“Hey,” he says, his hand suddenly on my leg, pulling me away from my thoughts. I turn to him, the look of determination in his eyes scary.
“It would be a lie to say I wasn’t drawn to Stana and yes, I did pursue her.”
My chest aches, a realization that knocks the air right out of me. I’m not a jealous person, but the thought that Owen would want to be with Stana does something disastrous to my insides.
“But nothing ever happened. It was a few weeks out of my entire life, and it’s clear to me now, more than ever, that what I was feeling for her was friendship. I’d never want to change how things turned out, Lottie. Stana’s like a sister to me, nothing more.”
I place my hand on his leg. “You don’t have to explain yourself, Owen.” I attempt to reassure him, suddenly overwhelmed by the weight of the conversation we’ve ended up in.
My other hand rests upon my still-flat stomach, my personal comfort when everything feels so uncertain. I don’t usually realize I do it, but more often than not, I look down and there is my hand.
He looks as if he wants to say more, so I pop up from the couch, deciding to retreat to the kitchen. “I’m going to make a cuppa. Want one?”
Not able to stand the dejected look on his face as he shakes his head, I focus all my attention on making my tea, pushing out all thoughts of why in the hell I started up this conversation to begin with.
“You know, I’ve been thinking about it, and I’m surprised we never met before Stana introduced us.” Owen carries over a Coke for me and a beer for himself. My mind questions how he can still wear a white T-shirt when it’s so bloody freezing out.
“I mean, London isn’t exactly a small city.” I nod in thanks when he passes me my drink, thankful no one questions why I’m not drinking. Em and Reeve both have other work commitments, so it’s just Stana, Ali, Owen, and me this afternoon. We’ve still got a few hours until Saint Street opens, all of us reveling in the peace.
“Actually, that’s a good point,” Stana adds in, her body angled into Ali. He runs his hand up and down her shoulder in calming strokes.
“It is?” I ask her.
“I mean, think about it. You’re who introduced me to Saint Street. I’d never have come here if you didn’t first,” she says.
At that Owen’s face perks up. “You used to come to Saint Street before we met Stana?”
I nod, my mind drifting back to the days when I’d come to see the guys perform with girlfriends or even Beck.
“And when I first moved here, she told me it was her favorite pub, plus they had a killer band.” The cheer in her voice makes me seem like a little fangirl. Jesus Lord, help me.
“I don’t think I said it like that,” I protest, my gaze digging into hers.
“No, I’m pretty sure those were your exact words.”
I roll my eyes at her before taking a sip of my drink.
Owen, who can’t seem to get enough of this development, turns to me. “A fan, huh?” He grins at me while I resist the urge to shove his arm.
“I think that’s taking it too far,” I tell him. “I used to come here with some friends occasionally, and it just happened to be a lot of the time you were all performing.”
“So, you already kinda knew us when we met?” Owen says.
I rub my hand over my wet glass, my fingers picking up the condensation. “I mean, I didn’t know you, but I definitely recognized you.”
“I can’t believe I never saw you before,” he says more to himself than anyone else.
“Heaps of people come to see you guys perform. It’s really not that surprising. Plus I was always with people, so…” I shrug, not really sure what else to say.
“Ali”—Owen turns to him—“did you recognize Lottie?”
Ali leans forward and places his beer on the table. “I’d never formally met her, but I’d seen her around,” he says, surprising even me.
“Really?” Stana asks him, smiling.
He nods. “I’ve always got to keep an eye on the place. You remember some faces more than others. Plus, I saw her the first night she brought you in here.”
Stana beams, clearly thinking back to her first night here. Her first sighting of Ali.
“Huh,” Owen mutters to himself.
“Owen,” I say, touching his arm, smiling, “it’s honestly not a big deal you don’t remember me. We’re friends now and that’s what matters.”
“Of course.” His voice is casual as he leans back in his chair. I try not to read into why it bothers him so much that he doesn’t remember me from my frequent visits to Saint Street.
The next day, I’m heading to work after finally getting a good night’s rest.
“Do you need me to pick anything up?” I speak into my mobile as I cross the paved street of Notting Hill, making sure to look both ways so I don’t become roadkill.
“No, I think Owen is handling most of it. It may not always seem like it, but Owen has a tendency to go above and beyond, especially for birthdays. Lad can never pass up the opportunity for a party,” Em replies, an airiness to her voice. The other night Owen had the idea to throw a joint birthday for Stana, Reeve, and Ali, despite Ali’s birthday not being until early Jan, at least two months away. I think Owen just wanted a reason for us all to get together. If I weren’t pregnant, I’d jump at the idea of drinking with my mates, celebrating. But this year it feels a little somber, my mind still not thinking this is the right time to come clean.
“I’m starting to learn that.” I laugh, finally arriving at work, slipping past the small queue of customers and into
