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7
AVERY
Franco’s.Nothing changed in this Italian restaurant for years, even the ageing owners. I’ve shared celebratory meals, first dates, family birthdays, and yearly Christmas meals here since I was a kid. Even the menu is the same, apart from the prices. I could order every person’s meal without asking, that’s how predictable they all are.
Janet has pizza, margarita, not much cheese.
Lee, her now husband, always has steak, well done.
Simon and Rachel both have lasagne. With chips.
Martin has steak too but likes his rare, and Bitchface will have a Caesar salad to watch her skinny figure.
Predictable and boring.
I nibble on a breadstick attempting not to glare at them across the table or knock back the sweet white wine too quickly. Janet and Lee discuss their baby plans with me and I feign interest while staring at the tinsel garlands strung across the roof. Happy bloody Christmas.
Martin and Taylor could at least keep their hands off each other in front of me. Otherwise, I might stab her in the eye with my breadstick. I swear she’s deliberately running her fingers through his hair and smoothing his face to piss me off. At least Martin has the decency to look uncomfortable.
Together since school, me and Martin had a long-distance relationship once I left town for uni, so realistically, we’d never last. However, finishing our relationship before starting on the next girl would’ve been preferable to me coming home for a surprise visit and finding them pinned together in the local pub. That was October and despite my desire for karma causing something bad to happen to them, they’re still together.
Neither have apologised.
Voodoo dolls tempted me for a few weeks, but then I decided if she wanted second-hand, she could have him. Perhaps the hairdresser and baker go well together. They can have perfectly groomed kids who get fat on too many carbs.
I snort at the vision as I study them. Taylor’s face transforms as she looks behind me and she drops her hand from Martin’s short brown hair. Wide-eyed and stupid is one expression I’ve seen her use plenty of times, and I turn to see what’s caused this one.
A chair scrapes and the oxygen-snatching, room-filling Bryn Hughes sits next to me. “Sorry I’m late,cariad.”
The breadstick catches in my throat and I stare at him through watering eyes. When Bryn plants a kiss on my mouth, my throat constricts further and I choke. Yeah, a rock star puts his mouth on mine and I splutter crumbs all over his face.
“You okay?” He brushes a stray crumb from his cheek and pours me a glass of water.
“I’m fine,” I rasp. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight.”
Or ever again.
I take a long drink of water, mind whirling as the quiet restaurant focuses on us.
“I told you last night that I’d be here. I don’t see why I should be left out if everybody else brings their partners,” continues Bryn.
I swallow the mouthful of water before it joins the breadcrumbs on the tablecloth.
Partner?
“I’m looking forward to this.” He grins. “So, introduce me.”
Bryn encloses my hand in his broad palm and sets it on his knee and I dizzily realise I’m holding my breath as the sensation of this almost-stranger’s lips on mine lingers. Despite the fact it was the briefest of touches, the one touch shocked me from my lips to my scalp. His hands are warm and strong, and he’s deliberately close, solid thigh resting against mine.
I swallow and clear my throat. “This is Bryn.”
The girls gawk and the guys nod.
“Umm. Bryn this is Janet, Lee, Rachel, Simon, Taylor, and Martin.”
Bryn registers each in turn with a friendly hello, a handshake for the guys, and then picks up the menu. “Have you ordered yet?” he asks me.
“No, just wine.”
