Page 21 of Shout Out To My Ex

I know that voice.

And when his head finally swivels in my direction and he removes his sunglasses, I know that face too.

‘Leo?’ I choke out, right as his eyes widen and he replies, ‘Ellie?’

7

ELLE

The strange thing about a moment like this is you can imagine it a thousand times, playing it out a thousand different ways, but you will never evenconsiderthat your ex-boyfriend (and possibly the love of your life) is the person you’re supposed to be meeting with.

Or that he’d look like such a tosspot.

This isn’t Leo –myLeo – this is a facsimile, a tacky Instagram filter come to life.

We gape at each other for what feels like an hour and, as my eyes scour his still-handsome angular face, thoughts and emotions zip about inside me, as if my body is hosting a dodgem car rally. Zoom – crash – zoom – crash. Lots of collisions.

And the questions! SO. MANY. QUESTIONS.

‘What are you doing here?’ pops out first.

‘Oh, um…’ He looks helplessly towards the door but Ser, the human butterfly, is nowhere to be seen – probably off flapping her wings and causing a tsunami somewhere across the world. She’s certainly caused one in here.

‘No, really, what the fuck are you doing here?’

Again, the words leave my mouth before the thought properly forms in my head. But it’s now patently clear that a decade’s worth of pining and longing and building up the memory of Leo in my mind has been constructed on a bedrock of anger. In the past ten years, it’s the one emotion I’ve never consciously experienced, yet here it is, centre stage and basking in its spotlight like a veil has been lifted.

‘More to the point, where the fuck have youbeen?’ I add, my voice laced with venom.

He seems to ignore my questions, or perhaps they’ve yet to land, as he’s still shaking his head in disbelief.

‘I’m not sure why I didn’t put two and two together and get four,’ he says with a slight smile.

‘Well, maths was never really your strong suit.’ This isn’t me – snarky questions and bitchy retorts – but I can’t seem to help it.

‘Bliss Designs,’ he says thoughtfully. ‘Well done, Ellie. It’s what you always wanted and from all accounts, you’ve made it.’

‘I’m called Elle now,Lorenzo.’

He fiddles with his fork, darkness clouding his features as he locks eyes with mine, his countenance visibly shifting. It seems my blows have finally landed.Good.

‘Ellethen,’ he says feebly.

His beer arrives and he barely acknowledges the waiter, instead lifting the bottle and tipping it sardonically in my direction. He takes a long pull as his eyes scan the restaurant. The waiter hovers nearby, probably to take our order. I send him a weak smile and thankfully, he gets the message and leaves.

‘So now what?’ I ask, knowing I’ve obliterated any chance of the hopeful, romantic reunion I’ve fantasised about forten years.

Or, more succinctly,hehas obliterated it, showing up unexpectedly like this – and looking ridiculous. I’m back toangry again, dizzy from the carousel of emotions whizzing through me.

Leo – or Lorenzo – I have no idea what to even call him – licks his lips and places the bottle on the table. It’s already half-empty. ‘I think we’re supposed to discuss a possible collaboration.’

‘Hah!’ I bark out.

‘Look, Ellie?—’

‘Elle.’

‘Sorry.Elle.’ He watches me, his eyes like a storm over the sea – dark grey with flecks of gold. Tempestuous. ‘You really had no idea?’ he asks, his voice low and gravelly (damn him) and that Texan drawl tempered by… By what? Age? Or has it been carefully curated along with the rest of this persona?

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