Page 85 of Hello Darling
He steps inside the foyer, notes the bag and coat that have been unceremoniously dropped onto the middle of the floor, the John Legend breakup song “All of Me” in the background, and nods once.
“Right, then. Before I forget—Cate wants me to thank your assistant for the engagement gift.”
“Cruel! I ordered it myself.”
“Did you? See, that’s what I told her but she didn’t believe me.”
“It was before I’d started filming.”
“Yeah. It’s what I told her. So what’s this, old chap?Stellevanon the rocks?”
“Stellevan!” I attempt to laugh, but what comes out is more of a pathetic choking death-moan that only ends when I bring the mouth of the bottle to my mouth and chug that scotch until my friend pulls it away from me.
“Let’s get some food and a little sense in you. Shall we—to the kitchen?”
“I love you, Liam.”
“Love you too, kid,” he says in his flawless American accent. “You got any food in this palace of yours?”
“Wendy probably filled the fridge yesterday.”
“Right. Off we go then.” He hangs his coat on the coat rack by the door and hangs up mine as well. He’s been a married guy forever. Doesn’t matter that they aren’t technically married yet. He’s been part of a couple for ages, and I want that now. I want it. “Evan?”
“What?”
“You’re not moving.”
“Oh.”
When he finally gets me to the kitchen, he makes me an omelet and crumpets, extra butter.
“She left while you were sleeping?”
I nod as I bite into the buttered crumpet.
“That’s cold.”
“She was trying to make it easier on me.”
“Well. Was it easier?”
“I don’t know. How would I know?” I whine and push the plate away and lay the side of my face flat on the cold marble countertop. This is not a good look.
“Did you call her when you realized she’d gone?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I sit up, almost fall off the stool, and then point my fork at him accusingly. “You think this is all my fault?”
“No, luv. I think nothing is your fault. I’m just trying to gather all the facts.”
“The fact is, she doesn’t want me. S’all there is to it,” I slur. “On to the next one!”
“Right, well. Maybe not quite.”
“I don’t want another next one,” I moan. “This omelet is really good.”
