Page 11 of Only Ever You

Eighteen year old Faye had been an unexpected gift, adorable with her long braids that’d been brunette back then and tote filled with supplies hitched on her shoulder. Bash hadn’t known it then, but his life had changed that day when they’d stumbled into one another. Some sort of fate had been on his side like two stars colliding when the only seat left had been the one next to his.

And now he couldn’t go a day without her; he didn’twantto.

He’d spent that first year falling out of lust (he wouldn't have called it love) with Kiera, his then-girlfriend, and sat by as she became more and more disinterested in him. It’d been the most amicable of break-ups in existence. Dissolving into nothing more than study dates,hello’sandgoodbyeswithout either of them ever pulling the plug. They’d strung out the dregs of their relationship until that last thread had broken.

And the reason why he hadn't been heartbroken in the aftermath?Faye. She’d tended to his non-existent wounds and given him her friendship in full force, whereas before, he’d realised, she’d only been on seventy percent.Yes, he’d noticed how she would withhold herself whenever Kiera was around and they were in the same space. Bash assumed it was some sort of a ‘girl-code’ thing for when a boyfriend had another woman for a best friend.

It had taken him a year after that break-up to realise he wanted his friendship with Faye to be all in, and more. How much he wanted her had hit him like a train. He’d gone flying from the force,literally, when he’d sprung up from his bed to tell her and fallen over when his feet tangled in the straps of his backpack.

But he’d missed his chance.

That evening, he’d forgotten Faye wasn’t at home, so had impatiently waited as their other housemates came and went. He iced his sore knee from the tumble and finally,finally,heard the front door open and the siren song of Faye’s laughter.

In those hours, he’d prepared the exact words to say to her. Instead of writing an essay on the influences of European cultures on interior design in the mid-nineties, he’d written an essay on his feelings for Faye.

He’d mapped it all out in his head.

He’d left his bedroom, turned the corner at the top of the stairs and?—

He’d frozen.

Ice water had drowned his heart to find Faye’s dimly lit silhouette in their doorway with her arms wrapped around her new boyfriend, and that guy’s hand sneaking up her skirt. She hadn’t swatted him away, clearly wanted his attention, and Bash hadn’t been able to look. He’d wandered like a ghost with his tail tucked between his legs back to his room and slept until well after his alarm should have woken him.

That alarm jolted him awake today, ten years later. His schedule meant he’d be working from home on preliminary design concepts for a client, then reading over his business partner,Bennet’s, measurement report that he’d been on-site gathering in Spain this week, but he still wanted to pop down to his favourite place for his morning coffee.

He would normally wait until the evenings to call his older brother for one of their bi-weekly chats, but this time, as he walked to Faye’s bakery, he couldn’t wait.

“Hey, what’s up?” Matthieu answered the phone on the fifth ring.

“Hey. You’re not commuting are you?” Bash asked as he looked over at the lines of barely moving road traffic, The Green Park on the other side of the street not looking quite sogreenthis December morning. “Sorry, I know it’s early.”

“I just got to my office. Is something wrong?” The concern lining his big brother’s tone was genuine; he never called whilst the sun still blinked awake.

Apart from Faye, Freddy, Maisie and Sienna, Mathieu was his best friend. He’d like to say he’d always been, but for a good portion of their childhood Bash had hated his guts. Matt was four years his senior and they’d never clicked, not until Bash followed in his brother’s footsteps and moved to London for university. Matt had been in his fourth year of medical school and likely instructed by their parents to make sure his little brother was okay – that he transitioned from living at home to surviving out on his own. Which explained why suddenly his brother became hard to shake off.

First, it’d been as a familiar face on early nights out. Then there’d been the random drop-ins with a takeaway in Matt’s hand. Bash would’ve been annoyed by his brother’s helicopter parenting if Matt hadn't kept him on the right path more than a few times.

He drew the zip on his coat up higher to ward off the cold. “I have a bit of a situation.”

There was a pause on the line, then a sceptical “What kind of situation?”

Tugging on his ear, Bash blew out a breath as he navigated hisway along the main roads towards Covent Garden. He could’ve taken the tube in a third of the time, but decided the walk would do him good instead.

“I might have agreed to marry Faye.”

Silence.

Then Matt began to laugh. Not just laugh, but howl.

“It’s notfunny,” he insisted, though he’d half expected this reaction. Matt was the only one who knew how he felt about Faye – the only one who he’d told outright.

Yet another impulsive mistake.

“It’s hilarious! You’ve fancied Faye ever since you’ve known her and now you’re going to jump ship and marry her? How is this happening?”

“I don’t know.” Whining, Bash moved himself out of the way of the morning foot traffic and ducked beneath an eave of some Regency-style gentleman club’s front door. Out of the vague attempt at sunlight, the air dipped five degrees. “I was walking her to a taxi last night?—”

“Thursday jazz night?”

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