by West, Jade
My heart shouldn’t have jumped in my chest at the sight of Ryan’s head shaking.
I shouldn’t be relieved. Shouldn’t be excited at the thought of Maisie being clear of the lug-head who’d managed to tempt her into his dumbfuck bully clutches back when I was pining her loss.
I shouldn’t be nervous. Interested. Wanting.
I shouldn’t be wanting anything to do with Maisie Moore whatsoever.
“No,” Ryan said. “He hasn’t managed to keep hold of her all this time. Doesn’t mean he didn’t want to, though. Doesn’t mean he won’t have a well-aimed fist for the zoo monkey should the monkey get too damn close to the prize.”
But I wasn’t scared of that. Not of a well-aimed fist, and not of Robbie dickhead Sawyer.
I had bigger things to be bothered by than Robbie dickhead Sawyer. Far too much on my plate back in London to be worried by his small-time bullshit.
I’d cleared a decent number of grim-tasting beers and slammed Ryan into runner up position on a decent quantity of games by the time we called it a night and I pulled his battered guest duvet up to my chin on his couch.
My heart was beating fast but weirdly happy, nerves swimming in a strangely heady bliss as I cleared my unread text messages and settled down for an ok night’s sleep on a good friend’s sofa.
And it was Maisie Moore I dreamt of.
Her curious smile. Her dirty laugh. The bounce of her shiny dark hair on her shoulders.
The smell of the lily rose body spray she wore back at school. After school. In her bed.
I dreamt of Maisie Moore in her technicolour detail. In her technicolour brilliance.
I dreamt of Maisie Moore smiling up at me. In my arms.
I dreamt of Maisie Moore.
But that was nothing new.
Chapter Three
Maisie
Robbie’s town crown must have been slipping that little bit further down his head in the gossip stakes. It was early the next afternoon when he charged up to my checkout with his eyes blazing and dropped some beers and cigarette lighters down on the belt along with a microwave lasagne.
News must have reached him pretty late in the whisper chain.
“You heard, then?” he asked as I bleeped his stuff through the scanner. “You gonna be scoping that jackass Kent out at the reunion? Batting your eyes at him like every other desperate fucking skirt in the place?”
My work smile dropped to my Robbie scowl.
“He’s back for a night,” I snapped. “And I’m not a desperate skirt, thanks very much. Twelve-sixty-five, please.”
I couldn’t hide my disdain as I stared up at the man I’d given so much of my life to back when my idiot crush was clearly ruling my head. His jaw was still jagged and proud, his eyes dark and deep. His collar was up on the leather jacket he’d been wearing since we were teens, the curls of his hair brushing it just so.
His smile was hot enough to stop the world spinning, almost universally to anyone wearing a pair of knickers. Not that I saw much of his smile these days. We were mainly pitched in scowls, both of us cursing each other, at loggerheads over some crap or other.
“You actually gonna be there, are you?” he asked as he scanned his bank card.
I shrugged. “Probably.”
“You wouldn’t normally want to be,” he commented with a sneer. “Couldn’t normally drag you out to a reunion for shit.”
I was thankful there was no one waiting behind him in the queue.
“I’d already promised Kate and Amy I would be actually,” I told him. “Me being at the reunion has got nothing to do with Ollie being back.”
“Ollie? Still Ollie to you, is he? He’s Oliver Cunty-boy Kent, saddo fucking pussy boy, more like,” he jeered, and his smirk was annoying enough that my hackles pricked.
“Oliver doing-really-well-with-his-life-and-none-of-your-pissing-business-Kent, more like,” I retorted. “He’s back here visiting Ryan Neil, so they say. Probably doesn’t give two hoots for seeing anyone from our school year or our sad little reunion, so wind your neck in.”
Robbie took his receipt and leaned in closer. “I’ll be there with the regular crowd. We’ll be having a good time, keeping an eye on what’s going down, don’t you worry.” His eyes burned with the usual possessive bravado. The stuff that used to make my heart thump when I was too heady with stupidity to know better. “He’s got no fucking place here anymore. If he’s any sense in that nerdy boy head, he should know it.”
I tutted to myself as he walked away.
Prick.
Robbie Sawyer was a prick. An attractive prick, with enough of that cockerel arrogance to make your thighs clench and your tongue drool, but a total bloody prick all the same.
I watched him leave the store with a shake of my head.
Once upon a time, he’d made me laugh. Stupid laugh. I’d loved the swing of his arm around my shoulders as I’d giggled so hard I couldn’t breathe.
Once upon a time, he’d made me feel like a girl in love. In the kind of love that spoke to the tender spot between your legs, when I was still young enough and dumb enough to think his cool strutting hotness was worth anything.
Once upon a time I was a fool. Luckily some good comes from some foolish decisions in this world.
Others not so much.
I think it was my tummy tumble that told me something was occurring in the store before my regular senses. I shuddered with the kind of tingle you get when your unconscious registers something well before your eyes.
Luckily, I was already in the process of closing down the checkout, ready to head out to the back and start on the low stock levels when my breath caught in my throat. My eyes blinked in disbelief as the figure in a long, black, tailored coat made his way to the newspaper display.
Ollie.
Of course it was.
I shifted position instinctively. His eyes were scanning the place, there was no doubt, but I avoided his sight, pressing myself into the bag section and out of view as he turned and scoped out the checkouts.
I moved quickly, carefully, thankful of the shoppers between us as I slipped along by the battery display and dared to peer out at him from a more hidden position. Dared to peer out with wide eyes and a pounding heart, lost to all sense and reason. Lost to everything but scoping out the boy who’d stolen my heart long before any other. Lost to everything but scoping him out now he was a man. A man I hadn’t seen in a decade. That I hadn’t imagined for a beat I’d see in the next decade, either.
Yet there he was.
And he was absolutely. Damn. Gorgeous.
Oliver Kent was every bit as incredible as I remembered him. His eyes were still the same sharp hazel under deep chocolate coloured brows. His mouth was still fine, the promise of dimples in his cheeks still bold and bright. His hair was still laced with a chestnut tone, still the same promise of chaos at night and morning, even though he’d smoothed it into an ordered style.
Oliver Kent was the boy I’d fallen in love with and broken my heart over. He was every bit the amazing specimen I’d talked through the night with until the sun came up on more nights than I’d ever be able to remember.
But he was more.
Maturity was serving him well. Really, really well. As were gym workouts, most likely. That and expensive clothing, I’m sure.
The seconds slowed to hours as I watched him. My breaths were deep. Desperate. Because surely not? Surely he couldn’t be looking back and forth across the checkouts for something? Someone?
Me?
Surely he couldn’t be scoping out the store while hovering by the newspaper racks, because why would he? Why would he be looking for anything in this place?
And of course he wasn’t.
Just like that, in a matter of seconds, his eyes went back to the items in front of him. He picked up the Weekly Financial and made his way to the nearest counter, and it was my workmate Emily staring up at him with sparkling eyes.
I wished I could hear the familiar
tone of his voice as he said his thanks and folded the paper under his arm.
I wished I was near enough to see if he still smelled of ocean blue body spray and spice.
I wished I was brave enough to go charging up to him with a big smile on my face and say an enthusiastic hello with a puffed out chest and my name badge on happy display.
I wasn’t brave enough to do anything other than watch him leave the store with my heart in my throat.
I knew it then, of course. That the reunion was going to see me as little more than a nervous wreck – churned up and embarrassed and giddy enough that I’d either make a tit of myself or hide from him all night long with a false smile on my face.
It was the hands on my shoulders that had me shrieking and jumping a foot in the air. My palm was pressed to my chest as I spun to face the laughter behind me, and found it was Amy standing there with a huge grin on her face.
“Looks like you’ve seen a ghost,” she laughed, and I nodded.
“I’ll be a ghost if you scare the hell out of me like that again.” I forced down the breaths and smiled back at her, relieved to have a jolt of regularity back in the craziness.
She peered out across the checkouts to the exit. “That wasn’t him you were gawping at, by any chance? I saw him heading across the car park a few minutes ago when I pulled up.”
Playing dumb would be dumb, so I forced out a nod. “Yeah, he was buying a paper.”
“Don’t you love how he’s like royalty around here this week? We don’t even have to refer to him as Oliver, on a first name basis. He does fine. Just he. It’s hilarious.”
“I guess that’s what becoming some mega high flier does for you around these parts,” I laughed.
Her eyes twinkled with the bright blue I’d known for a lifetime. “Think he was looking for you? I guess he learned this is your domain pretty sharp…”
I shook my head. “Nah, no way he was here looking for me. He’s married to the supermodel wife with a whole world of millionaire business down in the city. I doubt he even remembers my name these days.”
Her blonde curls bounced as she shook her head right back at me. “That’s bullshit rubbish and you know it. Even if your confidence is still flailing around in the Robbie Sawyer muck and aftermath, you should still know it.” My eyes were on hers as she paused. “Hell, Maisie, there’s no way Oliver Kent has forgotten anything about you. You were a crazy duo. Two peas in a really weird little pod amongst the rest of us. Two peas besotted with each other. There’s no way he’s forgotten that. No way he’d ever forget that. Nobody who ever saw you guys together would ever forget that.”
“Stop,” I said, and my cheeks were burning. “He could forget easily enough. We were just kids… it’s been a long time…”
“No way that Robbie would ever forget about that. I’ve heard he’s been spouting off about the reunion around town this morning, saying Oliver Kent can fuck off back to London.”
I didn’t say she’d not long missed Robbie in this place, stepping aside as she reached for some batteries from the rack.
“It’s going to be one hell of a night,” she continued. “So much more intense for having a millionaire in our midst. I can’t wait until the glasses get clinking over memories.”
My sigh came out loud. “One hell of a night, for sure. I just hope it’s a good one all round.”
“You should definitely speak to him,” she said. “You should have the kind of catch up that teen-love warrants. Who knows what’s on the cards of life? Weird shit has been known to happen, right? Maybe he’s back for a reason.”
Even the prospect of that made me laugh out loud. “I really don’t think he’s going to be craving a catch up. He’s probably calling in to see Ryan and nothing else.”
She dropped the batteries in her basket. “Maybe. Maybe not. Say your hello on Saturday night and find out for yourself.”
A smile was the only answer I had to that, squeezing her arm before pulling myself back together and heading in the direction of low stock.
“I’ll pick you up,” she called after me. “Saturday night at seven. We’ll walk down to the community centre together. Kate too.”
“Alright,” I said. “I’ll be seeing you then.”
Her smile as she headed to Emily’s checkout made it damned clear I would.
There was no way I wouldn’t be at the reunion on Saturday night. I’d have a whole queue on my doorstep ready to drag me along if they needed to.
Chapter Four
Oliver
I was still reading Weekly Financial on Ryan’s coffee table when he arrived home on Thursday evening. He looked pretty drained as he stepped into the living room, his eyes heavy as he dropped himself down on the sofa next to me.
“Shit day at the office?” I asked, and he sighed.
“Told you, it’s a tough gig there. My sales have been lower than ideal these past few months. Just feeling the pressure.”
Part of me wondered right there and then why he’d never taken advantage of my offer to become a part of my organisation. I’d have thanked him for it. He was reliable. Smart enough to make sensible decisions. Loyal.
My gut did a roll as the term loyal hit hard. Hell, I could have done with loyalty beyond all else over the years.
“You could have come down to London,” I said, and he shrugged.
“Joined you in the big smoke, you mean? Yeah, right. Like I’m supposed to be leaving these parts. Not all of us are cut out for the swanky city life.”
I saw the tightness of his cheeks. The way he hunched as he leaned forward. I recognised it. The weight of the hurt he was carrying around with him. Heartbreak and frustration and feeling pretty cut up by the pressure of it all.
He hadn’t made it to the wedding ring stage with Stacey. They’d split up at the engagement stage the summer previous.
I wished Naomi and I hadn’t made it to the wedding ring stage either. I wished Naomi and I hadn’t made it to any stage, in fact. It would have made things considerably easier to navigate given that we were now despising each other and still caught up in business together.
“You gonna tell me what you’re really doing back here this week, then?” Ryan asked as I folded up the newspaper.
“Just wanted some time out,” I responded. “I’ve been looking for a new place, but it’s been busy. Mainly I’ve been coasting between hotels. I fancied a catch up on more familiar turf.”
“Naomi’s keeping the house, is she?”
I recalled the brief overview of our break up I’d given him on the phone. “She’s welcome to it, it’s her trendy bullshit decor through the place. I couldn’t give a shit for it.”
“Still crap though, isn’t it?” he said. “Seriously, sorry to hear about you guys splitting. Thought you seemed happy enough. Hell, I’d be happy enough with a girl like her on my arm.”
“That’s the beauty of social media for you,” I scoffed. “We’ve been dead in the water for years. Coasting through the motions. Bullshit. Always bullshit. Can’t remember the last proper night we shared a bed.”
I felt his eyes burning as I stared across at the picture of his nephew on the opposite wall. It held my attention firm, the grin of the boy a beacon of real childish enthusiasm. Once upon a time I’d wanted kids. A family life. A tick in all the regular life boxes.
“You’re chewing something over,” he said. “I can tell. Known you well enough for long enough to know there’s more on your plate right now than being fed up with hotels.”
He was right on that score.
An idiot. I felt like a total fucking idiot.
“Nothing that makes any real difference in the bigger picture,” I told him. “I’m just sick of the bullshit.”
He slapped my shoulder and got up. “Let’s get a beer and you can fill me in.”
I followed him through to the kitchen, wondering if he got a beer straight after work every day. I took the one he offered and chugged some back, and then I avoided filling him
in on anything and started on pastures new.
“I didn’t see Maisie at the store today. She wasn’t on a checkout when I went in there.”
Ryan’s eyebrows pitted as he downed half his beer in one. “She wasn’t there? Weird. I’m sure she works Thursdays. You definitely scoped out all the checkouts?”
I nodded. “Well, within reason. I got a paper and cast my eyes across the place. No sign of her.”
That was a vast understatement of how dramatic it felt in real life, but he didn’t need to know it. The last thing I was going to tell him was that my heart was pounding like the teenage idiot’s I’d been all those years ago as I’d made my way into that store. That my throat was bone dry as I’d hoped to lay eyes on her after all this time. That I’d been disappointed to shit as I’d grabbed my newspaper and made my way out of there.
“Really weird you didn’t see her.” Ryan’s expression was genuinely confused as he finished up his beer and reached in the fridge for another. “She’s regular as clockwork in the place. Maybe she had a day off.”
I chanced a tweak of the Maisie Moore subject. “She’s really done with Robbie Sawyer these days?”
“As much as she can be,” he laughed, and I raised an eyebrow. His expression was amazed as I stared over blank. “You must have heard a snippet or two about Maisie Moore through this entire past decade, right? Surely someone’s kept you in the loop?”
I felt like a true outsider as I shook my head. Embarrassment flared in my chest at the way I’d so deliberately distanced myself from everything Maisie Moore through the first few years of being in London. There was the initial deliberate distance I’d put between us, then me generally losing contact with life back here, and then being so caught up with a business getting off the ground and running away with itself.
Then being so caught up with life with Naomi. Its peaks and damn troughs.
“No,” I said to Ryan. “There’s been nobody to keep me in the loop.”
His smile was wide as he pulled himself up to sit on the kitchen bench. “Whoa. You really have been out of the loop. She was with Sawyer for a fair chunk of time once she hooked up with him in the school aftermath. She stayed on his arm for years. They moved into a place down by the old recreation ground.”