It took me a few seconds to register the image that had appeared on the screen.
It was me.
What. The. Hell?
I looked around, but I was still on my own.
The picture had been taken at Gil’s. I was on my laptop, lost in whatever I was writing.
Someone walked in front of the screen.
“Hi,” Ben said.
“Hi,” I replied, heart aching sweetly at the sight of him.
His thick, dark hair was wavy and loose. He wore a T-shirt under his jacket. No shirt in sight.
“What is this, Ben?”
“I needed to tell you something.”
“I’ve been going to Gil’s. You could have told me there. Only I haven’t seen you around,” I said.
“I’ve been working,” said Ben. “It requires a bit more travel than my old job.”
“I messaged you.”
“I know. It turns out Marc still prefers shoots where the reception is almost nil.”
“You . . .” I paused, realizing exactly what this meant. “You took a chance.”
He smiled. “Someone told me I was stuck in a bit of a rut. Turned out being yelled at by a bridesmaid after ruining her friend’s wedding was exactly what I needed.”
“Why are we here, Ben?” I asked, standing and beginning to make my way along the seats.
“I thought it would be better in person.”
“What would?”
“Telling you how I really feel about you.”
I stopped at the steps. “But I know how you feel,” I said. “You made it perfectly clear when you thought I’d made you part of a meet-cute.”
“I was an idiot,” he said. “When you said you were doing them for work, that it didn’t have to be real . . . I was afraid that if I was just another meet-cute, it might not be as real for you as it was for me.”
That’s why Ben hadn’t wanted to get involved in my meet-cutes?
“It’s real for you?”
“Earth-shatteringly,” he said.
My heartbeat was in my throat as I took the steps, one at a time.
“What about everything you said at the wedding?” I pushed.
“I acted like a jerk. I’d just destroyed your friend’s wedding cake and I said some stupid things. Like how life made sense before I met you. The truth is, things haven’t felt this clear to me in so long. I’m sorry, Evie.” All those times I’d wished I could change what I’d said to him, I’d never thought he’d wanted to say something different to me too. “After my behavior, Anette was under the impression that you might need some convincing. She suggested a speech. I’ve always been better with pictures.” He gestured to the screen.
Another image appeared there, and I stopped still. This one was of Anette and Ben, pulling their tongues out behind me as I write on my laptop, oblivious. The next was of me and Ben. I’m looking at something across the café, and Ben . . . Ben’s looking straight at me. In the next I’m lifting up the Union Jack wings saying I know how to fix them—and Ben’s face is full of wonder.
These were all the photos Anette had taken of us over the past three months. All except the one where I was standing beneath the streetlamp, holding my red umbrella in the rain. The one Ben had taken. I wasn’t posing. My hair was frizzing. And I looked beautiful.
The final photo was from the wedding. Ben and I, dancing. My face was tilted up toward him. He was holding me close. The corner of his mouth was lifted in a crooked smile at whatever I was saying, as if it was only him and me in the room.
The look in Ben’s eyes, it was almost like . . .
“According to a certain meddlesome seven-year-old,” Ben said, “I couldn’t just tell you I loved you.”
I pulled my eyes away from the photo. “You . . . what?”
“I love you,” he said simply. Ben loved me? “The way you are with Anette. Your warmth. Your stubbornness. Your kindness. Your passion. Your hair . . . Especially your hair. Your willingness to make a public spectacle of yourself.” That smile again. The one that looked like it was only half there, but to a connoisseur of Ben’s smiles, it was everything. “For how brave you are. I love you, Evie Summers.”
Ben loved me.
There was something about seeing it up there on the big screen that made it harder to deny.
“I thought, after everything, you deserved your very own meet-cute.”
He’d remembered. How long ago had it been that I’d described this moment to him? The cinema. The film. I’d just never imagined that the only other person in the cinema would be him.
“You booked the whole cinema.”
“I hear rom-coms require a grand gesture,” he said.
My foot hit the bottom step. “Let me get this straight, Ben. After months of avoiding being one of my meet-cutes, you’ve created one of your own?”
“I have.”
I began to cross the carpet toward him.
“And even though you still don’t know if it’s real for me, you’re standing there, willing to tell me that you love me?”
“I decided to take another chance,” he said.
I closed the gap between us. “Then you should know,” I said, looking up at him. I saw him hold his breath. “It really paid off.”
“Evie,” Ben said gravely. “I’d like to kiss you now.”
“Has anyone ever told you”—I laughed—“that you talk too much?”
He lifted his hand to my cheek, placing his other on my lower back, and pulled me to meet him.
“Better?”
I looked up into those hooded brown eyes, full of light, and warmth, and love. As sure of me as I was of him. Then I gave myself to the absolute wonder of his mouth on mine.
Epilogue
The Drink Spill
FADE IN
INT: GIL’S COFFEE HOUSE, EAST DULWICH—SUNDAY, UNGODLY HOUR (10 A.M.)
EVIE SUMMERS—late twenties, freckled, red curls down to her shoulders, a bright yellow 1950s-style tea dress, Doc Martens—stands in front of the counter tapping her foot, full of nervous energy. ANETTE WILLIAMS runs across the café to tug the back of EVIE’s cardigan. EVIE turns around and ANETTE jumps, startled.
“Cut!” yelled Greta, the director.
“Sorry, sorry,” I said to her. I darted forward and waved so Anette could see me. She went bright red and burst out laughing, and the actress—a gorgeous up-and-comer—laughed too, giving her a quick hug before returning to her mark. Anette slipped between the lights and cameras to return to our side. Ben ruffled her hair.
“If you’re going to bring people to the set, you need to keep them under control,” Greta called.
“I will, I’m sorry, she’s just so excited.”
“I didn’t just mean the kid,” said Greta, her eyes roaming to a point somewhere behind us.
I turned to the three people who were currently hogging the snack table.
“Evie, Evie, Evie. The snacks are free!” Jeremy called.
“I’m proud of you,” Maria called, running her critical eye over the baked goods.
“Does the actress really have to wear Doc Martens too?” Sarah asked, sipping a Diet Coke.
“I love you guys,” I said. “So glad I brought you.”
Ben placed a kiss on my forehead. “It’s funny to think we’re watching the moment I first started to fall in love with you.” He pointed to the actor playing him, whose brows weren’t nearly dark enough, in my opinion.
“When I made a child throw up,” I mused. “How romantic.”
“Actually, it was when you came and sat back down with us. That’s when I knew: This woman will make me brave.” I nudged him with my elbow and he chuckled. “It’s true. Look at what you’ve achieved. Take a moment to fully appreciate this.” He gestured to the set. “You did it, Evie.”
He smiled that crooked smile I fell in love with. “Imagine how proud he’d be of you now.”
“Quiet on set! Three.” Greta mimed two and then one, putting her finger on her mouth. Ben put his arm around me as we watched the actors begin again.
Okay? Ben signed to me. Okay? Anette signed too, then grabbed our legs in a fierce hug.
Okay, I signed, and I couldn’t have meant it more.
Acknowledgments
First of all, hello, my fellow acknowledgments readers! Thank you for reading this far (thank you for reading full stop). I always love reading the acknowledgments for that little bit of insight into who the author is, which makes it doubly strange to now be writing my own. Thankfully, they’re not about me, but the brilliant people I’m lucky enough to know.
A huge thank-you to the team at Putnam and Penguin Random House. To my amazing US editor, Margo Lipschultz, fielder of panicked phone calls, giver of sound advice, editor extraordinaire, thank you. Sorry about the poo scene. And Tricja Okuniewska—thank you so much for all your incredible hard work.
Thanks also to everyone else at Penguin Random House who has championed and worked so hard on this book. I couldn’t hope for a more enthusiastic and dedicated team.
Publicists extraordinaire Alexis Welby and Bonnie Rice. Marketing moguls Ashley McClay, Jordan Aaronson, Emily Mlynek, and Brennin Cummings. Thanks so much for everything you do. This book wouldn’t have gotten anywhere without you.
And I owe thanks to Vikki Chu, Tal Goretsky, and Anthony Ramondo, who dressed my words up in such a gorgeous cover, and inspired me to step up my game to be worthy of it. You’ve made it so I get to actually see Evie and Ben in real life. Thank you. Thanks too to Kristin del Rosario for the adorable interior design, and Claire Winecoff for managing the production-editing process so seamlessly.
To all the fabulous people at Penguin Random House dedicated to putting this and many other books into readers’ hands—thank you!
And everyone else! A huge, huge thanks to:
The team at Orion. To the inimitable Sam Eades, who acquired this. Thanks for taking a chance on me, Sam. Thanks also to Katie Brown, who has run with this novel and helped me get it across the finish line. Special thanks to the rest of Team Trapeze: Phoebe Morgan, Anna Valentine, and especially Shyam Kumar for all his hard work. Thank you for taking such great care of this book.
Gillian Redfearn for being there from the start. Your capacity for generosity always astounds me. Anyone who has you fighting in their corner is very lucky indeed.
Diana, for telling me to “Be More Evie.”
Cat Web for the lasagna. You are a kind and brilliant soul.
Richard Roper for being a much-needed sounding board when I was up to my ears in deadlines.
My flatmates, Nat and Chris, and Luna (aka Pounce-o, Dog-Dog, Goose, etc.). For the wine and reassurances and furry hugs (that last one is exclusively Luna). Sorry that I never clean the bathroom. I’ve been writing this book.
Anna Boatman—and The Vampire Diaries, for bringing us together. I’m sorry I didn’t show you the book until it was done. Your opinion matters a whole bunch to me.
Charlotte Cray. Like Maria, your tough love packs a punch, and I wouldn’t be the same without it. You are a balm for the soul. Thank you so, so much.
Claire Fraser, all-round awesome human and friend. Thank you for believing in me, for telling me I could do this, and for saying I am “100 percent perfect” as I am. For you, I am including the word “tits” in my acknowledgments. Thank you, my love.
All my friends back “home” in Manchester, for being there from afar: Ellie Devlin, Liz and Alex Holt, Rebecca Mortimer, Paul Hughes, Rob Byron, Michael Monks, and Amanda Browning. Your support means everything.
Quick side note: Gil’s is based on Ezra & Gil’s in the Northern Quarter of Manchester, UK, which you should absolutely visit if you’re ever in the area. I can’t guarantee a meet-cute, but I can say for sure that you will eat incredible food (try the beans on toast—trust me, it’s delicious and the perfect hangover cure).
And, finally, thank you to my family:
My grandma, Dorothy Parkinson, who’s a writer too. Dorothy Taylor was named for her. Thanks, Gran.
My aunt and uncle, Julie and Damian. You told me to put you in here, but I would have anyway. And my cousins Abi and Holly, because I know you’ll never let me forget it otherwise. You’re my favorites.
Mandy and Josie—thank you for being so proud.
My sisters, Louise and Victoria. Through thick and thin, I’m so lucky to have you both in my life.
Grace. One day, you’ll out-Anette Anette.
And to my parents, Dawn and Barry. For always having faith in me. Thank you, you’re my absolute heroes. I literally and figuratively wouldn’t be here without you.
Lastly, to the man who told me I wasn’t good enough—thanks for the inspiration.
About the Author
Rachel Winters is single and living in London. In addition to completing a creative writing MA, she's spent most of her twenties freelancing for local papers and online magazines--including editing a craft magazine and writing a weekly column about pets (though she doesn't own any). It's very Sex and the City. She likes long walks in the country, big cities and firmly believes there are few problems that can't be solved with good friends and very large glasses of wine. She's currently an editor at Orion Books.
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