaked, and Liam leaned in. “Won’t be long,” he mouthed, pointing at his phone.
I lifted a hand in a vague all good gesture.
How could I feel so hollow when my pulse was hammering?
My phone buzzed again.
Rudy: Where are you, babe? I’ll come to you. We can sort this out.
Maybe I was being unfair. I wanted to see him. Or … I wanted to see the version of him I used to believe in. Maybe that was still possible.
My thumb hovered over the screen.
I could meet him round the corner. It was just a conversation.
Should I?
I kept my eyes on the little typing dots.
Rudy: You didn’t even give me a chance to explain.
I paused. Why did I sense this was going to end up being my fault?