Someone Like You (The Ever After Agency #4)

Chapter 10

10

GABY

‘She promised she’d keep me updated,’ says Freya, making another circuit of my apartment. When she gets like this, she can’t keep still. ‘I mean, ostensibly, I’m the client. I’m the one who asked Poppy to take the case. But then she and Ursula have a meeting with Saskia and Paloma, and does she tell me what it was about? No! I’m left completely in the dark.’

‘Frey…’ She doesn’t seem to hear me. ‘Freya, please come and sit.’

She finally loses steam and joins me on the sofa, grabbing my only throw pillow – a gift from her – and placing it on her lap. ‘I feel so… excluded ,’ she says softly.

I should have seen this coming. Actually, I did see this coming. Freya was always going to feel territorial about this case. I’m surprised we got this far before she flipped out.

‘Hey,’ I say. She stares fixedly at the coffee table. ‘You know how you told me to tell you when you’re being a drama queen?’

I nudge her with my toe, and she finally lifts her gaze to meet mine.

‘I rescind my previous request,’ she says gruffly .

Okay, time for the big guns – tough love it is.

‘Well, I’m reinstating your previous request and you’re being a drama queen. You need to chill.’

She scowls at me.

‘That’s not you chilling. That’s the opposite of chill. Seriously, Frey – you know this isn’t your case. And it’s unreasonable to expect Poppy to inform you of every little detail as they occur.’

‘But she said she would!’

‘I seriously doubt th?—’

I’m cut off by someone buzzing my apartment.

‘Oh, shit,’ I mutter.

‘Are you expecting someone?’

‘It’s Raff,’ I say, getting up and crossing to the wall console.

‘What? Why? ’

‘Because I invited him,’ I tell her.

Her jaw and eyebrows shoot in opposite directions, but I ignore her – she really is being overly dramatic – and buzz him in. Turning back to Freya, I say, ‘You texted to say it was an emergency, Frey. Of course I called in the cavalry.’

She’s too stunned to respond, and thirty seconds later, there’s a knock at the door. I swing it open.

‘I didn’t know which kind of emergency, so I brought wine, crisps, and Penguins,’ he says, holding up a canvas shopping bag stamped with the logo of one of our clients. ‘Hiya,’ he says, stooping to kiss my cheek.

‘Hi, Raff.’ I close the door and look on as he greets Freya with a one-armed bear hug.

‘Poor you. I’m sorry you had a rubbish day,’ he says, his chin resting on her head. ‘Now, before you tell me everything, sweet, salty, or boozy?’

Freya’s agitated mood melts away before my eyes as she steps back and peers up at Raff. ‘Boozy and salty,’ she replies, completely disarmed.

‘Coming right up.’

And that there is one of the many reasons Raff will make someone a terrific boyfriend someday – or even husband.

He drops the bag of chips – sorry, crisps – on the coffee table, then goes into the kitchen to pour the wine.

Freya beelines to me. ‘We can’t tell him the real reason I’m upset,’ she whispers.

‘Yeah, no shit.’

Her lips flatten into a taut line. ‘Gaby!’ she whispers harshly.

‘Sorry. Just… come up with something.’

‘Me?’

‘Yeah, it’s your crisis.’

‘Here we are,’ says Raff, holding three glasses easily in his huge hands.

Freya takes one and I take another. ‘So, what are we drinking to?’ he asks, looking at Freya. ‘Oh, fuck, you and Freddie didn’t break up, did you?’

‘No!’ she cries, indignant.

‘It’s not out of the realm of possibility, Frey. That’s the first thing I thought when I got your message.’

She looks at me, horrified. ‘Why would you say that? Freddie and I are doing fabulously.’

My eyes dart towards Raff and I can tell he’s thinking the same thing I am. We like Freddie – he’s super sweet to Freya, which is the most important thing – but he’s not the most interesting guy, especially when he’s being overly didactic and goes off on a tangent. There’s only so much you can hear about exotic fish without wishing Freddie had a mute button.

‘We’re glad,’ Raff says with a convincing smile.

‘So glad,’ I echo. ‘Let’s sit, shall we. ’

Raff and Freya sit on the sofa, and I flop into my teal Lounge Pug. The others make fun of my beanbag armchair, but they’re just jealous. It’s like if a chair was a hug.

‘Right, now, tell me what’s going on,’ Raff says to Freya.

She flicks a glance in my direction then launches into a heavily redacted version of what happened at work, telling Raff she was left out of a discussion she thought she should have been part of.

‘Oh, poor you,’ he says, leaning across to pat her on the knee.

‘Raff, before you got here, I was working the tough-love angle. You know, Freya’s overreacting, she needs to chill… So, yeah…’

‘Oh, I’ve cocked things up then, haven’t I?’ He looks between us. ‘Should I go out and come back in again?’

Freya giggles, then downs a glug of wine. And with that, he’s ‘done a Raff’ and made everything okay simply by being here.

‘So, Raff, how’s the transition to full-time pastry chef going?’ I ask, eager to steer the conversation away from Freya’s (hyperbolised) work issue.

‘Good. I feel a bit manic trying to get my head around everything, though.’

‘Anything we can help with?’ Freya asks.

‘Kind of you, but no. Gabs has been brilliant, helping with my handover at work – and thank you,’ he says, tilting his wine glass towards me.

‘Sure, it was either help make the transition as smooth as possible or throw myself on the floor, wrap my arms around your ankles, and beg you not to leave.’

Raff chuckles.

‘Are you going to apply for Raff’s role?’ Freya asks, as if it’s only just occurred to her.

‘I’ve already recommended her,’ he tells Freya.

‘You’ve— Why’d you do that?’ I ask him .

‘Because you’d smash it. Wait… are you seriously not interested?’ he asks, a deep crease between his brows.

‘Of course I am,’ I say, waving him off. Now is not the time to contemplate the trajectory of my career. Tonight is about supporting Freya.

‘Well, you should be. And Claire plans to discuss it with you – soon , Gabs.’

‘Great,’ I say and, thankfully, he doesn’t make anything more of it. I think I do want it – but that’s what makes me nervous. What if I don’t get it? Where will that leave me in the whole pursuing-my-passion endeavour?

‘So!’ I exclaim, signposting a drastic change of subject. ‘What’s up next for the famous pastry chef? Have you been asked to appear on Ballroom Battle of the Stars yet?’

‘Hilarious,’ he replies drily.

‘That’s for proper celebrities, Gaby,’ says Freya, failing (as always) to filter her thoughts before they pop out of her mouth.

‘I can see you’re feeling more like yourself,’ Raff teases her. ‘And no to Ballroom Battles ,’ he tells me. ‘But I do have an intensive Food Hygiene Certificate course – levels one to three – this Saturday.’

Freya and I exchange a look, and she scrunches her nose. ‘Sounds, um… fascinating,’ I say.

He raises his eyebrows. ‘Doubtful, but hopefully it won’t be too bad – and I do need to know this stuff.’

Suddenly, I have a brainwave. Jane, the potential match who works for a not-for-profit – it’s an organisation that provides nutritious meals to elderly people who live independently. Maybe she needs to refresh her Food Safety Certification? And even if she doesn’t…

‘Hey, Frey, I need your help,’ I say, leaping up and heading to the kitchen.

‘With what?’ she whines at my back .

‘Freya Nilsen, stop your whining and get your ass in here,’ I call out.

There’s some insolent murmuring from the next room, then she appears in the kitchen doorway. I grab her wrist and pull her closer, then quickly whisper my idea.

‘That’s perfect,’ she whispers back, and I grin at her.

‘What are you two whispering about?’ asks Raff from the doorway. How is he so stealthy for such a tall guy?

I surreptitiously poke Freya so she doesn’t blurt out anything that will ruin this meet cute before it even happens. Instead, she peers up at Raff with those big blue eyes and says, ‘Gaby wanted my thoughts on period pants.’

‘Period pa— Oh.’

There’s a moment of embarrassed silence, then Raff mutters something about more wine, reaching past me to get the bottle, and I crash into him while trying to get out of his way.

As Raff and I bumble around the kitchen, Freya leans against the countertop doing a shitty job of stifling a giggle, and when Raff turns his back, she gives me a thumbs up.

At least she successfully deflected his question, but I will kill her later.

‘This is excellent work, Gaby,’ says Poppy after I’ve explained my idea and given her the name and location of Raff’s course. ‘And I agree that Jane is the most suitable potential match to go with. Food safety is at least adjacent to her work. I’ll connect with her and tee it up.’

‘Great!’ I reply, faking enthusiasm.

Ever since Freya and Raff went home, I’ve felt… I don’t know… flat .

We’re really doing this. We’re actually matching Raff with real women and one of them could be his person. But what if she turns out to be like Winnie and doesn’t fit into our friendship group?

This isn’t like buying him a sweater that doesn’t fit. You can’t return a person . ‘Hey, Poppy… Yeah, sorry but Jane isn’t a good fit for us. She’s too clingy and we’re not seeing enough of Raff. Could you… you know, rehome her?’ Yeah, I’m sure that would go over well.

‘Have a good night, Gaby,’ Poppy says.

‘Thanks, you too.’

We end the call and I spin the phone in my hands, staring off into space. It’s such a weird position to be in. I’m essentially girlfriend shopping for my best friend. Weirder yet is that he knows – well, he doesn’t know know, but surely he didn’t buy that crap about period underwear. He’s got to realise that Freya and I are up to something. Right?

I check the time on my phone. It’s around 2p.m. back in Seattle, and my mom should be home from work by now as she’s on nightshift this month. I call her, half expecting it to go to voicemail, but she answers on the second ring.

‘Hi, hun. This is a nice surprise.’

‘Hi, Mom,’ I reply, breaking into a smile. Just the sound of her voice can lift my spirits. With a jolt, it hits me how much they need lifting right now. ‘How was work?’ I ask.

‘Oh, you know, just saving babies,’ she replies, and we share the in-joke with gentle laughter.

Mom is an OB-GYN, a term I’ve had to explain to British people enough times that now if anyone asks, I just say, ‘She delivers babies.’

Our in-joke was born (pun intended) when my brother-in-law, Jon, who’s a commercial realtor, shouted into his phone, ‘We’re not saving babies, here, Dan. That’s my mother-in-law’s job!’ That was bad enough, but he did it at the dinner table during Thanksgiving, then winked at her. Mom’s knuckles turned white, and I could tell she was seconds away from throwing the turkey at his head.

He’s always been a douchebag. But Issy loves him, so Mom and I put up with his douche-baggy ways. And when it comes to Jon, Dad feigns ignorance and stays out of it.

‘I can’t wait for you to get here,’ she adds.

‘I know, Mom. Me too.’

‘For starters, you can help me run interference between Monica and Chrissy.’

‘Oh no. What’s going on?’

Mom launches into a soap opera’s worth of wedding drama. Poor Monica has been fighting with Aunt Christine, who has apparently become a total Momzilla. I mentally pop some popcorn and settle in, instantly absorbed by Gina’s special brand of storytelling.

God, I love my mom. Even after a long shift at the hospital, she takes the time to make me laugh, enveloping me in a huge dose of motherly love across the Atlantic.

But even through the laughter, a quiet unease hums away.

Is it taking the next step in my career? This bizarro matchmaking BS? Homesickness?

Whatever it is, it seems to be taking root, which only makes me worry about it more.

‘Ready?’ I ask Raff.

The December issue of Nouveau Life goes live tomorrow and with it, the article about Raff. Tonight, he’s telling his parents he’s leaving Global Reach and partnering with CiCi, and I’m here to give moral support .

‘Hardly. I’d rather have a root canal with a rusty spoon – without anaesthetic.’

‘That’s, um… graphic . You know, I’m still happy to join the call. They won’t yell at you if I’m right there.’

‘It’s a generous offer, but no. And my parents don’t yell. They simply scowl at me in disapproval.’

‘Sounds fun,’ I say, trying to lighten the mood. It doesn’t work and Raff keeps staring at the wall across from us.

‘They might also threaten to disinherit me,’ he says, as if to himself.

‘Seriously?’

‘Mm-hmm.’

I can’t imagine my parents threatening me. Even when I’ve made decisions they may not have agreed with, they’ve supported me, wanting me to be my own person – championing me.

His parents sound like total assholes. And I will gladly put myself in the firing line if it means they’ll be less asshole-y about his exciting news.

‘Maybe I should join the call.’

He breaks from his daze, his head snapping in my direction, then gives me a lipless smile. ‘It’s okay, Gabs. But thanks.’ He takes in a deep breath. ‘Right,’ he says, collecting his phone and standing. He gives me another of those please-kill-me-now smiles and goes into his bedroom and closes the door.

I take out my phone and text Freya:

He’s talking to them now. *cringe emoji*

*fingers crossed emoji* Keep me posted

I rest my phone in my lap and fall back against the sofa, closing my eyes. It’s been such a hectic week – like last week was and next week will be – I could so easily fall asleep .

‘Gabs.’ I wake with a start, discovering Raff peering down at me and gently shaking me by the shoulder.

I scramble to sit up. ‘Sorry. How long was I out?’ I ask.

‘Could only have been a few minutes.’

‘Oh.’ I glance at my phone. Seven to be exact. He was in his bedroom for seven minutes. ‘Are you done? Talking to your parents.’

‘Yes.’ He flops onto the sofa next to me.

‘But that was only— Never mind. What did they say?’

‘That I’m wasting a perfectly good degree… That I’m throwing away a passable career for a pipe dream…’

‘Wait, did they really call marketing “passable”?’

‘My father did, yes.’

‘And the inheritance?’

‘Didn’t come up. My mother made some excuse about them having to get back to their friends, then abruptly ended the call.’

What sort of mother does that to her only child?

‘Oh Raff, I’m so sorry your parents are such assholes.’

He chuckles. ‘Thank you. I think.’

‘I’m serious. At least you have CiCi and Devin. And me and Freya. And you know my parents love you…’

My parents do love Raff. Mom calls him the son she never had. Issy overheard her saying that once and was pissed off when she realised she meant Raff and not (douchebag) Jon.

Raff doesn’t respond; instead, he stares at the wall again. Is anything I say going to get through? I can commiserate but I can’t relate – not even remotely.

I take his hand. ‘At least it’s done now,’ I tell him. ‘Don’t you feel relieved?’

He looks at me and nods.

‘I do, yes. ’

I kneel on the sofa, then reach over and give him a hug. ‘You’re Britain’s Best Baker, don’t forget.’

When I release him and sit back on my heels, there’s a hint of amusement in his eyes.

‘So, screw your parents. And no cake for them!’ I declare.

He chuckles – finally – and shakes his head at me. ‘You’re an odd bod, Gaby Rivera.’

I shrug. ‘Whatever works, hey?’

His head tilts and he looks at me intently. ‘Thank you, for being here.’

‘Hey, I got you, boo. Now I have to stand up because—’ Too late. As soon as I release my feet and they hit the floor, the pins and needles kick in. ‘Ow, ow, ow!’ I say, falling back onto the sofa and tapping on my feet to wake them up.

‘Right, while you do that , I’m ordering in.’

‘Pizza!’ I shout through the pain.

‘Pizza for the banshee, coming right up.’