“I hope it was worth it.” For a moment, I didn’t know what he meant. “What happened with the hen do,” he pressed. “The meet-cute you did for the screenwriter.”
Mr. Judgy indeed, a small voice said, rather smugly. But this was supposed to be an apology, and it’s not like I didn’t deserve this. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m not even sure I’ll be doing any more meet-cutes. NOB’s gone.”
“Gone?”
“AWOL. Disappeared. Vanished. Just when he was supposed to deliver the rest of Act Two.”
“From what you’ve said, it’s a miracle he’s written anything at all.”
“What are you, his biggest fan?” I snapped. Rein it in, Evie. At this rate, I was going to have to apologize for this apology.
“What I mean is,” Ben persisted, “that you got him writing again. He clearly needs you. So call him on it.” There was a challenge in his expression. “Refuse to do any more meet-cutes.”
Why did he have such an issue with them? “Don’t you think I’ve tried that?” Albeit drunkenly. “He doesn’t take me seriously. He actually had me believing the meet-cutes were helping him write. That must sound ridiculous.”
“Not at all,” said Ben, and I looked up into his eyes, surprised. Kind eyes, I thought foolishly.
“Evie!” Steph rushed up to the table. “Do you have any change? Marc and I are trying to beat each other on the arcade machine.” She gave me a meaningful look. Ben already had his wallet out, handing her what looked like a significant number of pounds.
“Good luck, Drew,” I said. Steph winked and hurried off.
“Anette’s started doing new things,” Ben continued, when she’d gone. “Drama class. Making new friends. She really got her confidence after the play.”
“That’s wonderful,” I replied, wondering where he was going with this.
“And it’s all thanks to you. Seeing everything you’ve been doing, it made her want to be brave too.” I’d never been called brave before. After running out on him last Sunday, I didn’t feel I deserved to be. And while the meet-cutes generally required taking more than a few risks with my dignity, I always considered myself motivated by the fear of losing my job. “She told me she wanted to ‘Be More Evie.’”
“She did?” I said wonderingly.
“She said I should be more Evie too.” His eyes dropped to the camera, just briefly, before returning to mine. “That screenwriter would be lost without you, and he knows that. He needs you. Believe me. If he thinks you’re really done with the deal, he’ll come running.”
I let Ben’s words sink in. He sounded so sure. NOB had arranged it so I could do more meet-cutes. Would he have done that if he didn’t need them?
In which case, how might he react if he genuinely thought he wasn’t getting any more help from me? Would that be enough to make him stick to the deadline? Maybe even send me his pages, for a change? It would take more than the vague threat I’d issued on New Year’s Eve. I needed to walk away from the deal.
For that, I’d have to be as brave as Anette believed I was. Either that, or drunk.
“Okay,” I said to Ben. “No more meet-cutes.” For now.
His smile lit up his face. “Then I believe this calls for more drinks.” He headed off to the bar, his tall form cutting a path through the thinning crowd.
I got my phone out and wrote NOB a message I dearly hoped I wouldn’t live to regret when I woke up, sober, tomorrow.
RED: you were right about rom-coms. They aren’t realistic. I’m never going to find someone to fall in love with me. I’m going to tell Monty everything. I’m done. The deal is off
Ben was still at the bar when my phone lit up. I grabbed it.
UNKNOWN NUMBER: Hi there. I’ve just found your card. I think I really WLTM the girl who’d do something like this
I sank back in my chair, disappointed. I’d all but given up on the Fate meet-cute, after my X-rated Christmas messages. Could it be that someone normal had finally found one of my cards tucked into a book? I put my phone away without responding. I needed to stick to my decision: no more meet-cutes until NOB delivered. In the meantime, I just had to pray that NOB didn’t talk to Monty about our deal, because I certainly wasn’t planning to. It was a calculated risk, one I was willing to take if it got NOB to take me seriously. He knew my job was at stake if Monty found out. I had to hope this was enough for him to believe me.
Ben threaded his way back through the bar toward me. The tips of his ears were pink. I wondered if he’d checked in on our absent friends. He placed our drinks down—Dark and Stormys, I guessed, by the looks of them—a careful distance away from his camera, and I thought of the job offer Marc had made. Once again, Ben had helped me out, and so far I’d managed only a fumbled apology in return. Maybe there was something I could do for him.
Sometimes people just needed a nudge to get back on the right track.
I reached into my bag and pulled out the USB I’d been carrying around with me.
“You left some photos on here,” I said.
He paused, the straw halfway to his mouth, emotions passing over his face almost too quickly to catch. Concern, maybe, as if he cared what I thought. And possibly even relief.
“They’re incredible, Ben.”
“Thank you.” His tone was guarded.
There were so many questions I’d wanted to ask since seeing the pictures. I started with what I thought might be the easiest. “When did you stop?” I said gently.
A brief pause. “About three years ago.” The same amount of time that had passed since his wife died. I doubted that was a coincidence.
Ding ding ding. “Last orders in five!” a barman called.
It was now or never.
Maybe if I hadn’t seen those photos, or the way his eyes had lingered on the camera, this was where I would have stopped pushing. But I couldn’t. Not before I’d told him something I very rarely told anyone. I owed him that.
“I used to want to be a writer.” At my rushed words, he fell still, giving me his complete attention. “My dad and I would watch films together—we weren’t picky. Romance. Musicals. Westerns. Thrillers. Dorothy Taylor’s Brick Park was our favorite. I wanted to be like her so badly. I’d write all the time. I even studied screenwriting at university. Dad was on his way to a screening of one of my short films when it happened.” I swallowed, remembering being annoyed at his lateness and wondering where he was, then getting Mum’s call, and the world falling down. Your dad’s in hospital. “They said it was a massive heart attack. It could have happened at any time.” But it had happened when he was rushing to see my film.