Page 80 of The Best Book Boyfriend
“You sure you want to do this?” I check.
“Yep. I made you a bacon roll,” he says, passing me a warm bun wrapped in kitchen paper then doing up his seat belt. “Wasn’t sure if you like ketchup, but took a punt and put on a dollop, anyway.”
“Oh my god,” I unwrap it and take a big bite. “Why are you so good to me?”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full. Didn’t your parents teach you any manners?” he goads, and then we’re on our way.
The roads are pretty clear for a Friday morning. I plug my phone in and tell him he’s in charge of music.
“This feels like a test,” he says, scrubbing at his beard as he looks through my account. “Am I supposed to impress you with my music knowledge?”
“Ha!” It’s a ridiculous thought. “I know nothing about music, I pretty much only listen to the radio when I’m in the car, and podcasts about books.”
“What kind of music do you like?”
“Just play me what you like.”
We spend the next hour mostly silent, listening to his selection of songs, which are what I would describe as Sad Man Rock. It’s soothing and befitting of the mood we’re both in, coming up for air underneath the heavy weight of our lives. After a while, he changes the music to something more upbeat and I can feel my shoulders shifting to the beat. “This makes me think of being at one of those beach clubs in Ibiza.”
“You’ve been?”
“God, no, I just imagine that’s what it’s like. Did you and Heather travel much?” I ask, hoping I’m not stepping over a boundary. He shakes his head and bites his cheek.
“Not really. We wanted to, but then she got sick, and a lot of plans got put on hold.”
“How long was she sick for? If it’s OK to ask.”
“A long time. She was misdiagnosed a lot, things were passed off as viruses, then they said it was chronic fatigue stuff. By the time they figured out it was cancer, it had spread, so she needed a lot of treatment.”Jesus, the poor woman.
“That’s really sad. Where did you hope to go?”
“Everywhere really. We quite fancied a stint living in Australia. She loved animals, so she wanted to go to places where she could see them in the wild. After she died, I considered doing all those things in her memory, but the thought of being that far away without her just sucked. And now I’ve got the coffee shop, so that’s what I’m focusing on.”
I keep my eyes on the road, blinking away the wetness pooling in my eyes.
“What about you and Adam?” he asks.
“No, we never went anywhere.” I swallow thickly to clear my throat. “We were so focused on saving for a house, and then doing renovations. We actually did treat ourselves to our first ever holiday, but he left about a month before we were meant to fly out.”
“You didn’t go?”
“On my own? No way. I was too broken. I heard he took her instead.”
“What a prick.”
“Yep. So yeah, I’ve never been abroad. I’m a bit more of a homebody I think. I really enjoy where we live, but I like trips like this, just getting on the road for a bit.”
“I’ve only been abroad on a school trip to Paris when I was fifteen.”
“Was it fun?”
“Yeah, but we had to do loads of school work while we were there. Like go into a chemist and buy a toothbrush in French. So weird. All I remember isoù est la discothèque?“ His French accent is surprisingly good, and incredibly sexy.
“An essential phrase. Play something French.”
“Like what?”
“Um,Encore Une Fois.I can’t think of any other French songs.” He plays it loud, and I roll the windows down and we bob our heads, pointing fingers and dancing along in our seats, both attempting to sing even though we don’t know any of the words exceptEncore Une Foiswhich, thankfully, make up most of the song. When it ends we are out of breath, burned through our burst of energy. He chooses something more laid back and we fall into our comfy silence again.
