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Twenty-Seven
Three and a half weeks later
“Lex, I’ve always thought of you as my little sister—albeit a perfectionist, pain-in-the-arse of a little sister—so I can’t help being protective…” Harry stretched back into the onyx leather booth. “Please, let me take care of your rent.”
“You sound like a broken record.” Alex smiled. “I appreciate your offer, but I’m not changing my mind.”
Her eyes strayed to the Bespoke waiter arriving with two plates. He slid Alex’s lunch—posh mac ’n’ Gruyère cheese—on the table with oven mitts. “Careful—don’t get burned.”
“Thanks.” Alex waited for the guy to walk away. “You’re not paying for this.”
Harry unfurled a smile along with his black cloth napkin. “I knew you would say that.”
“Paddington and I may end up living in a box, eating untoasted Pop-Tarts under Marble Arch, but at least it will be on my terms. Just think of the writing material it will generate—and maybe even the headlines: Homeless Playwright Brings Down the House with Olivier Win!” Digging her fork through the breadcrumbs, parsley, and cheesy pasta, wisps of steam evaporated from her plate.
“An Olivier Award won’t keep you warm at night.”
“No, but it would make a handy weapon to fend away any junkies coming after my Pop-Tart stash…”
Harry scooped up a mouthful of his grilled potato, salmon, and lentil salad, careful not to spill any on his suit. “Look, think of it as a loan—”
“Harry, I move next week.” She blew on a forkful of pasta and took a delicate taste. She closed her eyes, savouring the hot cheesy happiness on her tongue. “Mmm. Want some?”
Harry sipped his sparkling water. “No, thanks. I’m watching my figure.”
Alex snickered. “So is Lucy.”
“That’s why the mustard cream sauce is on the side.” He tapped his fork against a small bowl riding shotgun with his plate.
“The furniture’s been sold. Even the bed’s gone. Simon’s been a huge help. He even dropped everything to fix my leaky sink. He’s a good guy, despite what Lucy says.”
“I think he just wanted to show off his old plumbing skills, and he’s Team Alex. He has always had a jealous hate-on for Mark.”
Alex exhaled heavily.
“You know it’s true.” He flicked through his salad with his fork. “Actually, I’m coming around to Si’s opinion. I mean, I don’t hate Mark, but I hate what he’s done to you, and his behaviour lately is not like the bloke I know at all.”
Alex scooped up some pasta. “Harry, you don’t have to choose sides. You and Mark are such good friends, I—”
“Were good friends. Hurt my loved ones or betray a trust like that? Sorry, I want nothing to do with you.” He smiled softly. “There’s no competition. I am, and always will be, Team Alex.”
“Harry, do me a favour?”
“Anything, little sis!”
She cocked her head, wincing. “Stop saying Team Alex. It’s cheesier than this pasta.”
He laughed. “Done!” He watched Alex eat, choosing his words carefully. “Have you contacted him?”
“No.” She squinted. “Have you?”
“No. Would you tell me if you had?”
“Did Lucy put you up to this?”
“No.”
She pinched her lips tight and swallowed, abandoning her fork. “I never knew I could I miss someone so much.”
