by L.H. Cosway
“That’s true,” I said. “Growing up, I could never forget the fact that I was adopted. If you were an outsider looking in, you’d see a girl who was adored and cherished by her parents, but on the inside, I always felt a little like they’d taken pity on me and I didn’t truly belong. My brothers were my parents’ by blood, but I wasn’t.”
James’ deep, empathic brown eyes took me in. I felt exposed in a way I hadn’t anticipated. I’d never expressed this feeling to anyone before and it was scary, especially since I hadn’t planned to tell him anything quite so revealing.
“I can’t imagine they felt anything but love for you, Michaela. Our brains like to concoct ways to make us feel unwanted, even when we’re loved completely and unconditionally.”
Or when your adopted sibling plants the idea in your head. I swallowed thickly, pushing that thought aside. “I’m supposed to be cheering you up and here I am, looking for sympathy.”
“I didn’t ask you to cheer me up. I asked you to distract me and you have. Thinking of someone else’s issues is a good way of taking your mind off your own.” He stood up and took his empty bowl over to the sink. “I’m going to get an early night, but thanks for making dinner. I keep having to remind myself to eat.”
“Well, stick by me and you’ll be all right. I never forget to eat,” I joked.
James gave me another barely-there smile.
I frowned. “Wait, there’s no furniture in the front bedroom. How will you—”
“Neil managed to have a bed delivered on short notice,” he said, cutting me off.
“Right. Neil is pretty magical sometimes,” I replied.
His eyes softened. “Goodnight, M.”
“’Night.”
I listened to his footsteps as he ascended the stairs, then finished the rest of my soup. The room felt empty without him in it. A little while later, I headed up to my own room, pausing on the landing. I could hear a noise coming from the direction of James’ room, and my heart sank when I realised what it was.
He was crying.
Whether it was because of his mum or the breakup, or both, I couldn’t tell. The thought of such a big, strong, stoic man so overcome by grief broke my heart.
I’d never felt so powerless to help someone in my entire life.
Thirteen
Michaela
The next week was an unusual experience. James and I lived in the same house, we orbited around each other, but we barely talked. He was still lost in his grief. I hadn’t heard him crying again, but I still couldn’t get the quiet, low, barely-there sound of it out of my head. James was always so together, so strong. It was heartbreaking to see him broken down like this.
I’d been wrong when I thought seeing him all the time would inoculate me against having feelings. Instead, my feelings for him had strengthened, but they’d also changed. Now I wanted to care for him, help him feel better, and get through this tough period.
I tried my best to be supportive, to be there if he needed me. The only time I really saw him was at the start of each day. We ate breakfast at seven thirty every morning. I switched between porridge with blueberries and almond butter and avocado on toast. They were the only two breakfasts in my repertoire, but James didn’t seem to mind.
During the daytime hours, I dealt with the workmen coming into the house, while also carrying out my PA duties remotely. Neil and I had agreed that he’d take care of all the in-person stuff, and I’d take care of the email, phone correspondence, and social media. James divided his time between caring for his dad and going to the gym. In the evenings, I left dinner for him to heat up in the microwave, preferring to hide in my room and play Greenforest with Sarita and Afric.
My instinct to be invisible and take up as little space as possible took over. I sensed James liked having me there to deal with all of the organisational tasks he didn’t have the headspace for, but I didn’t think he wanted me in his face all the time. He clearly needed space to deal with all the stuff he was going through. So we had our quiet breakfasts, eating in companionable silence and that was enough.
On Saturday, I dropped over to see Afric and Sarita and they convinced me to go out for drinks.
“I just got paid,” Afric declared. “Let’s go to that ridiculous rooftop bar where they look at you like you’re a fat lump of lard if you’re over a size ten.”
“Is that your idea of a good time?” Sarita questioned, eyebrows raised.
“I’m a disrupter,” Afric replied. “I like making stuck-up arseholes feel uncomfortable by my presence.”
She might’ve been a hermit, but every once in a while, Afric got a hankering to leave the flat. Plus, Mabel had taken the Eurostar back to Paris for the weekend to visit her parents, so Sarita was eager to fill her weekend so she didn’t miss her girlfriend too much. I still had a few clothes in my room, the less comfortable stuff that I didn’t wear very often. These also happened to be my dressier outfits, so they were perfect for a night out.
I paired a calf-length burgundy dress with black velvet high heels. Afric wore leggings, Doc Martin boots, and an oversized Moschino hoodie that looked like something you’d wear to lounge around the house but probably cost over a grand. Afric was the sort of person whose clothes either cost way too much or way too little. Never anything in between. Sarita wore a very chic all-black ensemble consisting of jeans, a silk blouse, and heels, her long, dark hair hanging down her back.
We took the Tube into the city. When we arrived at the bar, there was a queue out of the door. We had to wait twenty minutes to get inside, where we then had to pay a £10 entry fee.
“This is ridiculous,” Sarita said. “We’d probably have more fun at the pub across the street and wouldn’t have to pay to get in.”
“Relax. I’m paying,” Afric shouted over the music. “Now, what do you want to drink?”
“I’ll have a vodka martini,” I said, feeling adventurous. It had been a tense week trying to get all my work done while staying out of James’ way, so I wanted to let loose.
“I’ll have the same,” Sarita replied, assuaged by the offer of a free drink.
Afric disappeared to the bar while we went to sit down out on the terrace where it was quieter and we could hear each other talk. It had those outdoor heaters, so it wasn’t too cold. There was also a great view of the city, which went a small way to make up for the exorbitant entry fee.
“So, how have things been with you? How’s work going over at the house?” Sarita asked.
“Things are good. James is actually staying at the house now, too,” I said.
I’d told my friends about his mother passing away, but I hadn’t yet filled them in on him breaking up with Diana.
“He is? Why?”
I stared at the glass surface of the table. “He broke up with his fiancée.”
“Oh my god, that’s awful. Do you know why they split?” Sarita questioned.
I shrugged and shook my head. “No, I’m not really the person he’d talk to about all that. I’m really just there to do my job.”
When I glanced at her, her brow was furrowed as she studied me. “What?” I asked, feeling self-conscious.
“There’s something you’re not telling me,” she said just as Afric joined us with the drinks.
“Two vodka martinis,” she announced.
I was glad for the interruption. “Thanks. I’ll buy the next round.”
She waved me away. “I already told you, I’m paying tonight.”
“Michaela’s acting weird,” Sarita said.
I inwardly groaned. She wasn’t letting this go.
Afric turned her attention to me. “Why are you acting weird?”
“I’m not. Sarita’s imagining things.”
“I’m not imagining anything. Something’s up. Now tell us.”
I picked up my cocktail glass and took a small sip. “If you must know, I’ve been trying to decide whether to ask Louis out on a date.”
“Is that the bloke you met
at my gig?” Sarita asked.
I nodded, relieved she was buying my answer. “We’ve been texting, but he hasn’t asked to meet up yet. I can’t tell if he’s interested in me that way.”
“Well, why don’t you ask him to come meet you now?” Afric suggested. “Bite the bullet.”
I pulled my phone from my bag, pondering the screen as I bit my lip. I hadn’t really been thinking about asking Louis out, but it was the first thing that popped into my head. The truth was too complicated to discuss. If I told my friends I was far too busy worrying about my boss’ mental health to think about anything else, let alone my romantic life, then I’d also have to tell them why I was so worried. More worried than a typical employee might be for their boss.
Maybe I should get in touch with Louis. If I just gave him a chance, perhaps he’d be able to distract me from James.
I brought my attention back to my friends. “You think I should text him?”
“Yeah, go for it,” Sarita encouraged. “If what I saw at the gig is anything to go by, he’s definitely into you.”
“What should I say?”
“Snap a sexy selfie and send it to him. Works every time,” Afric said, all matter of fact.
I wasn’t so sure. “Really?”
“Yes,” she urged. “Do it.”
I opened the camera app and held my phone up in front of me, attempting a sultry expression as I snapped a pic. Then I turned the screen to my friends. “What do you think?”
“Gorgeous,” Sarita complimented.
“You look fab,” Afric agreed.
Before I lost my nerve, I attached the picture to a message.
Me: Want to meet up tonight?
I tried to ignore the feeling of queasiness in my gut. It was probably because my heart yearned for James and I was trying to redirect that yearning onto Louis. The stubborn organ was unwilling to comply.
A few minutes later, my phone buzzed with a response and my eyes widened. My throat went dry while my palms started to sweat. He’d been in my thoughts so much that I’d mistakenly sent the message to James! Oh my God!
James: Very tempting offer, but I promised Dad we’d get a takeaway and watch a movie.
“What’s wrong?” Sarita questioned. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
“I…I sent the message to my boss by mistake.”
“Oh shit.”
“Which one? Was it Paul?” Afric asked. “I wouldn’t mind that sexy ginger coming and hanging out with us.”
“It wasn’t Paul,” I replied. Honestly, I would’ve preferred that. “It was James.”
“Oh, isn’t he getting married soon?” Afric winced. “Bit awkward.”
“He isn’t getting married,” Sarita told her. “He called off the engagement.”
Afric winced harder. “Fuck, that’s even worse. What if he thinks she’s trying to come onto him now that he’s single?”
Oh my goodness, what if he did think that? Nothing could be further from the truth. Just because James was now single didn’t make him available. He was grieving for his mother, not to mention he was my boss.
“I want to die.” I grimaced, my entire body cringing. I almost felt nauseous. “This is so bad. Why did you tell me to send a selfie? It would’ve been way less embarrassing without the selfie.” And if you had just told them the truth about James in the first place, you never would’ve tried to text Louis, my brain added. The saying honesty is the best policy rang in my head. Why couldn’t I just get over my fear of judgment and tell them?
“Just write back and tell him the message was meant for someone else,” Sarita urged.
I swallowed thickly and typed a reply.
Me: Omg, I’m so sorry! I meant to send that to someone else.
James: No worries lol. I figured as much. Have a good night. You look lovely.
Me: I’m so embarrassed. Sorry again.
James: Stop apologising. It happens to the best of us. x.
I stared at my phone, fixating on his compliment. He had no clue how my heart took flight from that small, simple x.
“Everything okay?” Sarita asked hesitantly.
I nodded and slid my phone back in my bag. “Yes. He knew it was a mistake.”
“Well, thank fuck for that. Now go send the pic to the guy it was originally meant for,” Afric urged. “You deserve some fun after all that.”
I shook my head. “I can’t. I’ve lost my nerve. New plan. Can we just get drunk and go dancing?”
“Of course we can,” Sarita said, and relief filled me.
I just wanted to spend the night forgetting about the trauma of the last few minutes. My life had become so much more complicated lately and it was starting to wear me down.
Before, all I needed to do was keep my feelings for James a secret until they faded. Now I was around him more than ever, and I was filled with this overwhelming urge to comfort him in his grief. The problem was, I couldn’t tell whether or not it was a selfish urge. Did I want to comfort him out of human kindness, or were my feelings pushing me forward, taking advantage of any excuse to be close with him? I hoped it was the former, because the latter felt creepy and gross, and I’d rather quit my job and never see James ever again than allow myself to be that person.
***
Several hours later, a taxi dropped me off at the house. I knew James was back from his Dad’s because his car was outside. Feet aching, I pulled off my heels, slung them over my arm, and endeavoured to slot my key in the front door. It took a few tries to get it to go in since it was dark and I was more than a little tipsy. I had to try extra hard to step quietly into the house.
Deciding I should grab a glass of water before going to bed (to lessen the effects of what was sure to be an epic hangover), I crept into the kitchen.
“Oh! You gave me a fright!” I squeaked when I found James sitting by the table. There was a bottle of beer in front of him, alongside several empty ones.
“Sorry, I didn’t think you’d be back tonight,” he said, his voice quiet. He didn’t sound drunk, despite the evidence to suggest otherwise. Then again, James was a big guy. It probably took a lot more than a few beers to get him drunk.
“Are you okay?” I asked, managing not to slur and trying to appear sober. “How was your dad?”
“Dad’s…coping,” he replied and gestured for me to sit.
I put my shoes down on the floor. James’ gaze wandered to my bare feet, lingering a moment. I inhaled sharply and sat down on the chair opposite him. It was only a small folding table, so we were close, our knees almost touching.
“What about you?” I went on, my voice gentle.
His eyes met mine, and I saw so much turmoil I just wanted to reach out and pull him into me, soothe the pain away. Again, I wondered about my motivation and killed the urge.
“I’m taking each day as it comes,” James answered then picked up his beer and took a swig.
“I guess that’s all you can do,” I said, sobering a little. As he continued to hold my gaze, goose pimples rose on my arms. He wore a brooding intensity tonight that made me extra aware of everything about him. From the way his knuckles were wrapped around the beer bottle, to the stress lines around his mouth, to the deep indent between his eyebrows.
“Did your message eventually reach the right person?” he asked.
I worried my lip as I shook my head. “Um, no. I decided not to send it in the end.”
The way his dark eyes took me in gave me tingles. “Why not?”
“Lost my nerve.”
“Poor guy. He missed out,” he said, his focus wandering down my body now.
Had he actually just said that? Was he really looking at me how he was? I needed to check and see if this was a figment of my wanton imagination. Or maybe James had more to drink than the few beers I could see in front of him.
“I don’t know about that,” I said, self-deprecating.
He studied me now and I tensed. Could he see into my thoughts? Did he know
I wished my sexy selfie could’ve actually been for him tonight? How pathetic was that? Several moments of quiet passed before I found myself asking a question I’d wanted to ask all week, a question that I never would’ve asked sober.
“Why did you break up with Diana?”
As soon as the words left my mouth, I wished I could take them back. The mood darkened, became thick with a tension I couldn’t put my finger on.
“Why do you want to know?” He tipped the bottle to his lips for another gulp.
Stop staring at his throat. “You two just seemed so perfect together. And she’s so beautiful…”
“Beauty only goes so far,” James said. “And if you really want to know, I broke up with her for a number of reasons, but the main one was that I don’t love her anymore.”
My eyebrows jumped. “You don’t?”
He exhaled heavily, looking like a broken man. “Maybe I never did. She was the first woman I was ever with. I had nothing to compare her to.”
I stared at him, wide-eyed. “You mean you never…you never had sex with anyone else?” How could it be possible that I’d slept with more people than this gorgeous man who was almost a decade older than me?
He seemed a little shy now, eyes lowering to the table. “I told you. My life before Diana was regimented. I rarely broke from my routine, didn’t go out.”
“But you’re so, so…”
“So what?” he questioned, expression intense.
“So good-looking,” I blurted. “Even if you didn’t go out. You’re the sort of man women find, no matter where you might be hiding.”
Stop talking and go to bed.
James let out a quiet chuckle, seeming amused. And if I wasn’t mistaken, a hint of shyness entered his expression at me calling him good-looking. Bloody alcohol was like truth serum. “You make it sound so sinister,” he said.
“Well, I’m only telling you what I’ve observed. I can’t talk from personal experience since I’m not much of a man hunter myself.”
He tilted his head now, curious. “What do you do then?”