Page 43 of The Way We Fell

“Talk,” Amie says, slicing into her steak. She brings a forkful to her mouth and moans as it hits her tongue. “Holy fuck, we did good, K.”

I take a bite from my own steak and a similar moan falls from my own lips.

“Goddamn, move over Ruthy, new chefs are in town.”

“You’re not getting out of it, by the way.” Amie nudges me with an elbow as she cuts her steak into small pieces.

“Yeah, about that,” I begin. I shove a forkful of potato into my mouth and chew, trying to buy myself some time. Amie pins me with her hazel gaze, one eyebrow arched.

“So, you know me and Jay went to that beer flights place for lunch,” I begin. Amie nods, chewing on a piece of steak. “Well, we’ve been a few times. We’re friends now, I guess.”

“Okay, and?”

“And…” I sigh and stuff another forkful of food in my mouth. I don’t want to tell a story that isn’t mine, but I don’t want to lie to my best friend, either. “And… he’s having a hard time adjusting. Since coming home, I mean.”

“In what way? Roo hasn’t said anything. She barely even mentions him.”

“That’s not for me to say,” I answer carefully. “Please don’t say anything. I don’t think he wants Roo to know. He doesn’t want her to worry. But… I’ve been helping him, I guess. Trying to.”

“What are you not saying, K?”

Amie’s hazel eyes catch mine, reading between the lines of everything I’ve said. I should’ve known better. She knows me better than anyone, and she always has. She’s been my best friend for over twenty years, and I’ve never kept a secret from her. I don’t think I can start now. I don’t think I know how.

“I like him,” I whisper. If I’m really honest with myself, I think I couldmore thanjust like Jay Bevan someday. I think he could be the kind of man I could fall in love with, and the thought thrills and terrifies me in equal measure.

“Wh—”

“Don’tsay anything,” I plead. My eyes fill with tears and I blink them back, rubbing at my face with the heel of my hand. “Ruth can’t find out, Amie, please don’t say anything.Promise me.”

“I won’t, honey, I promise.” She grabs my hand. “Do you—have you—I mean—”

“He doesn’t know. I mean—we haven’t done or said anything. We’re just friends. I’m probably just like another annoying little sister, right?” I pause with a self-deprecating chuckle. “An annoying little sister who likes to meddle. I read some books and some stuff online, you know, to try and help. And it just… came to me. This is what I want to do, A. And I think it’s something I could be really good at.”

Amie’s eyes soften and she puts her plate aside, shuffling in her seat to face me.

“Honey, you’re nobody’s annoying little sister. You’re the best person I know, Katy-cat. You’re going to be amazing at this counselling thing. I’m really, really proud of you.” She throws her arms around me, and I manage to catch my plate just before it tips my remaining food on the carpet.

“I love you, A,” I whisper into her shoulder. “Thank you for believing in me.”

“Always, K. Now, finish your steak. We’ve got ice cream to eat.”

Chapter twenty-one

Katy

It’sbeenachaoticfew days since being accepted onto the counselling course. With my late application and last-minute acceptance, I’ve had to scramble to find cover for some of my supermarket shifts. I’ve had to arrange funding for the course, which, as a mature student, has been a much bigger headache than it really ought to be.

But finally, yesterday, the last few pieces fell into place. Jay texted me last night to confirm our brunch today, and I’ve been both excited and terrified to share my news with him.

Might as well just get it over with. Rip off the bandage, as my dad would say. I don’t know why I’m so nervous—Jay is my friend. He’ll be happy for me, right?

“I have some news,” I say, wiping my mouth carefully with a paper napkin. I trace the outline of my lips with a fingertip to wipe away any displaced lip gloss. Jay stuffs his half of the finger cake into his mouth in one go, cheeks bulging as he fights to chew it. His brows raise in a silent encouragement to continue.

“I got accepted onto a counselling course at the LCP.”

“The what?” A stray crumb clings to his lip as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. I focus on it helplessly, clenching my thighs as the tip of his tongue darts out to claim it, wetting his plump, pink lips.

“London College of Psychology,” I say, never breaking my concentration on his mouth. “It’s a competitive course. They only take a handful of students twice a year, and—well, I got in.”

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