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“It sounds exciting,” he says, pouring the boiling water into his cup with all the enthusiasm of a man reading the back of a tax form.

Not that I’ve ever seen Owen genuinely excited about anything in the entire year we’ve worked together.

And I don’t care. It is exciting.

But beneath the excitement, nerves twist hard in my stomach. Why has Drew reached out after all these years? Will Sydney really be happy to see me?

And, more worryingly… what if she isn’t?

2

Owen

The teabag floats on the surface of the water while the dried leaves infuse the steam with an earthy smell that reminds me of early mornings camping in the Lake District with my parents, back when I was young enough to think it was the greatest adventure of my life.

I’m aware Alice is talking to me. I hear every word. I’m used to the singsong way she speaks, the kind of voice that makes her seem younger than I suspect she is, so full of life and energy.

I want to turn to her, smile, and make some witty comment that’ll have her tipping her head back and laughing in that carefree way she does. The kind of laugh that makes me wish I could do the same.

Be easy-going. Relaxed. Natural. Happy.

Alice is the only person in Kitchen City I talk to, mainly because she doesn’t seem bothered by my lack of eye contact or the fact that I never start a conversation. At least, not until today.

When I walked into the staffroom five minutes ago, I was thrown by the sight of her standing beside the table with her phone clutched to her chest, her face paler than the usual pink glow in her cheeks, her lips slightly parted.

Something inside me sank, because I’ve never seen Alice look like that before, and I didn’t care for it.

Alice is usually all smiles and bright energy, like the world is one giant sweet shop and life is an endless Pick and Mix. I’ve never known her to be anything but happy. So I had to ask her if she was okay, because her eyes didn’t look okay, and I wasn’t okay with that either.

But there’s excitement in her voice when she tells me about the old friend wanting to meet up. I imagine the colour returning to her cheeks as my tea brews and my anxiety settles.

This is the Alice I know.

“We were best friends in high school, but then her parents split up, and it all got a bit messy, and she didn’t handle their break-up very well. Not that I can blame her. It wasn’t a civilised separation. It was heartbreaking because she was so angry and wouldn’t let anyone help her, but then she moved away with her mum, and we lost touch. And, just now, her boyfriend called me to arrange for us to meet up. It’s like something out of the movies.”

My tea reaches the perfect shade of bronzed toffee. I fish the bag out of the cup and discard it along with the ridiculous romantic fantasy Alice has just described, which sounds more like the beginning of a horror film than a reunion.

You probably think I don’t believe in love. I do. I’ve been there, felt it all, ridden the roller-coaster that comes with falling for someone. But it didn’t end well.

Since then, my love life has been one long string of disappointment, enough that I’ve given up on ever finding someone to spend the rest of my existence with. So forgive me if I sound bitter.

Wrapping my hands around the cup, I try to chase the cold from my body as I glance at Alice.

A fleeting look is all it takes to catch the glint in her eyes, the excitement on her face, the warmth radiating from her that somehow seeps deeper than the tea ever could.

She’s the only person who affects me like this. I tell myself it’s her friendly smile, her lion’s mane of blonde hair, or the constant stream of chatter that occasionally borders on ridiculous.

But I like it.

Which is ironic coming from a man who hates conversation.

She’s just so full of joy. Yes, that’s the right word for it. She oozes it, and somehow it always slips beneath my skin no matter how hard I try to ignore it.

I wish I saw the world the way she does. I wish hope came as naturally to me as it seems to come to her. But those kinds of thoughts don’t arrive easily anymore.

Instead, I flash her a quick smile—the one I’ve been told is dazzling, though I fail to see how baring your teeth to someone could be anything other than bizarre—as I search for an appropriate response that isn’t “You look ridiculously happy right now.”

“I’m sure you’ll have a lot to catch up on.”