Page 17 of Not That Impossible

Adam shut off the water and stuck an arm out, opening and closing his hand demandingly. I passed him his towel.

He gave me a skeptical look as he tied the towel around his waist.

I pondered my statement. “I’m going back to my old leaf,” I said. “No alcohol at all. I’ve decided I don’t like it.”

I’d been eighteen for about three months, which was the only reason Liam was unsuccessful in his attempt to arrest me for underage drinking. I had a vague memory of him giving it a go, and of Adam laughing when I fumbled out my wallet and driving license to prove my age.

This was the first time I’d got drunk. I vowed that it would be last.

I vowed a lot of things that day, feeling like death in Adam’s bathroom. He shuffled me into the shower and when I couldn’t help myself from sniffling, he pulled me back out and wrapped me up in a tight hug.

To my embarrassment, I’d given up and full-on cried. Sobs. Snot. The works.

Adam knew that I’d had a thing for Liam. I wasn’t subtle. The whole town probably knew.

But until he was holding me on the bathroom floor as I fucking lost it like only a teenager in love can, even Adam hadn’t known that my thing was real.

He hadn’t known, as I’d sat in church that day as his plus-one and watched Liam stand up with a gorgeous,nicewoman, as I’d sat in the marquee at the reception that night and watched them dance in each others arms…Adam hadn’t known that my heart was breaking.

You broke my heart, Liam. Youbrokeit.

I remembered sobbing those words into my pillow night after night.

In fact, I did it so often that my memories shifted and got muddled, to the point that I began to remember saying it to Liam’s stern face. He’d gripped my shoulders, holding me back, and he’d whispered,I’m sorry, Jasper. I never asked for it. I don’t think of you that way. And you shouldn’t ever let yourself get hurt over someone like me.

Which of course couldn’t ever have happened, because my memory of that touching nightmare was in Adam’s bedroom while Adam was busy throwing up in the bathroom, and by then, Liam would have already been driving into the sunset with his wife.

Liam was, and always had been, an impossible dream.

Over the years, I grew up. I tried not to love him. When I found myself weakening—which was every time I saw him, and every time we interacted— all I had to do was look in the mirror and superimpose an image of beautiful, poised Verity Nash over my plain, wistful, very-much-a-man’s face. It was one hell of a dose of reality. Probably not awesome for my self-esteem. But it worked.

Until today.

Because now, not only was Liam a) divorced and b) dating, he was c) apparently into men and even, dare I say it, d) into me.

I didn’t know what to do about it.

But I felt myself smiling.

Then my vision swung back into focus and that fucking cursor was blinking at me like it always did.

I checked the clock.

Okay.

I had an hour before I had to suck down a protein shake, drag myself back out into the dark and the rain, and go and be peppy at the gym. I could come up with a few article ideas that Ralph was going tolovein that time, I was sure.

Or, I’d try.

Not that anything remotely exciting ever happened in Chipping Fairford.

5

“You’re all doing so well!” I bellowed over the music. “Especially you, Brenda! Keep pedalling. Doesn’t matter how fast you go. So long as you’re moving, you’re winning. Woo!”

I wasn’t a fan of yellingwooat people, but a certain level of enthusiasm was expected from a personal trainer/gym instructor. My senior spin class expected it more than most. If I didn’t toss out a fewwoos, I had concerned pensioners cornering me after class and asking what was wrong, why was I sad, did I want a cookie?

I was up at the front on the instructor’s bike and I’d clipped my phone to the handlebars where it was shielded by the bike’s console. I poked at the screen to wake it up and see if Adam had replied to my WhatsApp yet.

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