“Hang on,” he called. “We have two chairs going spare. You’re welcome to them. Honestly, that was a bad first impression. You should really see my second.”
Steph checked for my opinion. “It’s this or standing,” I said. She turned back around and placed the wine on his table.
“All right, let’s see it, then,” she said as she perched next to him.
The man grinned and sat up straight. “Marc. Recently single. Photographer. Top-notch guy when sober. Would never dream of asking you to lactate. That stool there is for my friend. One of those annoyingly handsome-and-doesn’t-know-it-boy-scout types.” He gave me a pointed look. “He’s just helped me move out of my ex’s.” This last part was purely for Steph’s benefit, and yet, completely on reflex, I started weighing up the situation for meet-cute potential. Perhaps if I spilled my drink on the (presumably age-appropriate) boy scout . . . Of course, NOB would have to be reading his emails for it to be worthwhile. “Now your turn. Tell me your names and the most interesting thing about you.”
Steph poured wine up to the brim of my glass, suppressing a smile. “I’m Steph,” she said. “I’m doing a thesis in feminist literature, which I fund by writing erotic fiction.” Marc looked as impressed as I had earlier in the evening when she’d told me. “This is my friend Evie.” I was trying to think of the best way to phrase “I watch a lot of Netflix” when Steph continued with “She works at a film agency. She’s trying to fall in love the way they do in rom-coms, to get an asshole screenwriter to write one.”
“I’m not really looking for love,” I said, as if Marc needed or cared about the clarification. “I’m just doing it for my job.” I took a huge gulp of wine, slightly mortified, and yet, at the same time, a little pleased that my life sounded a lot more interesting than I was used to.
Marc peered into his pint. “It’s possible I’ve either drunk too much or not enough to understand what you’ve just said. Ah!” He waved to someone behind us. “Here he is.” He looked to me again. “Truly, a wonderful human and the best friend a man could have.”
My first thought was Tall, curly black hair, soft brown eyes, dark expressive brows, great jawline before realizing who I was describing.
“Ben?”
“Evie?” Ben stared at me as he slipped his phone into his pocket. I blushed furiously, glad he couldn’t know what I’d just been thinking. Meet-cute potential indeed. Steph was looking at him too, intrigued. We hadn’t got around to talking about Ben.
Marc gestured to the stool beside me and, after a noticeable pause, Ben sat down, eyes still on me.
“You already know each other? I thought you didn’t get out anymore, pal. Have you been holding out on me?”
“We met at Gil’s,” Ben said quietly.
Marc’s expression softened. “Ah, pal.” He seemed to look at me anew. “Of all places.”
There was a moment of silence following this, and I reached to fill it. “Steph, this is my Ben friend—my Ben—my friend Ben,” I stumbled, causing Ben to raise those dark expressive brows. We hadn’t spoken since last Sunday when I’d dropped off his projector at Gil’s. It had been a flying visit because, in a less-than-courteous move, I’d hotfooted it out of there to do a meet-cute, unable to cope with facing him so soon after I’d called him Mr. Judgy. Anette must have somehow coerced him to pose for a selfie because an hour later I’d received a picture of them both drinking hot chocolates and the message Good luck finding Mr. Happy Ending, Evie! I’d been feeling absolutely terrible for avoiding him ever since.
And now here he was, close enough to touch.
“You’ve already met my Marc,” Ben said, as he held his hand out to Steph. She shook it with a slow smile, giving him an appreciative once-over. I suppressed the strangest surge of possessiveness. It’s not like he actually is your Ben.
“We go way back.” Marc drained half his beer. “Evie here was about to tell us how she is definitely not trying to fall in love.”
Ben didn’t respond. I studied him, trying to work out if he was annoyed at me.
Steph seemed to sense something was amiss. “Marc was just about to tell us what kind of photographer he is.”
“He was?” Marc said. She nodded encouragingly. “Look, I’m not one to show off my equipment on the first date, but . . .” He pulled a large camera out of the satchel hanging on his chair and gave it to Steph.
“It’s landscapes and wildlife mostly. National Geographic stuff. I worked with Attenborough. Well.” He blushed. “He wrote the intro for a book containing one of my spreads.” As he talked her through the photos, I couldn’t stop myself from looking at Ben, only to find his eyes were on the camera. Had he once worked with Marc?
“Sissy Lately,” Steph said, returning the camera. “That’s my pen name, if you’re interested. You’ve shown me yours, only fair that I show you mine. You have a considerable talent, Marc.”
“You should see it in action.” There was a rumble of thunder from outside, provoking an appreciative drunken chorus from the pub’s clientele. “That reminds me, last orders are in twenty and these guys do the best Dark and Stormys in southeast London.”
Steph swiftly emptied the remains of the bottle into my glass. “The weather gods have spoken. Let’s go.” They hopped off their stools.
“Here, big guy,” Marc said, pushing the camera into Ben’s hands. “Jill almost gave it away with the rest of my stuff. My ex,” he emphasized for Steph. “It’s a sign.” He spread his arms wide, walking backward into a group of drinkers. “You’re coming on my next job—we need our boy scout back!”
“I gave this to you,” Ben called after him. “And I have a job.” But he’d already gone.
Leaving us alone together.
* * *
Just relax, Evie. He might not even remember.
“So,” Ben said. “Mr. Judgy.”
“I was drunk,” I said quickly, then winced at the defensiveness in my voice. I might have acted like a complete coward last Sunday, but I’d been trying to think of a way to thank Ben properly for everything since the hen do. A heartfelt apology seemed like a good place to start. “I really shouldn’t have said that to you, and especially not after everything you did. I’m sorry. The thing is, those balloons, the slideshow, Shrewksbury—you made it a weekend Sarah is always going to remember.” I smiled ruefully. “And not just because there were a lot of penises.”
The edge of his mouth lifted, just a little. “You’re very welcome,” he said, and I let myself relax. Maybe I hadn’t messed things up completely between us.