Page 73 of An Unexpected Kind of Love

Gus, the usual courier who brings me offerings, does a double take when he sees the empty shop gleaming with newly installed floors. A few empty bookcases stand in a corner, with boxes beside them. “Trying a new look, Aubrey?”

“Mmm, what do you think?” I gaze around, hands on my hips, sunglasses pushed up on my hair. A smile plays on my lips. What has Blake done to me that I’m so happy, even in this mess that needs sorting? “Should I keep it?”

Gemma supervised the installation. The wall where there had been a hole is now repaired, no hint of any troubles with the fresh aubergine paint.

“Only if you’re into hardcore minimalism.” He scratches his jaw. “I kind of like the purple paint, though.”

“Yeah, it’s grown on me,” I admit. The way the sunlight floods the shop in its newfound expanse of space is somehow comforting amid the havoc. “This happened because of filming,” I explain.

“Ah, say no more.” Gus claps me on the shoulder. “Good luck sorting this out, mate.”

“I’m going to need it.” I shake my head. Gus gets on with the business of bringing in fresh stock that I have nowhere to place, so he adds it to my growing collection of boxes.

And with newfound confidence, inspired possibly by Blake’s usual ease at moving through the world, I bring my laptop out to the front counter and perch. This, at least, is familiar. The wrapped gift for Ryan sits beside me on a stack of books, my flat white providing a caffeinated lift. The first croissant disappears quickly.

My phone buzzes. I pick it up from the counter.

Landed at Heathrow. Have we ever talked about black beans?

I smile and text back.Don’t think so.

Important fact: I ate a shocking amount of black bean tacos while I was in L.A.

Laughing, I shake my head, even though he can’t see me.

If you’re up for non-Mexican later, would you come with me to Ryan’s birthday? x

Course.

A thrill runs through me at the thought of seeing Blake in a few hours, along with nerves about introducing him to my friends at last. Most of all, I can’t wait to see him.

At last evening comes around, which means Blake. Which also, finally, means Ryan’s birthday. With enough angst about introducing Blake to my friends to make an emo teen quiver, I get ready and do my best to make myself presentable.

In the end, I find a short-sleeved blue linen shirt and some non-falling-apart jeans for a smart-casual sort of look with a bit of spit and polish on my old Docs. When Blake arrives on my doorstep, he’s all designer chic in a crisp white shirt and gray jeans and a light cotton jacket. Behind him, twilight purples the sky. We kiss.

He’s still delicious.

“Mm, missed you,” murmurs Blake, whose hand along my jaw makes we want to drag him inside and forget about the whole party, but reason prevails. Or maybe duty. Lily would never let me live it down if I failed to bring Blake for her to meet.

“Missed you too. Tell me about the audition on the way?” It’s only been a couple of days, but even that absence felt like a lifetime. The gift’s tucked under my arm. “Ready?”

“You bet. How about you?” Blake’s gaze is appraising as he gives me a wry smile.

“Gah. But I’ll live. At least it’s not their wedding day.” I shake my head. “Sorry, it’s petty. Should get over this.”

“I don’t see why you should,” Blake says frankly. “Going to your ex’s partner’s birthday is a big ask.”

“Well, Ryan’s also my friend,” I point out. “Even with everything.”

It’s true that Ryan was my friend first, after that day we met, when he fixed the flat tire on my bike. After that first night out with Eli for drinks, Ryan would stop by the shop regularly for books and a visit around closing time, when we would carry on to the pub around the corner once the shop was shuttered for the night. He was always good to his word—the night he failed to show up as planned left me sick to my stomach with unease. Later that night we found out through another common acquaintance about the dreadful accident up the street where a cyclist had been struck.

The rest is too awful to think about, but the guilt still lingers, knowing that Ryan had been on his way to see me. Instead, my grip’s tight on Blake’s hand, anchoring me in the present day.

We walk along the evening streets of Soho. Cars are parked on curbs, queues of the fashionable waiting for restaurants snake down pavements, and pub patrons spill out onto the street. The evening crowds are cheerful, the night young.

“How was L.A.? And the audition?” I ask.

“L.A.’s epic as ever.” Blake grins. “Though, really, it’s a blur between time zones and taxis. I think I showed up at the right place and did the right audition. Hard to say.”

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