Page 13 of Say Hello, Kiss Goodbye

“Yeah, felt great.” Harry’s eyes darted to his right and a nodding Lucy cutting thick slices of bread farther down the counter. “Have you heard from her?”

“I texted,” said Tarquin. “She’s feeling better, thank god.” But was food poisoning just an excuse to call it an early night? I don’t blame her. Prisha is smart and attractive, but neither of us felt sparks. She’s pining over a bloke from her work, and I can’t stop thinking about the amazing girl I met in IKEA who, let’s face it, I’ll never see again. Strip by strip, he transferred the bacon to the grill, the sharp sizzle a welcome distraction. “I got home at ten-thirty, had an aged Scotch, watched the fireworks from my terrace—it wasn’t the worst New Year’s Eve.”

“Wasn’t exactly the best, either,” Lucy muttered under her breath, sliding bread into the expensive four-slice toaster.

“You should’ve come to London Fields, mate.” Harry scooped the mushrooms out of the water, patting them dry with paper towel. “Alex and Mark did invite you.”

“I know, but it still feels a little weird.”

Lucy raised an eyebrow, her expression shouting ‘I knew it!’ “See! You’re still hooked on Alex—”

“Lucy, please. Just drop it! This isn’t about Alex, or Mark.” He left the tongs on a plate and stormed to the fridge. Wait. He paused, his hand sliding down the handle. Don’t be a dick. It’s not Lucy’s fault. “I skipped their party because I feel like the odd man out, okay? I envy what Mark has with Alex. Blimey, I envy what Harry has with you.” He yanked open the door, escaping Harry’s sympathetic nod. “I do want a girlfriend, someone I can be myself with…someone to love—someone who loves me back.”

“She’s out there, mate, trust me,” said Harry.

“Yeah, probably in love with someone else.” Tarquin shifted several yogurts and juices out of his way. “I’m tired of apps, dates that go nowhere, shagging just because—it’s not me anymore. It feels…empty. Hookups were fun for a while, but now that everyone’s pairing off, I—” Fuck. I’m not talking about this. He scowled at a pre-packaged red curry-for-one at the back of his fridge.

“I—what?” asked Harry. “Don’t leave us hanging.”

Fine. “I have this niggling fear I’ll actually end up alone.” Shit. Well, that sounded sad and desperate, you tosser. Tarquin grabbed a carton of free-range eggs. Should’ve kept my mouth shut.

“Well, you will be if you never make it to a third date. Stop being so picky!” Lucy licked butter off her finger as Tarquin’s phone, wedged between his coffee maker and recipe books, burst into the Star Wars theme.

Mum, give it a bloody rest! Eggs in hand, Tarquin elbowed the fridge door closed and reunited with the stove. “Ignore her—”

Lucy pounced. “Good morning, Tarquin Balfour’s phone! How may I direct your call?”

Her over-the-top business voice melted Tarquin’s frown. He traded the eggs for tongs and checked their frying breakfast. “Don’t fall for it—take away the air kisses and luvvie facade, and Mum’s as East End as you.”

“Pardon?” Squinting, Lucy covered her other ear. “I’m having trouble hearing…”

“Lucy, just take a message. Tell her I’ll call her later.”

Eyes widening, Lucy’s brows slowly crept toward her hairline. “Your name’s Leia?”

Leia?! Mid bacon flip, Tarquin’s breath hitched.

“Bloody hell, who is this?” Lucy howled. “You’re a freaking legend!”

“Leia?” Harry’s mouth fell open. “Oh, mate, in your wet dreams!”

Pulse racing, Tarquin dropped the tongs on the counter and bounded past his best friend, his beckoning fingers urging Lucy to surrender his phone. “I’ll take it.”

She batted him away, skipping into the palatial living room. “Leia, sorry, it’s a really bad line—are you calling from a galaxy far, far away?”

Tarquin raced after her, swerving around the bag of toys for Ava. “Lucy, quit it!” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Don’t make fun of her name.”

Stalling by the windows, she squinted in the sunlight and thrust the phone into his chest. “At least Leia’s got a sense of humor—she’s laughing.”

Oh, god, I hope so. Tarquin wrenched the phone from Lucy’s hand and covered the microphone, his tight lips and darting eyes throwing her a ‘Go on, do one’ glare.

Lucy played with her ponytail of braids. “Chill, Tarq,” she whispered. “All yours, tiger!” She slapped Tarquin’s ass playfully and padded back to Harry, stood in the kitchen doorway.

“Babe, your toast is burning.” Spatula aloft, Harry let Lucy slip past, his gaze settling on Tarquin. “I’ll take care of the fry-up,” he mouthed, then he pulled the glass door separating the kitchen and the living room half-closed, gifting his friend some privacy with a conspiratorial thumbs-up.

Please still be there. The salty, comforting smell of sizzling bacon did nothing to calm the butterflies in Tarquin’s stomach. Clearing his throat, he lifted the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“Tarquin? Hi, it’s Leia Scott”—a giggle infiltrated her words like she was in on the joke—“but I think you already knew that.”