Page 67 of Not That Complicated

“Why?” If I looked like Adam, and people would pay for the privilege of looking at me, I’d be tempted.

“You never know who you'll run into, working in a job like this,” he said, giving me a heavy look.

I pointed at myself. “You mean me?”

“Yes, Ray. That’s what I mean.”

“Well, you won't find me on the set of a photo shoot, that’s for sure.”

“No,” Adam said softly. “You won’t.”

He reached out and touched my chin. I leaned into it, into him, only to jerk back when the phone on the desk rang.

“Excuse me, I have to get that.” Adam answered the phone. He gave it his full attention, ignoring me completely.

I stood there feeling bereft because I didn’t get my kiss, and indignant that he could shake me up so easily, then switch straight into business mode while I was left buzzing and off-balance.

After a minute, Adam turned to look at me with a raised eyebrow.

I hurried off.

I was still turning it over in my head as I strode to the coffee shop. The sky was blue, the sun was shining. It wasn’t too busy. Yes. This was what I needed. Fresh air.

I felt better already.

It was later than I usually went to The Chipped Cup, but I was fairly confident that I’d find a seat and a power outlet. I strode briskly on, a bounce in my step.

Then I walked into the shop and the comforting noise, a blend of crockery clattering, steam hissing and people talking, cut out.

Everyone stared at me, judgement in their eyes.

I felt my own eyes widen in response, and I clutched my laptop bag tighter. My eyelid twitched. Nobody moved.

Fuck.

They all knew about me and Adam, didn’t they? I knew I shouldn’t have let Adam and his boner answer the room service. How did it even get around town so fast? I blamed Facebook. No, WhatsApp. No.TikTok.

They were judging me for being an ageing creep who lusts after young man-flesh. And wondering why Adam was wasting his time.

It was probably no more than ten seconds before someone coming in off the street behind jostled me forward and fully into the shop, but it felt like an eternity. An eternity during which I was torn between two opposing actions: to turn tail and run, or to toss my head and strut my yeah-that’s-right-I-got-some stuff to the counter and order a quadruple-shot espresso because, did I mention? Igotit last night.

In the end, I kept my head down and walked up to the counter like it was any other day.

Sound returned, thank god, although I had the crawling sense that people were still watching.

“Hi,” I said to Amalie.

She was between customers and had been absorbed in reading the paper, her elbows propped on the counter and her attention glued to it. When I approached, she looked up and did an odd little double-take before saying warily, “Hi.”

You’d think there was something, anything, more exciting going on in Chipping Fairford for people to gossip about other than who answered my hotel room door last night.

“So, I guess people are judging me pretty hard right now,” I said after a beat of silence.

Bring it out into the open, I thought. Confront it head on.

Amalie gave an awkward shrug, her eyes flickering down to the paper and back up.

People weresuchgossips.

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