Page 29 of Asking For a Friend

“Yeah, hi. I’m sorry. I’m trying to get to the door.” Please, please just move to the side and let me go.

“Shit, Lando, don’t go, please. Let me explain.” He shifts, and I squeeze between him and another body. When I get outside, I draw in a long breath. It hitches in my throat as my emotions hit overload. None of them caused by my father. I’m indifferent to him. Do I want him to be ill? Not at all, but only in the same way that I hate the thought of anyone being diagnosed with something that could prematurely end their lives. And not from guilt for still not caving over the party either. No, everything I’m feeling now has to do with the man I just bumped into. The scent of his cologne, the brightness of his eyes, then the way they turned wary when he saw it was me. Even the firmness of his body, one I loved to feel pressed against me. It’s the loss, once again, of what could have been that has my head and my heart in turmoil.

I turn around and stomp back inside. He owes me some answers. When I open the door, he’s talking to a cute redhead. The blond guy sees me, though, and he looks sorry. For what and why, I have no clue, but when he tips his head in acknowledgement, I return the gesture.

It's time for me to forget all about Hesketh Trent.

Ellis has been giving me the evil eye all morning, and I have no idea why. Especially as he seems to have only just got over my radio silence for nearly three days. “What is wrong with you today? You’re acting all weird.”

He leans back in his chair and knots his hands behind his head. “Did you have a good time Saturday night?” His tone is sarcastic.

“Why are you asking it like that? It was your idea to go out, ‘to let loose a little’. You couldn’t come, so I went with Dylan. Yeah, it was good. I had fun.”

“Did you see anyone else you know?”

What the hell? Then it clicks. Dylan has spoken to Ellis. He knows I saw Lando. “Yeah, Lando was in there. He bumped into me as he was leaving.”

“And then you let him walk away. I thought you weren’t going to give up.”

“No.” I stop him before he can get another word out. “He ended it if you remember. Without giving me a chance. He didn’t have a damn shit to give,” I snap. I’m sick of it all. “So quit giving me dirty looks and get on with your work.”

It’s late November now, and too much time has passed. Lando did look amazing on Saturday. His hair was shorter, and it suits him. The moment I bumped into him, my cock twitched happily. But he didn’t seem surprised to see me, which must mean he knew I was there. He looked sad, defeated almost, as he told me he was leaving. He squeezed past me, his warm body pressing against mine. I could’ve moved a little, but I wanted him to feel me as much as I wanted to touch him. After he left, a cute, redheaded guy walked up to me, so I talked to him, but nothing happened.

“He saw you. Did you know that?” Ellis shoots back. Fuck. Shivers run down my spine.

I know who he’s talking about, but I stall, not wanting to hear his name. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. What are you accusing me of?”

“Stop being a twat, Hesketh. You know damn well who I’m talking about. Lando saw you. He came back into the pub. I’m going to make a guess and say he was coming back in to talk to you, and you blew it.”

I’ve had enough of listening to Ellis preach all my failings. I didn’t know Lando had come back in. I was too busy trying to forget him and failing miserably. “I’m going out.”

It’s a good thing I have an appointment to go to. It’s not for another hour, but I can waste some time. I wander along the shops, looking into windows but not really paying attention. Until a door opens and the familiar aroma of freshly roasted coffee beans drifts toward me. Of course I ended up at Lando’s haunt. Before I can stop myself, I step inside. No, I shouldn’t be here. I turn around, but a man calls my name.

“It’s Hesketh, right?” the young barista asks. I recognise him as the guy I left some of the gifts with.

“Yeah, I hadn’t paid any attention to where I was walking. I’m going to leave.”

“He’s not here. Lando, I mean. He doesn’t come here anymore.”

Why ever not? Have I forced him away from his favourite writing spot? I stare at the barista until he says my name again. “Hesketh, I don’t think it was because of you. We had a few complaints that he takes up a table every day. We didn’t care one bit, but he felt guilty and decided to stop coming.”

I didn’t believe him for a second, but I had no reason to call him out on it. “Okay, well, if you see him, please let him know I asked after him.”

Maybe I was coming here to see him. My feet made up their own mind about where we were going.

“Do you want a coffee?”

A small laugh escapes me. “Yes, please, an Americano, and I’ll take a lemon muffin too.”

“Is that to go?”

I looked around. The only free table is Lando’s table. “No, in here, please.”

I walk down to the cashier and pay. With her promise to bring them over, I wander over to the table at the back. The view down the coffee shop and out the window would be a distraction for me if I were working here. I don’t know how Lando managed to write and produce such great books. I bought one of them and quickly understood why he’s so popular. The characters are lively and fun, the plot lines complex, and the mystery side clever. I have all of them now and have become a fan.

The two baristas I spoke to seem to be having a hushed disagreement. The man spots me watching them and, with a shake of his head, walks back to the front of the counter, taking another order.

The woman heads towards me, my Americano and a plate with a muffin in hand. As she places them down, she studies me, the corner of her lip caught between her teeth. After another couple of seconds, she sighs. “I don’t know what happened, but I wish you would talk to him. He’s not happy. I think you could change that.”

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