Page 49 of The Likelihood Of You

I knew it was her before even dipping my gaze down to the screen, like I was expecting it.

UNKNOWN NUMBER

Today 19:44PM

I know this is your number, Jacob. Just please, answer me. I really want to talk.

Chapter eighteen

Florence

It was becoming quite a habit for me to have no idea what I was going to wear every time I stepped out of the door.

Nearly every morning before going into the production lot, I have a mini meltdown about my clothes. Either my jeans weren’t resting on my arse the right way, or my jumpers made me look like a marshmallow.

Back home, my outfits were the least of my worries. Throw on a pair of jeans, a nice top and something to layer, and I was good to go. Now? I’m having what feels like a mid-life crisis because I can’t find the right accessories to match my green satin midi dress.

I could very easily sit here and say I had no idea why I suddenly cared about my appearance so much. But my gunning-to-make-team-GB-for-gymnastics heart and I knew exactlywhy we cared.

It’s been over two weeks since the kiss, and instead of finding out where that left us, we’ve barely spoken, which is partly, entirely, my fault.

Finding out the chunder-inducing news that Hugo and Sydney were officially a couple and had been since July, according to their not-so-soft launch on their socials, threw me right off the track I’d been steadily rolling down and derailed every chug of progress I’d made since stepping off that plane.

Seeing it, I went still. Cold. I was frozen in time by a cataclysmic event that could have easily been a contender for my villain origin story. In my head, I was convincing myself for months that their sneaky fucking sessions were dead and buried after seeing what it did to me. It all started with one heat-of-the-moment kiss that escalated and got out of hand. There was an exchange of looks and smiles that pressurised like a forbidden diamond and eventually exploded. However, because the universe loves me, that’s clearly not what’s been happening while I’ve been out of the picture.

They’re a happy couple. All happy and coupley. Meanwhile, I'm sobbing into my pillows and wishing it would all just go away.

I think instead of adding ‘The Third’ to the end of my name, I’ll add ‘Patron Saint of Crying Over Things She Shouldn’t’.

I had to clutch my stomach and recite my custard tart recipe in my head every time the thought of them extending their borderline adultery into a relationship crossed my mind, one where they went to the same restaurants me and Hugo went to, had the same Sunday dinners at his parent’s townhouse that we used to, going to the same place we did to do their weekly food shops.

And even though there was no corner of my heart where Hugo’s name was carved anymore, it didn’t stop it from breaking all over again.

Safe to say, I was in no mood for talking to anyone the first day back at work, and every day after that, but not talking to Jacob felt wrong, especially since he’d become a constant thing in my life now.

I felt so guilty. But instead of the gnawing sensation, I was overcome with a sense of doom, one that lurked over me eternal storm cloud and dragged me down like a fifty-pound weight had been slung over my shoulders.

Was this what guilt felt like when I truly had something to feel guilty about?

I thought he was going to ask me about it on Monday, when he asked me if I was doing okay. I don’t know whether he bought my lie about having migraines. In fact, I know he didn’t.

I wanted to ask him if he was okay, if we were okay. I wanted to be honest about why I’d been so distant, but I couldn’t find the strength to do it, not without crying anyway.

Although, I did like the idea of Jacob wiping my tears away again.

“What the hell do you bake into these cakes, Flo? Actual pixie dust? Is this a form of witchcraft? It won’t let me go.” Addy’s questionable choice of words dragged me away from my overthinking session and right back into my apartment, where her seventies playlist was engulfing the room.

When I agreed to go to this wrap party tonight, Addy politely demanded that she get ready with me, and I offered my apartment to do that. Having her here also meant I could branch out my experiment tofind out whether New York was ready for my bakes, without dragging Jacob into my soap opera life any more than I already had.

She, however, took that as an opportunity to try and convert me to reading rom-coms, handing me all her favourites and taking up a good chunk of the afternoon proving that the ones with the cartoon covers were always the filthiest.

Until I presented her with cake, and then she left me alone.

I look over to where she’s sat on my sofa, the dim glow from the final minutes of golden hour illuminating her amber curls as well as the subtle line of highlighter on her cheekbone. “Not witchcraft, just my Nanna's recipe."

She narrows her eyes at me and cocks a fiery brow. "So…she'sa witch?"

"If she were, she'd be a good one. The best, actually." She dashes me a smile. "But it’s good?”

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