Page 54 of The Moon Also Rises
“You didn’t message on Sunday, or Monday, or yesterday,” he says in a much quieter voice, a voice that could possibly even be described as hurt.
“I didn’t know I had to… Wait. You didn’t message me either,” I say, trying to keep my tone as calm as I can.
Jake considers this for a moment, his bottom lip disappearing into his mouth and being worked over by his teeth. “That’s true, but I was driving home and you woke up earlier than me and… Look, it would have been nice if you had messaged. That’s all. Saturday was… Saturday was fun.”
I could be reaching when I say it looks like those words took something out of Jake, but then I also see how he still can’t hold my gaze for more than a few flighty seconds and it has me very intrigued by what the hell is going on in his brain.
“Itwasfun,” I agree. “And I’m sorry I didn’t text. I didn’t really have anything to say and I knew I was going to see you today and I wasn’t… I wasn’t sure that we were… you know, friends.”
“Friends?” Jake’s eyebrows arch high.
“Yes,” I say and I feel like that cost me something too.
“I guess we are,” he concedes. He gets up and walks towards the table. Grabbing hold of a stack of receipts and two piles of paperwork, he takes them back to his desk. “Is that enough space?”
I smile as I reply, “Yes, thank you.”
We both sit and silence falls as we work on our computers. A few minutes later a new chat notification pops up on my screen.
“Looks like I’m in the same meeting as you today,” I tell Jake.
“Oh God, I hope it’s not bad news.” Jake groans.
“Why would it be bad news?” I look up at him and he does indeed look worried, his brow furrowed and eyes wide. “It could be a new project or something good.”
“Maybe,” Jake says but he doesn’t look reassured.
“How was everyone on Sunday?” I ask, now I have his attention. “The morning after?”
“Oh, ghastly. I mean, that was how I felt and how I looked. Everyone else still looked like Tom Ford, just this time in carefully pressed casual attire.”
I chuckle easily. I like how Jake can make me laugh far too much. “And your drive home?” I ask, realising I could have messaged to check this on Sunday, but surely that would have been over-stepping? Surely that would have been pointless contact Jake didn’t need when he was hungover, tired and driving home after an intense day?
Was that why I didn’t message him?
Or was it something else?
“Dull. Tons of traffic on the M25. I consumed two days’ worth of calories in gelatine-based confectionery.”
“A small price to pay for a successfully completed mission though, surely? Because it was a great success, wasn’t it?”
Jake removes the plastic lid and stares into his coffee cup. “I suppose it was. Thank you again for that.”
“My pleasure,” I say, and I hope it’s not too strange to Jake that it really was.
“And the good news is you don’t need to put yourself out like that again. I’ll wait a few weeks and then I’ll tell Lionel and Luigi that we parted ways in a very mature, amicable fashion and that I am once again very happy to be single and ready to mingle with London’s most illegible and possibly illiterate bachelors.”
“Jake, it really wasn’t a—”
A firm knock on the door interrupts me and we both turn to see Sharon standing there.
“Someone here to see you at Reception,” she says after briefly taking in the stacks of magazines on the floor.
“Who, me?” Jake sits up straighter and reaches for the lip balm on his desk.
“No, both of you,” Sharon’s eyes narrow as they ping-pong between us.
“Both of us?” he asks as he applies said lip balm. It’s the same as the one he was wearing on Saturday. The one that tastes of cherries.
