Page 115 of Someone Like You

I clear my throat so I don’t blurt that out.

‘Let’s take a break,’ I say instead.

Like me, Raff likes to leave a clean desk, even if he’s just taking a break, and he starts shuffling paper into piles. Now would be a good time to tell him that Aunt Christine thinks we’re together, but I can’t make myself say the words.

Because what if I jinx it?

Oh, for fuck’s sake, Gaby. Jinx it? What are you? Twelve?

But thereissomething I should raise with him. ‘Hey, Raff, before we join the others… You understand why I haven’t told them about the venue yet, right?’

‘Absolutely. You want to wait until we hear from everyone and present the contingency plan all in one go.’

This strategy is something he and I have both employed at Global Reach – individually and together. Launching a campaign can go south for a multitude of reasons. And before going back to the client, it’s best to have all the information and a fully formedplan to right the ship. That helps soften the blow and instil confidence.

‘Exactly,’ I say, glad he gets it.

‘I’d do the same thing, Gabs,’ he assures me.

‘So, you’re okay with outright lying if anyone asks?’

‘Well, when you put it that way…’ he replies, his expression serious.

‘Raff! But what if I?—’

He laughs. ‘Gotcha.’ He winks, the left corner of his mouth lifting in a half smile, and it’s like a lightning bolt shoots through me, then concentrates between my legs.

Forget ‘cute’. Stop being to frigging SEXY, Rafferty.

I’m really out of my depth here.

After lunch, I’ll sneak away and text Poppy with an update. Which is that I am dying inside while distracting myself with save-the-wedding duties. Maybe she’ll have some keep-my-libido-in-check strategies she can share.

Like not sleeping in the same bed with the person you’re lusting after? Or not spending all morning holed up in a small study with him RIGHT THERE?

‘Gabs? Are you coming?’

His voice jolts me back to reality.

‘Yep!’ I reply cheerfully.

Please kill me now.

Poppy

We’re on the sofa watching theVicar of Dibleyepisode where Geraldine eats four Christmas dinners, and my phone alerts me to an incoming message. It’s from Gaby – and it’s long.

‘Everything all right, darling?’ Tristan asks, pausing the TV.

‘Umm…’ I scan the message, then look at Tristan. ‘Not great, actually. It’s Gaby. I should call her. Is that okay?’

‘Of course.’

I get up and take my phone into our bedroom. As I’m closing the door, Tristan un-pauses the episode, letting out a loud guffaw at Dawn French’s priceless facial expression at being served an entire plum pudding to herself.

I climb onto the bed and prop myself against some pillows, then call Gaby. She may not answer – it sounds like there’s a house full of people and she’s in the thick of handling a wedding fiasco – but she only sent the message a few minutes ago, so fingers crossed.

She answers almost right away. ‘Hi, Poppy,’ she says, her voice low.

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