Page 26 of Try Hard
The problem was that she wasn’t too far from the fact that I justlikedhearing her say my whole name. Her. Not people in general. Usually, I didn’t care what people called me, so long as it was some variation of my name that I knew to respond to. ButEve? She’d said my whole name like it was something magical, and I wanted to hear her say it over and over again.Just her.
Chapter Eight
Eve
Igrinned widely at Terrance when I entered the kitchen, my hair still damp from the shower. The clock on the wall, with its decorative, wobbly wooden edge, said it was only a quarter to seven. I’d somehow managed to race through my morning run and shower. Most likely, I was still being spurred on by the fact thatOpheliahad texted last night. Sure, I’d waited hours for her, but part of me had expected no message at all. I’d hoped, of course, and it had paid off. Not only had she messaged me for over an hour, she’d asked me to use her whole name, like it was a secret just for the two of us. And, sure, she wasn’t exactly warm and cuddly over text, but I knew how to see the positives, and her messages had been full of them.
“Egg mayo?” Terrance asked, waving his half eaten sandwich in the air.
I laughed lightly. “I’m good, thanks. Is that what you have every morning?”
“Nah.” He shook his head as he chewed a bite, signaling that he was planning to continue speaking. “I like to mix it up. Havea collection of three or four faves I run through—and, of course, if I’m eating with your mum, it’s lady’s choice.”
I grinned, pulling my mum’s toastie maker from one of the cupboards. “So… porridge?”
“Usually,” he allowed, laughing. “Pancakes if it’s a special occasion.”
A warm feeling took root in my stomach. My mum’s dad had always made her pancakes for her birthday. Every year, without fail, until he was too old. But, even then, he’d somehow coordinate with the staff at his nursing home so that, one way or another, my mum got pancakes on her birthday—even if he had to buy them pre-made. It had been something sacred for her. Something the two of them did together. Something she’d passed down to us. Special occasions meant pancakes, even if she was a little more liberal with her definition ofspecialoccasionsthan my grandad had been.
Terrance watched me assembling my breakfast as I clocked the rest of his egg mayonnaise in the fridge—preassembled sandwich filling just waiting for… lunch? Tomorrow’s breakfast? I couldn’t imagine him eating the same thing for two meals running, but I also hadn’t imagined him as someone who ate egg mayo butties for breakfast.
“Is thisyourusual breakfast?” he asked when I pressed the lid of the sandwich maker down.
“Ha. No. This is my first full day of vacation breakfast.” I saw the way his brow quirked at the Americanism but he didn’t call it out. “Cheese and bean toasties, yoghurt with berries, and I had a smoothie before my run.”
“You know, most people on holiday would go for like… a full English or pancakes stacked with chocolate and ice cream.”
“True. But I’ve been craving these toasties for a week now.”
He frowned. “You’re telling me Eve Archer is so hard done by now she’s retired that she can’t afford a twenty quid sandwich maker?”
I laughed. I enjoyed Terrance. He wasn’t afraid to tease me like some people were. It worked well for us. And, honestly, was probably one of the reasons he was such a good fit with Mum. He’d never been thrown by the fame or the connections. Even at my middling level of celebrity, people still sometimes lost themselves to it.
Terrance sipped his coffee before flashing me a grin. “Do I need to tell your mother you’re in dire need of an early birthday gift?”
I shook my head, pulling a punnet of strawberries from the fridge. “Not at all. I don’t actually know why I’ve never bought one. It just… feels like home. Something Mum or Dad used to feed us. And then, this kind isn’t particularly common in the US, so it was a treat every time I came home. Even now I’m back permanently, it’s just… something that means coming home.”
He nodded slowly, like he totally understood. He probably did. Food was big in Terrance’s family—a connection to their history, just like it was for most immigrants in my experience. And, sure, a cheese and bean toastie didn’t feel quite the same as something like the ital stew he’d made last night, didn’t have the same history behind it, but it was undeniably British, and it was my food from home.
Terrance drained his coffee cup. “Okay. No toastie machine for Christmas.”
I laughed. “Much appreciated.”
“So, still keeping up the workout regime even though you’re on holiday?”
I hummed. “I just can’t seem to do without it. Start feeling antsy if I’m not moving, you know?”
“I suppose if my every day had been filled with nothing but sports for my entire adult life, I’d probably feel the same way.” He shot me a look. “As it is, my every day is filled with construction and I… could use a break.”
Terrance loved his job, but he had been doing it a long time. However, Mum had told me the man got bored as hell if he took time off and didn’t have activities planned. Apparently, he’d tried to take a week off just to rest and do nothing, and she’d come home to him building a new patio in the backyard after only the second day. But, I let him have this one without arguing. Everyone needed breaks, even if they found themselves drawn back to their activities in the end.
“Rest days are important,” I said, repeating the advice I’d heard from every coach I’d ever had.
He shot me a grin that said Mum had told him just how much I’d always hated enforced rest days. Even as a kid, I’d been so desperate to get back out there immediately.
There was a clattering coming down the stairs, breaking the quiet moment, and Hercules rounded the corner, bounding for the kitchen. Apparently, eggs didn’t speak to him enough to lure him from sleep but the scent of melting, gooey cheese had done it.
Terrance ran a hand through Hercules’ fur. “Nothing but rest days for this guy.”
