Someone Like You (The Ever After Agency #4)

Chapter 28

28

GABY

I finally hear back from the cake artist. As she and I talk, Raff’s eyes are rivetted to mine, a divot deepening between his brows.

‘No, that makes perfect sense,’ I say. She apologises again and I reply, ‘It’s not your fault. We completely understand. Thanks again for getting back to me.’

I end the call and give Raff a resigned smile. ‘So, wanna make a wedding cake today?’

He appears to be caught off guard, which surprises me – he was listening to that call, right?

‘Yes, of course, I’d be happy to. But there’s no way she can get the cake to us?’

‘Not unless we rent a helicopter. She’s snowed in on the other side of the Snoqualmie Pass – over that way,’ I say, waving generally towards the east.

‘In that case, I’d be delighted to do my part.’

‘Thanks, Raff. It doesn’t have to be… you know, fancy . I’m sure Monica and Brian would be happy with a Betty Crocker box cake at this point. ’

He recoils in mock horror. ‘You did not just say that to Britain’s Best Baker!’

I crack up and he breaks into a (heart melting) smile. ‘Is this my life now? You busting out your national title whenever you want to win an argument?’

He shrugs one shoulder.

‘Okay…’ I say, getting back to replanning this wedding. ‘That’s the final piece of the puzzle, so now we need to brief everyone.’

‘Will your aunt and uncle agree, do you think?’

‘They have to. I’m sure Mom and Dad would offer to host it here, but this place is way too small for forty guests,’ I reply. ‘Actually, forty-two now that Brian’s parents have pulled off a miracle.’

‘Theirs sounds like the journey from hell – how many stops did it end up being?’

‘In the end, six.’

‘Blimey, that’s dedication.’

‘CiCi and Devin would do that for you,’ I say without thinking.

Because if I’d thought about it for one second , I would not have created a hypothetical in which Raff was getting married and CiCi and Devin had to move heaven and earth to attend the wedding. As far as Raff is concerned, his hypothetical bride is anyone but me.

‘True,’ he says with a smile, and I so want to ask him if he’s imagining Julia in this scenario, but then again, I don’t want to hear him say yes.

I pick up my one-pager where I’ve written the contingency plan out in full and pretend to read it while the words swim on the page.

‘Shall we then?’ he asks.

‘Yep,’ I say, forcing a smile. ‘Let’s go rally the troops.’

I run through everything Raff and I have figured out, then look around the living room at my family. ‘How does that sound?’ I ask them.

Mom beams with pride. ‘Sounds great, hun.’

‘Yeah, great work, you two,’ says Dad, nodding approvingly.

Monica rushes to me and throws her arms around my neck. ‘Thank you so much,’ she says, squeezing me tightly. I return the hug, the one-pager dangling from my fingertips.

Someone clears their throat and Monica releases me.

‘Am I really expected to get my home ready to host a wedding in less than twenty-four hours?’

Aunt Christine glowers at me, her hands on her hips, and there’s so much to unpack in that one question, I’m not sure where to start.

Fortunately, I don’t have to say a thing.

‘It’s our home, honey. And Gaby’s right – it’s the only viable option.’

‘But Marv—’ she blusters.

‘And everyone here will help us get ready. It won’t fall solely on you.’

This seems to appease my aunt – at least partly. ‘All right,’ she says tersely, her mouth downturned.

‘Oh, Mom, it’s going to be beautiful.’ Monica goes to her and picks up her hand, and Aunt Christine’s harsh expression softens a fraction. ‘All those flowers, for a start,’ Monica continues with a laugh. ‘We ordered enough for a huge venue… Your home will be so full of flowers, it’ll feel like we’re at the Chelsea Flower Show.’

Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner, ladies and gentlemen. My aunt loves the Chelsea Flower Show – she watches the live stream every year, then gets on a flower-arranging kick that lasts a month or two before she concedes, once again, that she will ‘never be a professional’ .

Monica jostles her mom, cajoling a smile out of her. ‘It will be beautiful,’ Aunt Christine admits. With her free hand, she cups Monica’s face, her eyes tearing up. ‘ You will be beautiful, my darling girl. I can’t believe my baby’s getting married tomorrow.’

She draws Monica into a hug and Mom and I lock eyes across the room. She mouths, ‘Great job,’ and I modestly dip my head.

‘Right, everyone, now that’s sorted, we should get back to work. Lots to do,’ says Raff, taking charge. And rightly so. Of everything left on the list, baking a wedding cake is up there as the most labour intensive.

As the others spring into action – including Aunt Christine, who starts spouting off everything she and Uncle Marv need to do – Raff takes the bride and groom aside to ask what kind of cake they’d like.

‘Gaby, can you come into the kitchen for a sec?’ asks Mom.

I follow her out of the room. ‘Sure, what’s up?’

She looks past me to make sure we have privacy, then leans close. ‘So, Monica is staying at Chrissy and Marv’s tonight – with Brian.’

‘Oh, okay. So, she’s not superstitious then.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘That thing about the bride and groom seeing each other before the ceremony,’ I reply.

‘Oh, right. Actually, Chrissy mentioned that, and Monica called it “a BS, archaic tradition from the time women were considered chattel”.’

‘Sounds about right,’ I say with a laugh.

Mom regards me closely.

‘What?’ I reach up and brush around my mouth. ‘Do I have mustard on my face?’

‘No, hun. It’s just that with Monica out of the house, I thought we could make some changes to the sleeping arrangements – put Raff in Issy’s old room on the king single and Issy in with you.’

‘Ahh…’

How did I not see that coming? And then it hits me: denial – pure, simple denial.

But Mom’s right. And so is Poppy. And Freya. Sleeping next to Raff has been torture and with these new arrangements, there will be one less thing to obsess over. And, hey, I might actually get some sleep!

‘Sure, Mom. Sounds good. I’ll go up now and switch out the bedding.’

Mom reaches over and rubs my arm then gives it a squeeze, and the back of my throat prickles, signalling tears are imminent. Now that we’ve determined how to salvage this wedding, my brain has only one conundrum to chew over – being in love with Raff.

I expel a long sigh, then go upstairs to rummage through the linen closet.

‘I can run you down there,’ Dad offers. ‘Dave dropped off a set of chains a half-hour ago.’

Raff needs several ingredients for the wedding cake because (of course ) he offered to make a spiced, white-chocolate mud cake and there is not an ounce of white chocolate in the house – or Aunt Christine and Uncle Marv’s. He also needs a few other key items.

Dad says he’ll take us down the hill to Metro Market, but I worry about his SUV getting back up the hill – even with chains. Besides, Brian told us people are snowboarding down Queen Anne Avenue, then showed us a guy who’s live streaming it to Instagram.

‘We can just walk over to Trader Joe’s, Dad. It’s not that far. ’

He frowns at me, then concedes. ‘Okay, sweetheart. But if it gets too much out there, call and I’ll come get you.’

He makes it sound like a warzone. It’s just snow . And right now, it’s falling gently from the sky. If a blizzard were raging outside, I’d happily let Dad drive us the five blocks there and back.

Raff and I bundle into our warmest clothes and boots, then set out, making fresh footprints in the six-inch blanket of snow. For the first few blocks, we don’t talk, which is not unusual for us – neither of us are fill-every-silence type people. And Raff seems content to study each house we pass, his neck craning to see the roofs of the taller houses.

There’s an eclectic mix of homes in my parents’ neighbourhood. Many were built more than a hundred years ago, with owners lovingly restoring and maintaining the original style. Quite a few are monuments to modernity, all glass and concrete and acute angles. The one thing most have in common is that they are worth a fortune.

My parents bought theirs soon after they got married when Issy was a baby, in the time she calls ‘before you were alive’. I have no doubt they could sell up and retire to the Bahamas on the proceeds of the sale, but my mom loves that house. She once told me that the only way she’s leaving is in a body bag. I’d been appalled at the morbid joke, but she’d just laughed.

And here’s me, living across the world in a teeny (but cute) apartment, my fourth since living in London. It’s hard to imagine getting married and starting a family and living in one house for the rest of my life.

‘Penny for your thoughts,’ says Raff.

I’ve been in my head so long, we’re already halfway there. But at least I can tell him the truth – most of my thoughts since we arrived in Seattle have been about him .

‘I’m thinking about how long my parents have lived here – more than thirty-five years now. Since before I was born.’

‘Blimey. I don’t know many people who have lived in one place for that long. Certainly not my parents. Not even CiCi and Devin.’

‘Well, when you make a shit-tonne of money that you’ve worked your ass off for, you’re entitled to move into a mansion.’

The house they live in now is not the one Raff grew up in, which was far more modest – though, just as filled with love, I imagine.

‘True,’ he says, laughter in his voice. ‘But can you imagine buying a house now and still living there when you’re seventy?’ he asks.

‘Nope.’

‘Hmm, me neither. I suppose it might be different if you’re married, though.’

Okay, I am not letting that comment slide. ‘How so?’

‘It’s part and parcel, isn’t it? Building a life together, buying a home.’

‘But what if your idea of marriage isn’t so traditional? What if you don’t want to be tied to a mortgage?’

‘Don’t you?’ he asks, and it’s hard to miss the surprise in his voice.

‘Not really. I mean, I did – once – when I was with Eric. It’s what I was conditioned to believe, how life was supposed to go, right? Fall in love, get married, buy a house, pop out some kids…’

‘You don’t want children?’

‘I didn’t say that. It’s just… after Eric and I broke up, I re-evaluated, and I discovered that a lot of what I thought I wanted wasn’t what I wanted at all. I didn’t want to spend my entire adult life living in the same neighbourhood where I grew up. I wanted to explore and meet new people and have experiences I couldn’t even imagine yet. ’

‘Is that why you decided to move to London?’ he asks.

‘I’ve told you this before, haven’t I?’

‘Not this part. Only that you had a breakup and moved to London soon after.’

‘Oh, well the breakup was the impetus – it sparked several weeks of introspection – but the destination wasn’t the point. Going was the point. Getting out of Dodge, breaking my routines and habits, getting as far away as possible from Eric .’

‘So, why London?’

‘I considered all the cities where Global Reach had offices, but it came down to Notting Hill ,’ I reply.

‘Sorry? Oh, do you mean the film?’

‘Mm-hmm. Richard Curtis and his idealistic representation of life in London spoke to me. I was mainlining ice cream and crying my sad little heart out, and Mom put on Notting Hill . That night, I went online and looked up flights to London.’

He goes silent and I look up at him.

‘What?’

He smiles, his eyes roaming my face, and I look away, unable to bear how much I want him to lean down and kiss me.

‘Just that it’s lovely how we’ve known each other for years and are best of friends, yet we still have things to learn about each other.’

I stop myself from howling with ironic laughter.

We still have things to learn about each other.

Indeed, we do, Rafferty. Indeed, we frigging do.