Someone Like You (The Ever After Agency #4)

Chapter 7

7

GABY

Here’s something I never thought I’d be doing: checking out every woman who comes within five feet of us while we’re out at brunch. Is she one of Poppy’s clandestine matches? How about her ?

‘Gabs?’ says Freya, poking me.

‘What? Sorry, I uh…’ She and Raff are watching me. ‘What were you saying?’ I ask.

Raff frowns and he and Freya exchange a look. ‘I’m just popping to the loo,’ says Raff, standing. He drops his napkin onto the table and makes his way to the back of Fortunella Café, one of our favourite haunts.

‘You’re behaving very oddly,’ says Freya when he’s out of earshot.

‘I know, I’m sorry – but I’m distracted.’

‘Yes, clearly. But by what?’

I lean in closer and whisper, ‘By pretty much every woman in here.’

She sits back in her chair and regards me curiously. ‘Something you want to tell me?’ she asks. ‘Are you attracted to women now? ’

‘What? No, I mean because of Raff… His, you know…’ I’m doing a Freya again and not finishing my sentences.

‘ Oh! ’ she exclaims, and several people nearby look our way. I shush her and she starts giggling. ‘Poppy hasn’t even started yet.’

‘Really?’ This surprises me, but maybe matchmaking moves a lot slower than I realised.

‘Well, she has ,’ Freya continues, now sounding frustrated, ‘but it’s early days. She and Ursula are still vetting potential matches. It’ll be some time before… you know…’

‘Ursula?’ I ask. ‘Why is she working with Poppy? I thought you would be.’

‘Yes, so did I,’ she replies, obviously disappointed.

‘So, what happened? I mean, I know Poppy has to take the lead but surely?—’

Freya shoots a panicked look across the table. ‘Later. Raff’s coming back,’ she whispers, looking past me to the rear of the café.

‘Sorry I took so long – there was a queue. Right,’ he says, taking a seat, ‘where was I?’

I look to Freya because I have no idea how to answer that.

‘You were telling us about how the partnership would work – logistically,’ she says.

‘Right, yes.’

‘It’s generous that CiCi and Devin only expect a nominal buy-in to join the business,’ Freya adds, feeding me a lifeline.

‘True,’ he replies.

‘That must be a big plus in the take-the-offer column?’ I ask, finding my way back into the conversation.

Raff sets his knife and fork on his empty plate and leans back in his chair. ‘It is – absolutely. Almost enough to counter how my parents will react.’

Freya places her hand on top of his. ‘Your parents have never approved of your job. How is this any different? ’

Raff scowls, his hurt unmistakable.

‘Perhaps a different way to reframe it,’ I say, switching to marketing mode, ‘is that by following your passion and making this career change, you can finally be free from the weight of their expectations.’

‘How so?’ he asks, his interest clearly piqued.

Freya props her chin on her hand and looks at me expectantly.

Great. Now I need to spin what seemed like a simple statement into a tangible reason for sloughing off his parents’ disappointment.

My thoughts immediately go to my mom and dad. Gina has always been my biggest champion, instilling in me since I was a little girl that I could be anything and do anything, as long as I worked hard and never gave up. That was her only stipulation – not the weight of parental expectation, but that I develop a strong work ethic, determination, and grit.

My dad was less vocal but equally as supportive, willing to let my mom be my head cheerleader, but he was always there to help me dust myself off and get up and try again – literally and figuratively.

Even when I decided to move to London after my college boyfriend of six years (Eric, rhymes with Pencil Dick – kinda) left me for his co-worker of three months, they supported me. They were heartbroken I would be so far away, but they didn’t make my decision any harder than it already was.

And there’s the rub. Raff has never experienced that level of support from his parents. Well, screw them! And that’s exactly what I need to say.

‘ Gaby? ’ prods Freya. I must have been pondering far longer than I realised.

‘Raff,’ I say, looking him in the eye, ‘screw your parents. Seriously, just screw ’em. ’

He blinks twice, then stares at me wide-eyed. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Oh, don’t be all English , Raff. How many times have you wanted to tell your parents to fu?—’

‘Sod off,’ Freya cuts in. In all our years of friendship, she’s never quite got used to me cussing like a trucker.

‘Okay, fine – to sod off, then? How many times? Dozens, hundreds? They already pass judgement on you for working in marketing, despite your successes and all your promotions… What’s the difference between that and them judging you for being a pastry chef? Oh, I know! You’ll be living your dream!’

He looks away, his scowl intensifying.

Oops, I may have pushed too hard that time .

‘Hey, I’m sor?—’

‘You are absolutely right,’ he says, meeting my eyes.

‘I am?’

‘She is?’ asks Freya.

He looks between us. ‘For too long, I’ve sought approval that will never come. I could become the prime minister and my father would still find fault with my choices. And my mother’s hardly any better. CiCi is more like a mum to me than my own mother ever has been, and she’s giving me this incredible opportunity – with a massive safety net. Why have I taken so long to officially say yes? What’s wrong with me?’

‘There’s nothing wrong with you,’ I say.

‘No, nothing,’ Freya agrees.

‘Other than your questionable taste in clothes,’ I add.

Teasing him does the trick and he starts shaking with laughter. ‘Oh, you’re hilarious .’

‘It made you laugh. Besides, none of your fans seem to care that you dress like a science teacher from the nineties.’

At that, Freya erupts into laughter .

‘Hey, that’s not nice,’ says Raff through his laughter. Unable to keep a straight face, I join in.

‘I know,’ he says. ‘Instead of telling my parents outright, how about I pop on some chef’s whites, then take a photo of me out front of Baked to Perfection and send it to them?’

Freya grimaces.

‘Too much?’ he asks.

‘Perhaps,’ she replies right as I say, ‘No way! Not extreme enough. CiCi should be in the photo, and you should both be flipping them the bird.’

‘Ba-ha-ha-ha.’ Freya’s bellowing laughter echoes throughout the café and most of the other diners look our way.

We apologise, and everyone goes back to their brunch.

‘I can imagine Aunt CiCi rather enjoying that,’ Raff says to us quietly. Then he reaches across the table and steals a piece of sourdough toast from my plate.

‘Hey, you know I was saving that!’ I say, trying unsuccessfully to snatch it back. I always save one piece of toast that I like to eat cold – I know, don’t judge me – with peanut butter – again, don’t judge me.

Raff shrugs and takes a bite, then starts groaning with pleasure as if it’s the most delicious thing he’s ever eaten. It is good, but he’s being an idiot.

‘You keep that up, they’ll kick us out.’

He shrugs again.

And even though I’m (mildly) pissed off he stole my toast, Raff is more relaxed than I’ve seen him in ages and I’d forego a thousand pieces of toast for that.

Twenty minutes later, after Raff insisted on paying, we’re standing outside in the cold, Freya leaning against me and bouncing on her toes to keep warm. What began as a crisp, sunny fall day has turned wintry during brunch .

‘Thank you so much,’ says Raff, hugging us in turn. ‘You’ve been amazing and if I ever feel myself waver, I’ll just picture CiCi with her middle fingers in the air, telling my parents to sod off.’ Freya giggles, but then her teeth start chattering. ‘Go, go get to your train,’ he says, waving us off.

‘Say hi to CiCi and Devin for us,’ I tell him.

‘Will do!’ He waves over his shoulder as he heads to the nearest street to meet his Uber.

‘Now we’re alone again, I want to ask you something,’ says Freya, hooking her arm through mine.

‘Sure – anything,’ I say, not knowing I’ll instantly regret giving her a blank cheque.

‘No way, Frey, that’s ridiculous,’ I tell her adamantly. I didn’t think it was possible for her ideas to get any more harebrained, but now she wants me to help choose Raff’s perfect match.

‘You said the same thing about matching Raff in the first place,’ she retorts.

‘Well, yeah, and part of me still stands by that.’

‘But the interview… He was very clear about wanting to find love,’ she insists.

‘Okay, yes, but Raff has a lot on right now. I’ve told you – I’m not sure finding him “the one” should be our priority. He’s going to need our support to transition to a fulltime pastry chef.’

‘Oh, he’ll be fine with all that,’ she says dismissively. ‘He’s Raff , and besides, he’s got CiCi and Devin. Ooh, can you imagine how incredible it would be if Raff had his dream job and met his dream woman in time for Christmas?’

‘Christmas?! Now you’re delusional. That’s, like, five weeks away. ’

‘Thirty-three days to be exact.’

‘Sure, okay, but why the rush? What’s so special about Christmas?’

‘You did not just say that.’

‘Sorry – forgot who I was talking to.’

I love Christmas as much as the next person, but Freya makes Buddy from Elf look like the Grinch. She’s a Christmas freak . And now she seems to have conflated matching Raff with her favourite time of the year. I need to step in here before she starts ordering poinsettias for the bridal bouquet.

‘But, Frey, that timeline’s way beyond wishful thinking.’

‘Which is why we need to get cracking,’ she retorts.

‘Poppy has already got cracking. You said that she and Ursula are working on it.’

‘They are and that’s why I need you. I can’t be part of the selection process, so I need you to step in as my proxy. Someone’s got to ensure they choose the right potentials for my very best friend.’

‘First, “very best friend”? Are you in the third grade?’

She shrugs, hitching my shoulder up along with hers.

‘Second, what am I , chopped liver?’

She giggles.

‘And third, how is Poppy going to feel about me interfering in her case?’

Mentally, I have my fingers crossed that Poppy will hate the idea and tell Freya no.

Freya stops, so I do too.

‘I’ve already talked to Poppy and she’s in agreement, I promise,’ she says earnestly. ‘Because you won’t be interfering; you’ll be helping. Please , Gaby. I’d feel so much better if you were part of the vetting process. Oh, and we’ll need your help with the set-ups,’ she adds casually as an afterthought.

‘The set-ups? What do you mean, you’ll need my help? ’

Freya explains the agency’s strategy for matching Raff while adhering to his sole caveat – that he doesn’t have to go on dates. And without asking me first, Freya has volunteered me to help fabricate these ‘happenstance’ meetings.

Why did I ever agree to be part of this ridiculous caper in the first place?

‘ Please , Gaby. We can’t do this without you,’ she says, her pale-blue eyes boring into mine. They could melt even the hardest heart, so how can I, her second-best friend, say no? Simple – I can’t.

‘Fine,’ I say with a resigned sigh.

Her expression transforms from pleading to elated in 2.1 seconds. ‘Really?’ she asks, bouncing on her toes.

‘Really – but only if you don’t second-guess me.’

‘Of course not.’

‘Come on,’ I say, ushering her towards the train station. ‘And don’t say “of course not” as if it’s a foregone conclusion. I won’t be texting you a play-by-play or anything. And you’ll have to accept whatever Poppy and I decide.’

‘And Ursula.’

‘And Ursula,’ I reply. ‘I’m serious, Frey.’

‘I know. And thank you,’ she says, squeezing my arm.

‘Yeah, yeah. Maybe save your thanks for when Raff is loved up with his new girlfriend.’

We reach the train station and I send Freya off with a hug and her promising to text Poppy as soon as she gets on the train.

I don’t live far from here, so I’ll walk the rest of the way, wishing the entire time I’d Ubered straight home from Fortunella – it’s freezing . I often get teased about how much I hate the cold. ‘But you’re from Seattle – doesn’t it rain there nine months a year?’ people ask.

No, actually, it doesn’t. The skies are grey around nine months a year – with a respite over the ten or so weeks of summer – but even when it’s raining, it doesn’t get as cold as it does here.

Well, not usually. It has snowed in Seattle, which shuts down nearly everything. Seattle is not built for snow – there are hardly any snow ploughs and far too many steep hills. I’ve seen a bus filled with people spin all the way from the top of Queen Anne hill to the bottom. Terrifying. But other than a few freak snowstorms – ‘Snowpocalypse’ of 2019, as one ‘clever’ weather reporter dubbed it, comes to mind – the winters are reasonably mild compared with London.

All these thoughts of home make me miss Mom and Dad more acutely than usual. We often talk on Sundays – my evening and their morning. I’ll give them a call later.

As I turn down my street, my phone alerts me to a text and I take it out of my coat pocket. Shocker, it’s Freya:

Poppy says to come to the agency tomorrow at 5 for a screening. xx

A screening? What the hell is she talking about? I send a reply to ask, but I don’t hear back. What in god’s name have I said yes to?