“Oh?” Lily gives me a wary look. “How does it get worse?”
“I, er, ran away. After we… I bolted. I’ve obviously lost it, Lil. Shit like this doesn’t happen to me. I mean…” Shrugging helplessly, I don’t even know what I’m trying to articulate. “Then—thena bouquet of flowers arrived for me, immediately followed by the arrival of an uninvited film crew ready to start ripping my shop apart, because Gemma signed the filming consent form without permission. You texted right about the time I was ready to run screaming murder down the street. You know that saying about mad dogs and Englishmen in the midday sun and all of that. Oh God, what is even happening with my life anymore?” I moan into my hands. “Hide me in your museum. Somewhere in the back. With the old, dusty things.”
“I need a moment to process all of this. I’m getting the next round,” Lily declares, neatly sliding off her stool and going up to the bar.
Meanwhile, I try to rally, compulsively eating crisps.
What if Blake Sinclair actually sent those flowers? Not as a trick. What if he actually meant what he said in the card?
Impossible.
Things like that don’t happen to me. I mean, I don’t sleep with actors, strange or familiar ones. Not that I know of any familiar ones. Perhaps this is all a prolonged state of heat exhaustion, which is definitely a risk this week in London. Maybe I should seek refuge in a cooling center. Or Antarctica.
When Lily returns, I’ve attempted to talk myself down from the ledge, with mixed results. She places a fresh pint in front of me and sets down her cocktail before resuming her seat. She contemplates me, bemused. “I’ve ordered some food, because I have serious doubts you’ve eaten anything all day with the way you’ve gone after those crisps.”
Blinking, I look down at the flayed foil packets, where I was trying to pick up the crumbs. “Sorry for the brain dump and overshare. And thanks for listening. And sorry again.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for. Though, for the record, I would believe you at this point if therehadbeen a murder in the shop. Are they filming one?”
“No. It’s a romantic comedy, they say. And there’s to benofilming in my shop. The finale is that the location scout’s given me twenty-four hours to reconsider their offer.”
“Offer?” Lily looks at me, curious. She tucks a long lock behind her ear, red earrings dangling.
I sigh. “They think the shop is perfectly charming and they want to offer five thousand pounds per day for the location.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “How many days?”
“Haven’t the faintest idea. It’s impossible. And—if there’s filming, that means I’d have to see him again. Blake Sinclair.” My mouth goes dry at the thought. As if there’s another him we’re talking about right now.
If the man sent me flowers today, does that mean he’s thinking of me?Me.A nobody. Just one of eight million people living a perfectly ordinary life in London as perfectly ordinary Aubrey Barnes.
Except for last Saturday, where I quite literally lost the plot.
“Say yes,” says Lily immediately.
“What?”
“You heard me.” She tilts her head. “Say yes to the filming offer. Purely from a business sense, even one day is more than you take in a week.”
I make an unhappy sound and gulp more ale.
“And then you can also find out more about Blake Sinclair. Wouldn’t that be a good thing?”
“Oh no. He’s an illusion and I’m just me. We haven’t the faintest clue about each other. What on earth would he see in me?”
“Even a no-strings fling would be brilliant, don’t you think?” Lily considers me, tapping her finger against her lips. “But do you want to know what I think?”
“What’s that?”
“It’s more than a one-time fling if he’s sending you flowers. Which is, by the way, lovely.” She beams at me. “See, there’s life after Eli. I promised it’s an actual thing, didn’t I?”
I groan, shaking my head. “By the way, it’s Ryan’s birthday soon. I need to get a gift. So do you.”
“I already have one. Found a lovely wall hanging in Spain, actually.”
Another groan escapes me. “Of course you did.”
It’ll be perfect and it’s just so Lily. It’s part of her rather charmed existence. Finding the perfect gift is something she can do in her sleep. Things like that just work out for her. She can even make parking appear out of nowhere in central London.
