Someone Like You (The Ever After Agency #4)

Chapter 17

17

GABY

Freya’s on her way over to my apartment. Part of me feels relieved that she knows how I feel about Raff. And the other part is nervous. There’s every chance I’m about to get reamed by my bestie.

I also got a text from Poppy earlier and I open my phone to read it again:

Let me know if you want to talk after you see Freya.

No reassurance. No ‘everything’s going to be fine’. No ‘London’s best matchmaking agency has saved the day and you and Raff are going to be together’.

As if.

At least I got through today without my mind wandering too much. I simply kept my head down and focused on work. Since meeting with Claire yesterday, I now have a clearer picture of what it might be like to take over Raff’s role in the New Year. It’s exciting and terrifying, with a little ‘don’t count your chickens before they hatch’ thrown in .

It’s better not to let yourself want something in case you don’t get it, right?

Like wanting your best friend to fall in love with you.

‘Argh!’

I check the time. Freya should be here by now. I turn on the TV, but I can’t concentrate and I end up flicking through everything on my Netflix queue. Nope. Nope. Nope. It’s like being on a dating app, only without the eye candy.

I give up and turn off the TV right as Freya buzzes my apartment. I let her into the building, then wait out the thirty seconds it will take her to get to my front door. It takes a thousand years, then there’s finally a soft knock.

I bust out a huge smile – fake it till you make it, right? – and open the door. ‘Hi!’ I exclaim, as if it’s been months and not days since I last saw her.

Head tilt. Sad eyes. Pouty bottom lip. Weird . She steps inside and without a word, wraps her spindly arms around my neck, enveloping me in a hug.

What is happening right now?

‘Poor you,’ she says, her voice muffled by my hair.

She steps back and regards me thoughtfully, then takes my hand and leads me over to the sofa. She sits, tugging on my hand, and I plonk down beside her wordlessly, as this feels very much like an out-of-body experience.

Seriously, what is happening right now?

‘Tell me everything.’

‘Tell you— Wait, I’m confused. Aren’t you pissed at me?’

‘No,’ she replies, clearly puzzled. ‘Why would I be?’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I say, getting up and pacing because I’m so antsy, I can’t sit still. ‘Maybe because you’ve had me running all over frigging London playing wing-woman for Raff and now he’s met Julia and is already swept up in that whole thing, which is exactly what you wanted, but then I have this sudden realisation that hey, Raff might be the guy for me, and the timing couldn’t possibly be worse and… and…’

Drained, I fall into my Lounge Pug.

‘But why would I be angry at you for how you feel ?’ she asks.

‘Because you had this elaborate plan and now I’ve gone and fucked it up.’

‘You haven’t… messed it up,’ she says, sidestepping the profanity.

‘Really? Because if you’ll recall, I’ve had a front-row seat to this shitshow. I know how much work has gone into matching Raff and?—’

‘Gaby…’ She lifts her hand, palm towards me, and I stop talking.

Probably a good thing because I’ve worked myself into such a lather, I’ve buried myself in the Lounge Pug. I may have to spend the rest of my life here.

I climb out awkwardly and return to the sofa. ‘Sorry.’ I point to myself. ‘Drama queen.’

‘Well, at least it’s you this time – it gets exhausting carrying the mantel all by myself,’ she says, teasing me with a gentle smile.

‘Frey, seriously though, now what?’

Freya takes a deep breath, which doesn’t set me at ease at all. In fact, it does the opposite. ‘Just tell me,’ I say.

‘Oh, Gaby, I wish I could just wave a magic wand and get you your happily ever after.’

I laugh – it’s a dry, raspy sound. ‘But life doesn’t work that way.’

‘No.’

‘So, what’s going to happen with Raff – with Raff and Julia, I mean?’ I ask, hating the sound of her name now she’s essentially my rival.

‘We need to see where things go,’ she says softly.

I don’t know what I expected. But it wasn’t this and the words land with full force, despite Freya’s gentle tone .

‘I’m so sorry,’ she says, grasping my hand and sliding closer. ‘I shouldn’t have disregarded Poppy’s suspicions. But you and Raff – I thought it was laughable and…’ Her voices fades away.

Laughable.

But isn’t it? And not only the concept of me falling for Raff, but the timing. If Alanis Morissette got wind of this shitshow, she could add a whole verse to that irony song of hers.

But none of this is Freya’s fault. ‘This isn’t on you,’ I tell her.

‘I do this for a living, Gaby. How could I miss the signs?’

‘What signs? Until two days ago, I thought of Raff like my dorky younger brother. I’ve never thought of him romantically . If you had believed Poppy and confronted me, I would have laughed it off.’

‘But Poppy and Ursula…’ she says, confused.

‘They must be soothsayers, because whatever they saw, I didn’t have even the slightest clue.’

‘I suppose.’

It strikes me as funny that Freya came here to comfort me, and now I’m comforting her.

‘And you’re forgetting something,’ I add. ‘You’re way too close to this – that’s why you weren’t allowed to match Raff yourself. You couldn’t see it – you’re too emotionally involved.’

‘Only because he’s?—’

‘Your first best friend – I know ,’ I say, calling back to our dumb conversation from last week.

She gives me a weak smile.

‘Can I ask…?’ She hesitates. ‘Are you in love with Raff?’

I inhale deeply and drop my gaze to the floor.

Am I in love with Raff? Great question.

‘I love him, of course I do – the same way I love you.’ I look up and she’s peering at me intently. ‘And I feel safe with him – like I can be myself – or at least I did until Wednesday night,’ I add with a dry chuckle. It falls away and I’m serious again, as I delve deeper into my feelings for Raff.

‘I always look forward to seeing him and when we spend time together… it’s like it fills me up inside. But, again, that’s how I feel about you too. Hell, I don’t know. What’s “being in love” anyway? I’ve never experienced anything close to it.’

‘Not even with your ex?’ she asks.

‘In retrospect, no, definitely not. Any time I look back on my relationship with Eric, I can’t believe I stayed with him as long as I did. We never really talked , you know. And if I needed solace, if something terrible happened, like when my grandma on my mom’s side passed away, Eric was not the person to go to. Not even for something as simple as having a crappy day. He’d tear his eyes away from the TV, say something trite or condescending like, ‘It’ll be okay,’ or, ‘You’re worrying about nothing,’ then crack a beer and go back to watching ESPN.’

Freya squeezes my hand. ‘That sounds awful – and lonely .’

‘Yeah.’ I’m quiet for a moment – seriously, why did I put up with Eric for as long as I did? Six years!

‘Frey,’ I say, meeting her eye. ‘You’re the professional. What do you think turns friendship into love?’

She’s thoughtful for a moment, then she smiles and says, ‘You realise that you fancy them.’

‘Really? That’s it?’ I ask with a snort. ‘Geez, I can see why they pay you the big bucks.’

She purses her lips at me, trying not to laugh. ‘It’s more than that, of course,’ she says, ‘but it’s also very difficult to identify. Everything you described about your friendship, that’s all foundational to a good relationship. Then there’s the added layer of attraction. But in between is something… indefinable – a spark of sorts.’

‘Chemistry?’ I ask.

‘Some people call it that, yes. Believe me, even at the agency, we wish we could pinpoint precisely what it is and bottle it. But it’s either there or it isn’t. And “it” is different for every person.’

‘It’s there between Raff and Julia,’ I say quietly. A lump lodges in my throat and I stare at the floor again.

‘You don’t know that – only they know that. And it’s still very early days. They haven’t even been on a date yet.’

‘I know what I saw.’

‘And I’m telling you that you don’t,’ she says with unwavering assuredness.

It’s not often that Freya takes a stand like this, and even though I’m not convinced she’s right, I don’t press her.

‘So, that brings us back to “now what?”,’ I say instead.

‘Now, we wait and see.’

‘Wonderful. God, with how fast Raff moves, they could be engaged by the spring.’

‘ Or it fizzles out before it even begins,’ she says reassuringly. ‘But until we know for sure, please protect your heart, Gaby.’

‘Protect my— How the hell do I do that?’

‘Just… try not to dwell on things, and if Raff starts talking to you about Julia, maybe change the subject.’

‘So, essentially, take a knife to a gunfight.’

She looks confused. ‘I don’t know that one – is that something Americans say?’

‘It means there’s no way this isn’t gonna suck.’

She gives me a pitying smile. ‘Probably not.’

‘Ugh,’ I groan. ‘I really don’t want to go to CiCi and Devin’s tomorrow.’

This additional realisation lands with so much force, I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus. This might be how it is from now on – me avoiding Raff. Well, at least until I get over him.

‘But you have to,’ Freya replies vehemently. ‘It’s Christmas . And you know CiCi will have been baking for weeks. ’

‘That’s BS,’ I say with a laugh. ‘CiCi always hires a caterer.’

‘Well, there’s her famous Christmas cake – you don’t want to miss that. Please come. It’ll be fun – their parties are always fun. And if Raff corners you to talk about Julia, you can signal me, and I’ll come rescue you.’ She jostles my shoulder. ‘Please, Gaby, please come.’

‘Okay, geez!’ I say, more to shut her up than anything. ‘You’re like Mrs Claus over there with all your Christmas spirit.’

She grins at me and I roll my eyes. I’ll make an appearance, then get the hell out of there.

What is it they say about best-laid plans? I should have known there was no way I could show up to CiCi and Devin’s, then make an exit thirty minutes later.

For one thing, despite the team of caterers who are buzzing around the kitchen, CiCi’s put me to work replenishing a tray of hors d’oeuvres.

Like they do every year, she and Devin have gone all-out – and not only with the generous spread of food and drinks. Their spacious home is decked out in garlands made from real fir-tree branches, each decorated in gold trim, tall pillar candles cover every flat surface, emitting a warm glow, the scent of L’Occitane’s No?l permeates the air, and a roaring fire is crackling in the living room fireplace – above which are hung uniform Christmas stockings (for decorative purposes only). And their next-door neighbours, who perform on the West End, are at the piano in the library, playing and singing Christmas carols.

The pièce de résistance is the fourteen-foot Christmas tree dominating the foyer, teeming with every gold decoration in existence .

‘Make sure each blini gets a sprig of dill,’ says CiCi, looking over my shoulder.

‘Yep, no problem,’ I say, expertly placing a delicate frond of dill.

Why am I here again? And not only in the kitchen, but at this party? So far, I’ve steered clear of Raff, but how long can that last?

‘Something’s off with you today,’ says CiCi, leaning against the counter to face me. ‘Are you all right?’

I look up and she’s got the concerned-look-head-tilt combo going on. Ah, so that’s why she’s got me in here – she wants me to spill the tea. Only, I am so not spilling so much as a drop of tea about her nephew. Just, no.

‘Oh… you know,’ I say breezily, ‘winding up at work with end-of-year stuff, planning my trip home… It’s been intense these past few weeks.’

She nods, but I can tell she’s not buying it – a reminder why CiCi is my ‘mom away from my mom’.

‘And is everything all right between you and Raff?’

Good thing I don’t have a mouthful of anything, or I would have spat it out all over these blinis.

‘Yeah, totally. Why are you asking?’

She shrugs with a half-smile. ‘Well, you’re typically joined at the hip at these things, but not today. You also arrived separately, so I wondered…’

Wow, she’s good. But I can’t have CiCi worrying about me – or more to the point, me and Raff.

‘Oh,’ I say with a laugh. ‘I had something on this morning, so it made sense to make my own way here.’ I leave it at that, deliberately omitting an explanation for why I’ve avoided Raff since I arrived.

‘Glad to hear it.’

But I can tell she doesn’t buy my feeble excuse – or my evasion tactics – as there’s a knowing glint in her eye that reminds me of Gina. Mom calls it her ‘bullshit detection radar’.

‘Would you mind taking those out to the buffet?’ she asks.

Glad to be out of the hotseat, I flash her a bright smile and say, ‘Happy to.’

I’m making room on the buffet table for the blinis when the distinctive chink-chick-chink of someone striking a glass with something metal rings out across the living room.

‘Hello, everyone,’ says Devin, who’s standing on a small wooden stool near the fireplace. ‘If I could have your attention, please. And could everyone come in from the other rooms?’

Pairs and trios of people come in from the other parts of the house, swarming into the living room.

Once everyone’s crammed in, Devin says, ‘I just wanted to say on behalf of CiCi and myself that we’re so happy you could all be here today. This is one of our favourite events of the year and what makes it so special is being with the people we love.’

He made a similar speech last year – and the year before – but it always comes from the heart. I scan the room for Raff and when I find him, he’s looking at me, smiling. I smile back, then look away.

He’s wearing that Christmas sweater – the one he wore to the photoshoot – only this time, he doesn’t look like a dork. He looks cute. That may also have something to do with his hair, which he’s now wearing off his face – the hair stylist at Nouveau probably taught him how to do that. Regardless, with his hair worn like that, he’s more handsome than ever.

Even in that stupid sweater, he looks good.

I steer my attention back to Devin and he’s making a toast. I chorus, ‘To absent family and friends,’ along with the other guests, my mind going straight to Mom and Dad and Issy – and (poor) Monica, who must be freaking out with her wedding only a week and a half away and my aunt being a total nightmare from hell .

‘Now, this part is a surprise,’ says Devin. ‘CiCi, my love, where are you?’

‘Here, darling.’

He holds his hand out to her, and guests step aside as she makes her way to Devin, eyeing him curiously.

She mouths something to him, but I can’t make it out. Devin laughs and says, ‘You’ll see.’

‘Now,’ he says, addressing the rest of us. ‘All of you know that my darling CiCi here is one of the hardest working people in England.’

The guests murmur in agreement.

‘And on top of running a business at one of the busiest times of the year, she’s organised this lovely party. So, in appreciation of all you are and all you do, my love, I have a surprise.’

CiCi looks up at him, her smile asking, ‘What are you up to?’

‘After saying we would for years but never getting around to it, we are finally spending Christmas in Lapland. I’ve booked us a romantic holiday, just the two of us, and you won’t need to lift a finger.’

‘Devin!’ She claps a hand to her chest and for a second, it’s hard to tell if it’s a good surprise or not. Then she bursts into tears, and he steps off the stool and envelops her in a hug. There’s a moment of total silence, then the room erupts into applause.

Witnessing how happy CiCi is, and how in love she and Devin are, brings tears to my eyes.

I want that.

And I want it with Raff , says the little voice in my head.