“What about Owen?” Em throws out, the time I’ve been spending with him apparent.
“We’re just friends, honestly. It’s been nice to be around a bloke who isn’t a total lying snake.”
They nod.
“Owen is good people, Lottie. People are quick to judge him because he’s so attractive and chats up the ladies. They just assume there’s no substance underneath,” Em tells me, her voice fierce with the loyalty she holds for her friend. It only makes me love her more.
I think back to the first time I met Owen. I might have had similar preconceived notions, notions that now make my heart ache, because every word Emilia is saying is correct.
“I know, Em. He’s probably one of the most compassionate people I know,” I find myself admitting.
“Plus, he loves his mum!” Emilia adds in, a grin overtaking her face.
At the mention of his mum, Evie, my heart grows weary. I’ve yet to meet her and I worry she’ll be cautious of me due to my relationship with Owen. From what I know, she’s a surrogate mum to Emilia after the death of both of her parents, plus she has everyone over for Sunday dinners frequently. But she’s been overseas the past year, hence why Stana and I don’t know her yet.
“Very true,” Stana throws in.
“Well, you’d know,” I can’t help but reply. When Stana first moved to London, Owen set his sights on her right away. Obviously things didn’t work out romantically, but there must have been something there.
Stana turns to me, eyes wide. “Owen’s like my brother, Lottie. I know it’s hard to grasp because you only heard my side of it through the phone, but the fact we even considered a romance is laughable now.” She brushes it all off and I know she means every word, but it’s just that little nagging thing that rears its head in my mind every so often.
“It’s true, Lottie. Everyone knew Ali and Stana were endgame. Owen will be the first to admit that now.”
I avoid eye contact, trying to seem unaffected before I change the topic to tomorrow’s dinner party, my mind lingering on how Owen rarely brings up Stana, yet I seem to be stuck on that more than usual these days. And it’s I’m thinking about it at all that scares me.
My head hangs in the toilet as I wait for the rest of my lunch to come up. It’s not long till I’m dry-retching into the loo.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter. “You just had to go and get knocked up, didn’t you, Charlotte?” I scold myself, hating the morning sickness that just won’t fuck off.
“I’ve got some tea here.” Owen places the hot mug on the counter, thankfully the scent of chamomile not making my stomach dance.
“Thanks, puppy. But you really don’t need to be here. Stana and Ali are having their dinner party tonight and you shouldn’t miss it because I can’t keep a meal down.”
Finally feeling as though I’m not going to puke, I stand up, then rinse my mouth out at the sink before going for my tea.
Owen stands behind me, my body practically warming to his presence as usual. I stare in the mirror, hoping I don’t look too disgusting. Slight bits of dark brown roots peek out from my head, the absence of my hair appointments already prominent.
“You look fine.” Owen’s voice is gentle in his attempt to calm me.
“Fine?” I laugh. “Puppy, word to the wise, no girl wants to be told she looks fine.”
He grins back at me, giving as good as he gets. “We both know you always look great, Lottie. What are you worried about?”
I roll my eyes, unable to take his compliment, so I change the subject, something I’ve become quite good at recently.
“Anyway, enough about that. Back to tonight. I really think you should go.”
He shakes his head, my gaze going to his freshly cut blond hair.
“Well, it’s too late. I’ve already texted them saying I have to work.”
“Owen!” I chastise him. “You didn’t need to do that. You can’t keep putting your social life on hold because some girl you know got pregnant.” I try to push past him, but his warm hand covers my arm.
“We both know you’re not just some girl, Lottie.”
I lock eyes with him, nodding, because we both know it’s true. Our strange relationship has become so much more than acquaintanceship, but it never crosses that invisible line. It’s as if we’ve both acknowledged there could be more with one another, yet at the same time we’ve never actually said it aloud.
“I need to sit down,” I say, changing the subject. “Want to eat shit and watch crappy TV with me?” I don’t wait for his reply as I pull snacks out of the pantry before throwing myself onto my couch. A fuzzy blanket sits at my feet and my insides warm. Owen must have pulled that out for me earlier. As the month of October moves along, so does the chill that creeps into the air and my flat. London is all fun and games until the cold comes back, and that is most of the time.
“So?” I call out to him when he emerges from the bathroom and leans against my doorframe. I try not to let my gaze trail over the outline of his biceps against the T-shirt he wears, or the way his jeans meld to his skin without being obnoxiously tight. Or his tan skin against that golden-blond hair. Nope. No, Lottie, pull it together.
I avert my gaze to Owen’s face, which now holds a smirk as he’s caught me.
“Please, feel free to stare. I’m here all day.”
I roll my eyes and throw the nearest pillow at him, then turn back to the TV to pick the newest Real Housewives of OC.
Owen’s broad frame moves around my room before stopping in front of a photograph of me as a child that’s perched on my mantle.
“This you?” he asks,
