I glance into another shop window while walking and feel a jolt as I realize I’m looking into his eyes. It’s a poster – a screengrab from the show – as part of a large bookshop display. They’re shouting about the novel version and it’s got a new cover. One with the actors on it. I head inside for a closer look, wondering if I should buy a copy. It would give me and Milo something to talk about when we finally meet.
A group of giggling girls crowds past me at the doorway, and one points towards Milo’s handsome photo.
‘Have you seen that show?’ one asks, followed by much squealing about his ‘lushness’. I feel a pang of jealousy pulse through me and resist an impulse to yellhe’s mineat the whole lot of them.
I know it’s a bit irrational, but hedoesfeel like he’s mine. After all, I’ve spent all week googling him, watching clips and reading interviews. I feel like I know him. I know he’s inhis early thirties and has only really done theatre until now. I know he has a brother and that he recently stormed out of an interview when a journalist asked him about his love life. And there’s no point denying my penchant for a bad boy.
At the display table, I pick up a copy ofToo Good to Be True.The cover features a steamy shot of Milo with his co-star. They’ve putBOOK BOYFRIENDin massive letters at the top, burying its original title down near the bottom. I giggle to myself, thinking how much Jemma would hate this.
I wish she’d give the series a chance.
I spot an overhead sign for the tills across the shop, meander over and join a long queue. I’m actually buying a book – check me out! Jemma’s obviously having an effect on me.
I stare down at Milo’s photo on the cover. He is… unbelievable. I genuinely feel a bit in love. He’s exactly my type! I keep having this daydream where I’m a hard-hitting journalist, interviewing him for some highbrow newspaper, and then he gets really angry with me. He storms off, then returns all brooding and moody, and he throws me onto a bed that is also in the room for some reason – where he ravishes me.
Genuinely, if I’d ever written out a list of traits I wanted in my dream man, he would tick every single one of those boxes. Actually, maybe that’s how I’ll kill the rest of my day – a dream man checklist. I’llmanifesthim into my life.
If only there was some way I could figure out of meeting him.
But today isn’t supposed to be about my dream man; this is about Jemma’s meet-cute. I’m really excited for her. Because even if this book note person doesn’t turn out to be a dashing, sexy male stranger, I still think my sister should reply. She is too secure in her little rut. Doing the same things every day, visiting the same library, chatting to the same two housemates, checking out the same book every other bloody week. She needs an adventure and a bit of excitement and mystery in her life. I think that’s why the universe has sent me here to her. It’s not me escaping what happened in America, it’s me runningtowardsmy sister. She needs someone to mess up her neat little existence a bit. Between me and this book stranger, we’ll give her a big fat kick up the butt. Plus, this could finally be what it takes to bring us together. Helping her with this could persuade Jemma to let me into her life.
I hug the book happily as I check my emails, feeling only mildly deflated to find a rejection email Dead Eyes must have sent before I’d even left the building. I duck out of the queue, dumping the novel on a table. Sorry, Milo. No new job means I can’t afford to turn over a new reading leaf.
Ah fuck it, when I’m married to a TV star, I won’t need some stupid office job anyway.
Chapter TwelveJEMMA
‘Hello again,Too Good to Be Truereader,’ I read out loud as I write. Clara makes a wailing noise.
‘God, no!’ she cries. ‘That is all wrong.’
I blink. ‘All? Even thehello?’
‘Absolutely wrong.’ She shakes her head vehemently. ‘Terrible, in fact. Disgusting.’
‘Bit harsh,’ I mutter as she switches seats, flopping down beside me and ripping the pen from my hand.
We’re in our living room, debating my next response to the book note and it seems that – so far – I am not doing well.
‘Maybehiwould be better?’ Harry offers from across the room.
Harry is also here.
‘Orhey?’ Salma suggests eagerly, sitting up straight in the armchair.
So is Salma.
‘Hey,’ Clara says firmly. ‘Hiis slightly better thanhello, but still very bad.’ Harry looks crestfallen.
‘I likehi,’ I tell Harry nicely, and he perks up.
Clara snorts in his direction. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t suggest, like,good day, orhow do you doooooo.’ Salma barks a laugh as Harry’s ears go a bit red.
‘I’m not that posh,’ he insists. ‘Hiis a perfectly normal greeting.’
‘It’s lame!’ Clara tells him furiously. ‘If you’d grown up around normal people instead of, like, the royal family, you would know that. And you—’
I cut her off. ‘Can we stop arguing over greetings? It doesn’t feel that important. You guys do know this is like the fourth note I’ve sent this person? Do we really have to crowd-source every word?’
