Page 25 of The Likelihood Of You

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that Hugo came from wealth. The old money kind of wealth. The kind that meant his idea of a casual outfit was dress pants and an oversized button-up shirt, with a polo jumper draped across his shoulders and tied at the neck. And his pocket money was at least six figures. His parents lived in one of those pearly white townhouses in Kensington, for crying out loud.

His world was alien to me. It was silver spoons and horse racing. While he was getting birthday presents that came with four wheels andan insurance policy, I was getting jigsaws and off-brand Barbie dolls that Sydney and I had to share.

But I guess you can’t help who you fall for. And he and I somehow fell head first for one another.

I strategically left that part of my life out when we got together, purely because I liked him so much and didn’t want him to dump me because I wasn’t like him. I’d done well at hiding my work schedule, until I asked who was next, and it was him.

“Skinny soya latte with an extra shot and honey.”

He doesn’t bother looking up at me, or remember his manners, which I should really be annoyed at because it’s plain rude, but I know he’s been stressed with his finals, and the shock of seeing him standing on the other side of the counter is all I can focus on right now.

But why was I shocked? This was his university, too; he was bound to end up here at some point.

My eyes go lazy as they stare at the top of his head, getting lost in fields of dusty blonde hair that he only recently got trimmed, although it’s still long enough that it falls across his forehead slightly.

It’s only when he doesn’t get a response that he looks up at me. His eyes turn to globes, and as they soak up the sight of me in the brown apron with the cafe logo embroidered on the front, I see the colour evaporate from his cheeks.

“What on earth are you doing here?”He asks, his ‘my parents bought me a Bentley for my seventeenth birthday’ accent penetrating his words and seeping into my numb ears. I know I shouldn’t, but I do find his voice captivating.

My mouth gapes open, but nothing comes out. I think I’m waiting to see how he reacts before I speak. He could break up with me, claim his parents won’t approve of a relationship with a member of the working class and walk out of here. Or perhaps he’ll walk away, and later on, I’ll find out he’s blocked me on everything. I’ll spend the rest of the semester crying over him and end my university career by avoiding everyone and everything until graduation, and I’ll never see him again.

But then, out of nowhere, I see a smirk start to peak on the corner of his lips.

For a second, I think he’s going to choose to laugh in my face and dump me on the spot, but instead, he leans closer, his finger raising up and curling at me, telling me to lean closer too, so I do.

And what he says next is probably the reason why I’ll stay with him for as long as I will.

“How about you take that apron off, get your arse from behind that counter, and I’ll drive us into Soho for some proper coffee.”He purrs at me, while angling his head. “I’ll take care of you, Flo. Don’t think for a second you need to work for what you want. I can help you.”He winks at me. “Ipromise, baby.”

That drive to help me succeed was very short-lived. The oat milk I had in my tiny student fridge at the time probably lasted longer than his promises.

He fed me a bunch of lies when we graduated, saying that when he got a job at his Father’s finance company in London, he’d be earning triple what other fresh graduates were making, drilling it into me that I wouldn’t need to work because he’d make enough for the both of us. And because I was a naive twenty-year-old who only saw free time to perfect her baking skills and create new recipes, I listened to him.

“Jesus Christ…CUT!!!”

Wes’s voice jolts me back into the moment, sending a wave of panic over my body at how long I’d been daydreaming.

My eyes come into focus and take in the big green screen and makeshift planets before me. It was a solo scene with Addy, and the way her eyes are on me like laser beams, silently screaming at me to do something about Wes and his likely declining sugar levels, tells me that’s my cue to step in. I nod at her and walk over to the assistant lounge to grab the cherry danishes I’d batch-baked last night, before running one right out to him.

I try to hold in my laugh when I spot Addy and everyone else around us putting their hands together and thanking the lord, but a little snort comes out, before I leave the box with Wes, getting on with my real job and making my way over to Nate’s dressing room.

She’s quickly become one of my favourite people ever to exist, Addy has. Once I’d checked her face out for long enough, it finally clicked where I’d seen her before, and was taken back by the brain-melting realisation that she was the girl from my all-time favourite Christmasmovie. I think it took so long because she wasn’t seven anymore, nor did she have tinsel and string lights wrapped around her hair, but once it did, I felt the child inside me start screaming. I was always so jealous of that damn hair.

Was I so jealous that one weekend I spent my pocket money on orange Sharpies to dye my hair the same as hers? Maybe.

She’s so witty, and spirited, and even though it’s hard to pry her away from the romcom novel in her hands when I’m trying to talk to her on her breaks, she’s completely the type of person I gravitate towards.

With her and I both being bigger girls, we spent most of the free time we had bonding over that. It’s like an unspoken sisterhood, growing up plus size, and because we were the same age, we switched horror stories about what it was like growing up that way.

Both of us reluctantly recalled how awful the 2014 Tumblr ballet core days were, plotted how we could stop it from making the comeback it’s trying to make right now, and gossiped about how we spent most of our teenage years dressed in cold shoulder t-shirts, business causal outfits and avoiding horizontal strips.

After that, we barely left each other’s side. And I secured one more name onto that very short NYC friend list I had going.

The workday is finished at around six-ish, and I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to protest for the four-day workweek harder in my life. So when Wes yells that we’re finished and can leave, I quickly head back to the lounge to grab my things.

As I close the door behind me, I turn to my right and see Jacob talking with one of the crew members, before heading into his dressing room.

And just like it’s done every time I’ve caught a glimpse of him over these last few weeks, my heart does a stupid somersault.

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