Page 39 of The Ghost of Exes Past

‘Hmm …’ He smirks.

‘Got a problem with something?’ I put my hands on my hips.

‘Nope. No problem.’ He looks at Emma, then back at me, nods with brows raised. ‘She’s fucking fit.’

‘You basically said the same about Nat …’

‘You’ve got great taste.’ He pauses. ‘Vik aside, obviously.’

I sigh, turning back to Emma.

Jake scans the room, tapping a finger to his lips as he nods. ‘Let me guess … Artist?’

I roll my eyes. ‘Wrong.’

‘A poet?’

‘Wrong again.’ As Jake totters around me, I keep getting drawn to Emma. That husky laugh, low and a little rough. I find myself waiting for it, trying to tune in without meaning to.

Jake huffs next to me. ‘Give me a clue …’

‘She was an interior designer.’

Jake lets out a laugh, short, snappy. ‘That explains it. This room is annoyingly well put together.’ He gestures to the décor, before adding, ‘Although …’ He trails off, his eyes narrowing as he studies the space.

‘Spit it out,’ I say, folding my arms, bracing myself.

He glances at me, then back around. ‘This whole setup – the vinyl, the incense, the strategically placed fur throw … This is just work for her.’

‘Your point is?’ I scrunch up my face, tilting my head.

‘Belle. She literally designed a shag pad. You fell for a mood board.’

‘Don’t be a dick.’

I glance at Emma, in her ribbed tank top and baggy jeans. I’d forgotten the way she leaned in when she listened. Really listened. How she never rushed to fill silences, how she’d be comfortable just letting things sit.

How she held eye contact just a beat longer than expected.

How when we were together, I felt like the most important person in the room. But it wasn’t just how she made me feel. It was who she was. She had a life I admired and envied – a flat she’d designed and really put her stamp on; friends she’d had for decades; opinions about wine and art and politics that she delivered without hesitation. She never second-guessed herself. Never apologised for taking up space. I wanted to absorb her certainty through proximity, like it might rub off on me.

I think back to this relationship with a fondness I can’t shake. Those weekends we spent in bed, talking, laughing, drifting in and out of each other. Time stretched in a way it doesn’t anymore.

‘This was the first time I’d opened up to someone. And even though it was long distance, I started to let myself imagine a future. For the first time since … you know.’ I swallow and watch as Jake bites his lip. He looks at me consideringly and just for a beat there’s something there between us again. I break eye contact and we both turn.

We watch as I crawl over to Emma, on all fours, and we kiss. I feel Jake go very still beside me. I wait for him to crack a joke, some sort of smutty remark, but he doesn’t. I look over to him, but his face is contemplative in a way I can’t read.

Is he uncomfortable? Jealous? Turned on? He must be feeling something after discovering I found something soft and easy that wasn’t with him. I notice the slight stubble on his jaw, the smooth skin around his eyes, how he looks exactly as he did the last time I saw him alive. I haven’t let myself look at him properly until now.

On the sofa, Emma pulls my top off. Young me looks nervous, giddy, and horny, somehow all rolled into one – all bitten lip, mouth open, eyes wide, nipples hard.

Beside me, Jake glances away, suddenly very interested in the bookshelf. Still, I reach out instinctively and try to cover his eyes. ‘Don’t you dare look.’

‘I’m not looking!’ He bats my hand away, laughing. ‘Chill out. Nothing I haven’t seen before anyway.’

‘Just making sure.’ I hold my hands outstretched. ‘Come on, take these. We’re going.’

He rolls his eyes but takes them in his, and I let Emma’s flat fold away around us – the incense, the record, that husky laugh, all of it going soft at the edges, then gone.