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Mel, however, seemed to notice none of this, as she’d been glued to her phone since the moment they got off the tube. Probably work. Almost definitely work. Still, he couldn’t help asking. “Who are you talking to?”

She didn’t look up. “It’s no one, Finn. Don’t worry about it.”

He didn’t say anything to that. Back when she was starting out, when the business took off, she used to tell him everything. He’d get regular blow-by-blows, and although a lot of it went over his head, he’d loved watching her enthusiasm. She glanced up at him, noting the silence. She could read him as well as he could read her.

“It’s just work,” she said, with an apologetic smile. She took his hand, squeezed it. “I’m in the room now, I promise. And this place is amazing.” She looked around as they crossed through the foyer to the lift—Hattie’s party was up at the top of the hotel, on the roof terrace.

“I know. I’ve got no idea why we don’t hang out here more often.”

“Probably to do with the fact that one night here would likely equate to about half our mortgage payment.”

“Yeah. Probably that.”

They took the lift up to the rooftop bar, and Mel stopped in her tracks as they stepped out. “Wow.”

Finn knew what she meant. It was part garden, part sleek and elegant bar, with olive, apple, and pear trees, and he caught sight of various herbs and vegetables cordoned off by picket fencing. Plush seating areas were nestled among lush greenery, with strings of fairy lights and lanterns giving the place a sort of glow—which also may have been the sunset that was currently firing up the sky in shades of pink and orange.

The best part, Finn thought as they stepped farther into the bustle, was the view of London’s skyline, various landmarks peeking through. It was almost enough to convince him that maybe he could fall in love with London after all. Almost.

They started to make their way toward the bar, which promised a selection of fancy-sounding cocktails, when Hattie marched over, looking all sorts of glamorous with her blond hair waved, bright red lipstick, and a matching dress.

“You’re here!” She gave Finn a quick, hard hug, then pulled away to grab Mel’s hand. “Come on, let’s go get a margarita.” She gave Finn a stern look. “None for you, though. You can’t have one until you’ve done the speech—they’re lethal and we can’t have you stumbling over your words.”

Finn rolled his eyes, though he felt a shot of nerves again. Hattie dragged Mel away, with Mel giving him a little shrug as if to say she knew protesting was futile. Finn watched the two of them laugh at something as they reached the bar. He loved how well Mel got on with his sister. But was it odd that Mel looked more at ease here than she did with him at home?

He glanced around the rooftop, saw his mum sitting among the foliage. She gestured him over and he moved, embarrassingly grateful to have someone to talk to. He kissed her on the cheek, smiling politely at the woman who excused herself as he arrived.

“A cousin’s cousin of Dylan’s,” his mum explained. “Something like that, anyway. She lives in London and, reading between the lines, that’s the only reason she got an invite.” She took his hand, pulled him down next to her. “Now, love. How are you? How’s the grand old world of fruit juice?”

He winced—both because it was totally ridiculous that he ever took a job at a juice company, and because he was currently working out his notice period. Something he’d not yet told Mel about.

“It’s good,” he said, lying as easily as he had when he was a teenager, and ignoring the squirming in his gut. “Very juice-like.”

“Hmmm.” She was quiet for a moment, then, “Have you spoken to your dad recently?”

He tensed, the way he always did when the subject of his dad was mentioned in the family. “No,” he said, as casually as he could. “Why?”

“I was trying to get Hattie to invite him tonight.”

Finn frowned. “Why would you want him here?”

She sighed. “I don’t, particularly, but I also don’t mind him being here.” She laughed at the skeptical look he gave her. “It’s true. I put up with him through an entire marriage—I could have managed one evening. I just, I thought Hattie might want to have him here—it’s such a special occasion. But she says she didn’t.”

“Well, then,” Finn said with a shrug. “That’s that.” The two of them looked over to Hattie leaning against the bar with Mel, sipping a margarita.

“She still hasn’t introduced him to Dylan,” his mum said quietly.

Finn nodded. “I know.” He and Hattie had talked about it, and he got it. He’d put it off for ages with Mel.

“He’s her parent.” His mum’s voice sounded sad now. “She can’t just write him off like that.”

She could, and she would, if he knew Hattie. And it’s not like their dad had done all that much to stay in touch, had he?

He took his mum’s hand, squeezed it. “You’re the only parent we need.”

She looked a little saddened by that statement, but squeezed his hand back, then got to her feet. “Come on. Let’s get a drink for the toast.”

Hattie caught his eye from over at the bar, and tapped her glass meaningfully. Right. He supposed it was better to get it out of the way.