Page 8 of Crying in the Rain

“Like a Swedish’Allo, ’Allo!” Ade mused.

Kris laughed. “Can you imagine?”

“A BAFTA winner, for sure.”

“Oh, totally.”

“Plus, if you don’t mind me saying, you are a handsome man.”

Kris smiled, bashful but flattered. “Why would I mind you saying that?”

“Some people don’t like it—a man telling another man he thinks he’s good-looking?”

“Hey, I’ll take compliments however they’re packaged.”

Both of them laughed at that, until Ade drew in breath sharply and squeezed his eyes shut. Whatever was going on with him, he was clearly in a lot of pain.

“Have you taken anything for that…toothache or whatever it is?” Kris asked.

“No. I meant to buy painkillers on the way in but forgot.”

“I’ve got some.” Kris picked up his bag from the seat next to him and rooted out the packet. “They’re co-codamol. Is that OK?”

Ade took the offered pills, poking them between his lips with his fingertip and following up with the smallest slurp of coffee.

“You probably know already,” Kris said carefully, “but you have bruises.”

“Have I? Where?”

Kris indicated on his own face, positioning his fingertips and thumb either side of his chin.

A flash of pure horror passed over Ade’s features, so quick Kris would’ve missed it if he hadn’t been staring straight at him, but then Ade rolled his eyes. “That’s the last time I down so much wine on a work night.”

Never mind BAFTAs or ARIAs. Ade should’ve been starring in the play, not producing it, because that performance was award-winning. Kris might’ve been mistaken, but Ade didn’t seem the type to get into drunken brawls, and those bruises, four on one side of his jaw, one on the other, were from someone who’d got up close and very personal.

“Anyway, I disturbed your rehearsal,” Ade said, standing. “I’ll leave—”

“No, don’t,” Kris interrupted. It was a fight not to reach out and offer comfort, lay a hand on Ade’s, something he’d never do without permission even with people he knew well, but… Hecouldn’t explain it, and now he’d made the situation more awkward by pressuring Ade to stay.

“I mean, don’t go on my account.”

“If you’re sure…”

“Really.”

Ade sat back down and took out his phone. “I’ll take a look at my checklist for today. Give you some peace.” He winked.

Kris smiled, though his heart was still racing from the total hash he’d made of what should’ve been a casual coffee with the producer. The trouble was it felt more than casual, and he was staring again. He put a stop to that right away and dug into the script, but the words were a nonsense blur, so he reverted to looking out the window, pretending he wasn’t aware of every little move Ade made. Typing on his screen. Scrolling. A sip of coffee. Another sharp inhale when he touched the biggest of the bruises on his jaw.

Inevitably, Kris’s gaze drifted back to Ade, who immediately put his phone face down on the table and attempted a smile.

“I need to tell you about the thing,” he said.

“The thing?” Kris shook his head. “It’s none of my business.”

“No!” Ade’s eyebrows shot up in alarm, a coppery auburn, same as his hair. He grunted and bashed his forehead with his fist, flattening some of the short, gelled spikes. “I didn’t mean…” He held up his hands, gesturing to himself. “It’s a me thing. Nothing sinister.”

“OK?”

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