Page 37 of Hate You to Love You

I move towards him and fill the space between us, giving him a gentle kiss on the lips.

When we pull apart again, Elliot takes my hands in his. ‘So, what happens next?’ he asks.

‘We’re happy.’

‘Forever?’

‘Forever.’

chapter fifteen

now

When Jones, Sal and I were unable to agree on a location for Laney’s engagement drinks, I did what I do best: I played the nostalgia card. Sal had been adamant about taking them to a rooftop bar Laney had always wanted to try, Dean & Nancy on 22. The bar was infamous for charging over thirty dollars for a cocktail, but the theatrics of its city view and personalised service was apparently worth it. It took me half the week to convince them that Laney would hate that idea. The bar, while beautiful, didn’t look like our type of venue.

‘But she loved that fancy sake and vinyl bar, Ante, when we took her there the other week!’ Sal had complained.

‘You guys went out together the other week?’ I asked. ‘You should’ve let me know.’

‘We tried,’ Sal had said. ‘You didn’t answer the phone.’

I’d avoided responding by laying out my plans for Laney’s drinks. My suggestion was that we recreate one of our infamous nights out in Newtown. The night would start at Courthouse Hotel – another one of our favourite pubs – which had a spectacular courtyard. We’d then bar-hop our way along King Street, visiting all our old haunts. The best thing about those nights out wasn’t the drinks or the dancing. It had always been about being together. A moment in time when friendships were just as important as family. And it had been on one of these nights out that I’d confessed to my friends that I was scared of falling in love, even though I’d always wanted a relationship worthy of the movies. It was while drinking wine and eating takeaway pizza in the middle of the night at Camperdown Park that Jones told us he worried that his string of failed relationships was a sign that he was unlovable. And Sal had reminded him that he wasn’t hard to love, because he had friends that had chosen him. Laney’s gin-and-tonic-infused life advice sessions had been a constant feature of those wild nights out, too.

It had been easy to convince Jones and Sal that recreating all of that magic was the best way to celebrate Laney’s engagement. And as Saturday night rolled around, we found ourselves circling the outdoor area of the Courthouse searching for a table.

‘Got one!’ Jones calls out to me from a table by the back gate. His hair has already grown quite a bit within the past week. There’s even a faint outline of a beard along his rounded face.

I step over the leash of a German Shepherd that’s been tied to the railing of the stairs. The pub is so full tonight that even the standing areas are packed.

The sun falls behind the terrace houses on the street over, and the entire courtyard is basked in a golden light. We send Sal off to order some cocktails while we wait for Laney and Patrick and a few of their other friends and family to arrive.

‘I told you we should have just ordered a few bottles of wine,’ Jones says. ‘Cocktails will be the Courty’s undoing, they can’t keep up.’

‘How long before we have to follow up?’ I ask.

‘About fifteen minutes.’

I nod, keeping my eyes focused on the stairs leading down the courtyard, waiting for the inevitable arrival of Elliot.

‘Are you okay?’ Jones asks. ‘You seem distracted.’

‘I’m fine,’ I say immediately.

Jones arches an eyebrow at me and waits.

‘Fine, there is something on my mind. Did you know Elliot was invited to this?’

He shrugs, looking away from me.

‘You knew, didn’t you?’

‘I knew it would upset you if we brought it up. Anyway, it was Laney’s decision. We know how much it hurt when things ended with him, but she was friends with Elliot too. And this is her night.’

All I can do is give Jones a blank look back. Luckily Sal arrives from the bar just in time to cut our conversation short. He places six Tommy’s margaritas down on the table.

‘Who is the sixth one for?’ I ask.

‘Me,’ Sal replies. He grabs two glasses and holds them up in the air. ‘I’m double fisting it. There’s no way I’m standing in that line again.’