Page 73 of Ethan & Grace

I turned to see Grace hurrying towards me. She was wearing a dark-red jacket over a light jumper, an olive-green skirt, and tights. Her blond hair cascaded over her shoulders. She looked beautiful, as always, and a smile spread automatically across my face. When Grace stopped beside me and smiled back, I leant forward without thinking and kissed her lips.

She hesitated. “Since when do we kiss in public?”

“Does it bother you?”

“No, but maybe it should bother you.” She glanced around warily. We were standing on Old Brompton Road in front of the Molly Rose Bakery, which Grace had told me was her favourite café. I’d suggested we meet there on her day off. “Do I have to remind you what a big deal the press made when they found out Henry was cavorting with a hotel employee?”

“Maybe, but perhaps I should remind you that I’m not Henry—and a headline about me cavorting with you would probably be a positive change.” The press had written far worse, and far more scandalous, things about me, most of which weren’t even true.

Grace tilted her head. “Fair point.”

I laughed and kissed her again, this time more deeply. I just couldn’t get enough of her.

We stepped inside together. The bakery was small and cosy. A long counter displayed all kinds of treats, and there were a few tables scattered around the room. In the back, a glass partition offered a view into the kitchen. The air smelled wonderfully of sweet pastries and freshly roasted coffee beans. Grace opted for a brownie, while I chose a slice of cake. We both ordered tea and sat down at the last free table, right by the glass partition.

“How was Cambridge?” Grace asked.

“It was nice spending more time with James again. I miss him,” I admitted. “We shared a room back at boarding school, and we were pretty much inseparable. Seeing him only every few weeks has been an adjustment.”

“Why didn’t you go to Cambridge with him, and study there?”

“I didn’t want to leave London. I really missed it here when I was away at school. And Cambridge might be pretty, but it’s far too small for me. There’s not enough going on, and not much diversity.”

“I get it.”

“You were born and raised here too, right?”

“Yeah, my family has lived in London for four generations.”

“Have you ever considered moving away?”

She shook her head. “No. Things are a bit tense with my parents at the moment, but I can’t imagine leaving my family behind. Even though I do sometimes wish for a bit more space. Our flat was cramped enough before Amy’s death, but now it feels as if her absence fills up every inch of it. Maybe it’s time I move out. But I need to find something affordable first.”

“Let me know if you need help with that.”

“I doubt the flats you could find me would be in my budget, but thanks for the offer. I might get back to you when I need someone to help me lug moving boxes.”

“I’d pay for a moving company,” I said, which made her laugh out loud. I meant it, though. I’d never helped anyone move boxes myself, and I had no intention of starting now.

The woman behind the counter brought our order over, setting two cups and plates in front of us.

Grace immediately picked up her fork and took a bite of her brownie. She closed her eyes and moaned with delight, which made me think things I probably shouldn’t in public.

“I love these brownies,” she said.

“And I love the sound you make when you eat them. You sound a bit like that when you come.”

Grace opened her eyes, shocked, and checked whether anyone had overheard. When she turned back to me, her cheeks had flushed the most adorable shade of red. “You can’t say things like that in public!”

I reached for her hand across the table, raised it to my lips, and kissed her knuckles. “Why not? It’s the truth.”

“Maybe, but some thoughts are best left unspoken.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” I stroked the back of her hand gently with my thumb and felt her shiver at my touch.

Grace shook her head incredulously, though I saw the corners of her mouth twitch. She made sure not to make a sound when she took her next bite.

I started on my cake and asked about her weekend. She told me about her film night with Kate and their friend Rose, who worked as a kitchen assistant at Darlington Dining. She went on to tell me that the news of Henry’s addiction had changed the atmosphere at The Darlington. Many of the staff were struggling to process it. Like me, they’d seen Henry as a rock they could rely on, but their trust was now crumbling under the weight of their concern for his mental and physical well-being. I hoped they would soon realise that Henry still had everything under control. The Vitalyn had never made him any less competent, after all.