I can’t tell her about his visit now, the same as I can never tell her about meeting Carson the very first time. Not now, not after I kept our little interlude to myself all these years. And I certainly couldn’t have told her back then, not without making myself look like a total ho.
Hey, Rose, I’m pregnant by my ex, but the bumhole has disappeared. And by the way, I also had sex with some random man I met up a mountain. Sorry to get all Jerry Springer on you and your perfect life.
It’s all just so complicated, I think as I squeeze a little toothpaste on my brush. Even more so now that my libido has suddenly awakened after a long snooze. No matter. Carson Hayes is the last man I can turn to for help with that. Not when the pair are friends. There’s no way I’d ever risk my own friendship with Rose.
And then once upon a time, he wanted her . . .
I turn on the tap, watching as the water sputters for a moment as a whisper of last night’s dream rises before me. Carson dark-eyed and serious as he presses Rose up against the kitchen cabinets.
Urgh. Don’t think about that right now. Just brush your bloody teeth.
But how can I not think about it when I woke to a sense of loss and a swell of jealousy in my breast rising like a tsunami? I know it’s ridiculous because Rose and Remy are the most loving couple I know—they can barely keep their hands to themselves! And Rose wouldn’t cheat. Not in a million years. I know she doesn’t have a thing for Carson, but maybe it’s the other way around . . .
Maybe she’s the one who got away.
Maybe he loves her, and that’s why she’s never seen him on a date.
Maybe, in his eyes, no one else can live up to her?
Believe me, I’m not about to tell Rose.
He’d said that after the incident in the tub—and I’d felt nothing but relief. But now I’m left wondering if he’s secretly in love with my best friend.
“I have a grande soy macchiato and a hibiscus tea for badass boss bitch!”
I cringe as the barista calls out the order, but then remember I’m in New York and that no one bats an eyelash at people talking themselves up. Try that on the Starbucks on Camden High Street, and you’d definitely get a few funny looks.
“Oh, that’s us!” Bethany’s attention jumps from her phone, and she makes her way to the collection point. Alone. Because I don’t want to be confused with a twat. Not that I think Beth is, but I can’t think of anything that would make me feel more self-conscious (read: twatish) than referring to myself as a badass boss anything.
“Here you go.” She passes my drink into my hands. “Shall we drink these on the way back to the office?”
“Sounds like a plan because if we take a seat, I’ll be doing more than eyeing those muffins.”
We step out into the crisp fall afternoon, the sounds and the smells still an overload to my senses. Pastries from the bakery next door and gasoline fumes. Hot dogs from the cart on the corner, the whiff of refuse from the next. I always thought of London as a city of extremes but nowhere seems as extreme as Manhattan with its trash bag piled pavements on one block and gleaming glass facades like the next. Madison Avenue with its upscale stores—Zimmerman, Celine, Dior—the kinds of places I wouldn’t dream of stepping in, and not just because of a lack of ready cash because there’s also my light-fingered Lu to think about. I don’t want to get deported for harbouring a tiny felon.
“Do you know,” Bethany begins, “that there’s a garden in England that’s dedicated entirely to poisonous plants? Like, the deadliest flora and fauna in the world.”
“I’m surprised it’s allowed.” We pause at the crosswalk waiting for the sign to change.
“It’s in the walled grounds of some castle up in the north. Near Scotland, I think. But I’m definitely going to visit it.”
“That’s a long way from London, you know. Relatively. I mean, I know the UK is tiny compared to the US, but Scotland isn’t exactly a bus ride away.” The sign changes, and we begin to walk again. “Well, it is. And it isn’t. I suppose it depends on how you want to get there.”
“That explanation was as clear as mud.” She gives an indulgent shake of her head.
“And you plan on visiting this garden next year?”
“Yep. It might even be number one on the list of things I want to see when I’m over there.”
“England has so much more to offer than plants that can kill a person, Beth.”
“I know.” A smile tugs at her lips, the gleam in her eyes a little fervent. “But I need to see if they have a gift shop.”