Page 35 of Someone Like You

‘No,’ says Ursula, rejecting this line of reasoning. ‘What Poppy and I witnessed last night was more than protectiveness. And I’d say these feelings have only recently come on. For Gaby, theconceptof matching Rafferty has now becomereality, triggering this response.’

‘Interesting,’ says Paloma. ‘So, now she’s been confronted withthe competition, it’s made her realise there’s more to the friendship than she thought.’

‘Actually,’ I say, ‘I doubt she’s even aware at this stage. And if she does become cognisant of her feelings for Raff, she may conclude on her own that they’re misplaced. We also need Gaby to act as envoy between us and Raff – otherwise we won’t be able to action our meet-by-happenstance plan.’

‘In that case,’ says Saskia, ‘why don’t you proceed as planned but keep an eye on Gaby. If she comes to realise her true feelings or the manifestation of her feelings escalates, then let’s revisit this.’

‘Sounds good, Sask,’ Paloma agrees. ‘And thank you for raising this issue,’ she says to me and Ursula. And with that, we’re dismissed.

Even though we have a way forward, I’m worried that achieving Raff’s HEA may lead to Gaby and her feelings becoming collateral damage. And, based on our earlier conversation, I don’t know that I can keep my promise to Freya about sharing updates on the case.

Both realisations make me feel sick.

When I arrive home, our flat is warm and well-lit (thanks to our automated system), making it the sanctuary I’m craving after the day I’ve had.

Tristan’s keys aren’t in the catch-all on the hallstand, so I’ve beat him home, something that’s becoming less frequent as the year progresses. We’re so busy at the agency, I’m hoping we’ll take on another agent in the New Year.

I shrug out of my coat and hang it up, then call for Saffron.

Surprisingly –not– she doesn’t come, so I go into our room and change into my well-loved trackies and a hoodie – about as daggy as my outfits get.

Back in the lounge, I tell Google to start playing my favourite playlist of upbeat pop songs, then go to the fridge and take out the fixings for an epic grazing board. I may be a rubbish cook, but I can assemble a killer array of nibblies.

I’m putting on the finishing touches when Tristan’s key sounds in the lock.

As soon as he enters our flat, I fly into his arms, clasping my hands behind his back and burying my face in the collar of his wool coat. ‘I’m so glad you’re home,’ I say, my voice muffled. Still holding his laptop bag, one of his arms wraps around my waist, holding me tightly.

‘Did you have a bad day?’ he asks.

‘Not terrible, but definitely not great.’

‘I’m sorry, my love.’

‘But look,’ I say, gently easing out of our embrace, ‘I made dinner.’

He regards my triumph with obvious appreciation. ‘Nice. I can’t wait to dig in.’ His eyes meet mine, his expression softening. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to whip something up?’ he offers.

I shake my head. ‘I just want to veg out on the sofa and stuff my face with cheese and olives.’

‘Sounds good,’ he says, his eyes twinkling. ‘Give me a moment to change out of this,’ he says, glancing down, ‘and I’ll find us a nice bottle to go with your superb grazing board.’ He kisses me on the nose. ‘Be right back.’

While Tristan’s getting changed, I take the board to the lounge and set out plates, napkins, and utensils. I sit on the sofa, tucking my feet underneath me right as Saffron comes out of her room, her mouth stretching into a wide yawn.

‘Oh, hello, little minx,’ I say. ‘Did you wake up because Tristan’s home?’

She ignores me, instead sniffing the air.

‘You haven’t been fed yet, but I’m sure your boyfriend will sort you out after he’s changed.’

‘Hello, Saffy,’ Tristan coos as he enters wearing almost an identical outfit to mine. If it were possible, I’d love him even more for slumming it in tracky dacks with his dag of a wife.

Saffron runs to him and he scoops her up one-handed and holds her to his chest. Even when he takes her with him into the kitchen, I can hear her purring. I’m convinced she’d be happier if it was just the two of them. He quickly feeds her, then peruses the wine fridge, returning with a Pinot Noir and two glasses.

‘How’s this?’ he asks, showing me the label.

‘Great,’ I reply. I barely know my Sauv Blanc from my Cab Sauv, but it’s nice of him to ask.

He pours and hands me a glass, then lifts his. ‘To tomorrow being better than today.’

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