Page 98 of Someone Like You

It’s not all about you, Gaby.

I’ve been so caught up in family drama – first Monica’s wedding, now Issy leaving Douchebag – as well as my own stuff, that I haven’t once thought about Raff and what he’s going through.

His parents brushed him off – atChristmas– and the two people he considers his parents are off doing their own thing. And here’s me practically drowning in familial love, yet completely up my own ass.

What a shitty, shitty friend I am.

Sometime later, having checked off his entire list – and filled the cart with a lot of items that weren’t on it – we stand in line to check out. Like he does most places, Raff stands head and shoulders above almost everyone.

He turns to me, grinning. ‘Don’t you just love Christmas, Gabs? I’m already having the best time.’

He turns back around and starts decanting our cart onto the conveyor belt.

And that right there – Raff’s love of life, his enthusiasm for something as simple as the mayhem of grocery shopping days before Christmas – is why I’m falling for him harder than ever.

I don’t know if I’ll be able to go back to normal when we get home. I don’t want to go back to normal. Because ‘normal’ means Raff and I are simply best friends and he’s dating (frigging) Julia.

As we move up in the line, Raff’s takes his phone out of his pocket and taps on the screen with his thumb, smiling gently to himself as he reads. I attempt to get a peek, but all I can see is that his messaging app is open, not what the message says. His head tilts to one side and he starts chuckling.

As he pockets the phone, he looks over his shoulder at me. ‘Julia – funny incident on the ski slope,’ he says, giving no further explanation.

Ofcourseit was her. I probably willed that message into existence just by thinking about her.

And it’s not like I need further explanation from Raff. He’s super into her and soon we’ll be back in London and so will she.

And then what?

24

GABY

‘So, how did I do?’ I say, holding up the sugar cookie I’ve decorated. ‘Think you’ll have a job for me at Baked to Perfection?’

Raff looks up from his perfectly decorated Christmas tree. ‘It’s, er…colourful,’ he replies diplomatically. He comes around to my side of the kitchen counter to inspect the other cookies I’ve decorated. He tried to teach me the proper technique, which involved piping, but I ended up with more frosting on me than on the cookies, so I’m now using a butter knife.

‘Is that one supposed to be a reindeer?’ he asks.

‘Christmas stocking,’ I reply.

‘Ahh.’ He pats me on the shoulder. ‘Well, at least they’ll taste good.’

‘Well, yeah, because you made the dough –andthe frosting.’

I regard my work; not one cookie looks like it’s supposed to.

‘It’s like we let a bunch of preschoolers in here and gave them a Jackson Pollock painting for inspiration,’ I say, selecting the worst of the bunch and biting off what’s supposed to be Rudolph’s nose.

‘It’s a good thing you have other talents,’ he says with a playful raise of his brows.

In another context, that might have sexual connotations. But I’m so far into the friendzone, I can’t evenseesex or romance or anything non-platonic from here. He’s obviously just being nice.

I study him for a moment, the intense concentration on his face, the way he skilfully pipes an intricate row of ornaments on a tiny Christmas tree. He has sexy hands, something that’s only occurred to me today. They’re large, with long tapered fingers, neat nails, and a smattering of freckles across the backs.

And as I watch their deft, precise movements, I start fantasising about what Raff could do to me with those hands – running them up my naked body, cupping my breasts, reaching between my?—

A phone chimes, interrupting the lascivious thoughts about my best friend’s hands. Probably a good thing – getting felt up in my parents’ kitchen while decorating Christmas cookies would be tacky. And messy.

‘Yours or mine?’ Raff asks without lifting his head.

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