Page 42 of Someone Like You

Oh, right – the article about Raff. Phew.

A blush creeps up Raff’s cheeks and he shakes his head as he breaks into a smile. ‘Thanks.’

‘None of that false modesty nonsense. It was a cracking article, and you looked so dashing in the photographs,’ she says.

He accepts the compliment withslightlymore grace than the congratulations, tipping his head and saying, ‘Well, thank you – but that’s just testament to what a good photographer can do.’

‘And stylist,’ Freya adds, likely not realising she’s added a backhand to her compliment. ‘Loved the outfit. Did you get to keep it?’

‘Er, yes, actually.’

‘I didn’t know that,’ I say, surprised. ‘You didn’t bring anything home with you.’

‘Well, I mean sort of. The designer was so happy with the shots, they sent me two pairs of jeans and five dress shirts.’

‘Nice perk, Delaney,’ I quip, and he grins.

Maybe the next time Freya and I try to entice him to go clothes shopping – for clothes that actually fit – we’ll be successful.

‘Right, enough about me, what’s that then?’ he asks, nodding at my almost finished drink.

‘Apple cinnamon spritz.’

‘Ooh, yum,’ he says. ‘Another?’ he asks.

‘Sure.’

‘Frey? What’ll it be?’

‘White wine, please.’

‘This coming from Miss Christmas?’ I ask, pretending to be aghast. ‘Bah, humbug!’ I declare. ‘Try again.’

‘Fine,’ she says with a giggle. ‘I’ll have what Gaby’s having.’

Raff disappears into the growing crowd, snaking his way to the bar.

‘So, back to Jane…’ she says, a glint of mischief in her eye. She takes out her phone and taps away, and ten seconds later, shows me a customisable Christmas stocking on an artisan website. ‘What about this one?’ she asks.

‘Uh, no.’

‘Why not?’ She tilts her head as she regards her phone screen.

‘Because you’re putting the cart and all the hay it’s carryingwaybefore the horse.’

She blinks at me as if confused, then she leans in close. ‘But Jane was the number-one potential,’ she says loudly. We may be in a noisy bar but it’s a good thing Raff’s still getting our drinks, his reddish curls visible above the crowd.

‘Yes, but you’ve told me a million times that matchmaking isn’t an exact science,’ I retort. ‘Besides, Jane was only first because the perfect opportunity presented itself.’

Freya’s mouth puckers and she slumps on her stool.

‘Here we are: three apple cinnamon spritzes,’ says Raff, setting them on the table.

He climbs back onto the third stool and takes a sip of his drink, then licks his lips. I shoot Freya a look. Stupidly, I forgot to tell herIwould take the lead on bringing up the course – and Jane – so I do my best to convey this with my eyes.

My best isn’t good enough.

‘So, how was your course on the weekend, Raff? Meet anyone interesting?’

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