by Sara Ney
“Bad.” His head hangs low. “I’d be properly humiliated if anyone actually saw me. Ashley would have fits.”
He must really love his brother a lot if Ashley is at the forefront of his mind enough to put himself in a situation he’s not comfortable with just for the sake of having friends and impressing his family.
Briefly I wonder what his parents are like.
Nannies.
Boarding school.
A completely different life than the one I had growing up, it seems. I’m also not sure how much of that is cultural being from an entirely different country, or simply because he grew up in a well-to-do family.
I will probably never know the answer to that.
“You never did tell me what you’re working on,” he says, once again sliding his utensil across the table, except this time he’s not being overly stealthy about it. He’s wiggling the silver tines at me as if wielding a pitchfork.
It makes me laugh.
“No, I didn’t tell you what I’m working on, did I?” I’m glad my laptop is facing away from him, glad I haven’t opened my notebook yet. I’ve never been one to open myself up to scrutiny, and I have no desire to start with a British guy who is more into blonde cheerleaders than intellectuals.
There you go again, Eliza, stereotyping him because of the way he looks.
Not fair. You hate when people do that to you.
“Well…what is it?” His eyes scan the tabletop, first landing on my sketch pad, then my computer, then my omelet.
He couldn’t be more obvious.
“Also, just gimme some eggs, would you, love?”
“Bossy bossy.”
Still, he’s being bossy with a smile on his face—a charming smile that does something to my insides. The same something that worked its magic on Kaylee’s insides, I’m sure, and the hearts of every other female he comes across.
Jack Dryden-Jones is like nothing I’ve ever seen before, or met. He’s like a storybook character come to life.
He joins me in eating the eggs off of my plate, and I have to remind him a few times not to hog each and every morsel; his fork is a tiny shovel, and he’s taking way more than is fair.
If I let him keep eating it, there will be nothing left and I’ll have to order a third item off the darn menu.
This random pop-in at the coffee shop is costing me a fortune. Why doesn’t he order himself something? The cheapskate.
Something beeps, and he looks down at his wrist.
“It’s my mum. Do you mind if I give her a ring?”
“No. Of course not.”
That will give me the opportunity to get a little bit of work done, even if the phone call with his mother is only a few minutes. Anything to distract him so I can actually do what I came here to do.
Jack picks up his phone as I open my laptop again.
Swipes at the keypad then holds it up to his mouth. Waits while it rings.
“Hey Mum, it’s me, Jack.” He smiles as she says something back, turning a bit red. “Yes, I know you have caller ID.” Jack rolls his eyes. “Oh, Ashley and Georgia are there having dinner? That sounds nice—what are you serving?” He’s quiet for a few moments, and instead of working and minding my own business, I stop to listen.
Shame on me, I know.
But…
That accent.
And he sounds so cute talking to his mom.
“You’re doing Sunday roast on a Saturday? Why?” Pause. “Oh, I guess that makes sense—when is the party then?”
I immediately want to know what party he is talking about, but I dip my head and hide behind my monitor so he doesn’t notice me outwardly eavesdropping.
Shame, shame, shame.
“Yes, it’s going smashing. Love it.” I catch him rolling his eyes, so he must be talking about rugby and caught in a lie.
Our eyes meet, and he raises a finger to his lips as if to say, Shh, don’t tell…
Your secret is safe with me.
“How has Dad managed at the office without me? And Ashley, are they getting along?” There’s a long stretch of silence as his mother answers his questions, and his mouth is set into a pleasant line as he listens patiently. His head nods along every so often, and I’m impressed that he’s actively listening. “Bet they’re both missing me funning in their business.” He laughs then clears his throat. “I was kidding, Mum.” He raises his eyes again and looks straight at me. “No, I’ve not been on any dates.”
Is it my imagination or is he blushing?
“It’s not as easy as you think.” Pause. “No, I don’t miss Caroline. Could you please not mention her name?”
Jack rolls his eyes toward the ceiling.
Caroline?
This piques my interest, and I sit up straighter in my seat, leaning into the conversation in front of me. Caroline? Must be an ex-girlfriend. I have so many questions now but will bite my tongue—it is none of my business.
Scenarios begin forming in my mind about this mystery Caroline. I imagine she is a tall, statuesque model type. Probably blue blooded, probably with impeccable manners.
Sweet.
Utterly devoted, and crying off in some corner at her country estate in the middle of Great Britain, pining for Jack Dryden-Jones. Probably attends tennis matches at Wimbledon and horse races at Ascot.
High tea lover, obviously, but probably never eats the tiny cakes…unlike myself when cake is set in front of me.
I imagine this girlfriend of his is eye candy. A socialite.
Probably has her own hyphenated last name.
And clearly his family likes her enough to inquire, or at least they like her enough to ask how he is doing without her.
What am I saying? Why am I assuming they’re broken up? What if he has a girlfriend back home in England, and he is playing the field in America? Sowing his oats. Taking out girls like Kaylee and then lying about his relationship status.
It would be so easy to do from a world away.
Let’s be real, Eliza. He didn’t actually do anything wrong last night. The guy watched a show with you and then left.
If he was shady, he would have accepted Kaylee’s invitation to stay and…
Stayed.
But he didn’t.
Which means he could have a girlfriend.
I drop my head again so he doesn’t see me watching him, doesn’t see me gawking. I’m quite certain my eyes are wide and my mouth is slightly ajar, because I have no chill.
If my mouth doesn’t say it, my eyebrows will.
“Yes, Mum,” he is saying. “I don’t know. Probably the holidays—Christmas. I’ve only been here a few weeks, I have a whole semester ahead of me before I can…” His voice trails off as his mother speaks. “No, it definitely will not be before Christmas.”
His pause is only a few seconds.
“You could come here.” Pause. “Yes, I know you’re not a fan of the States.” Another eye roll. “Undignified, I know.” Pause. “What am I doing now?” Jack lifts his eyes and they meet mine. “Having a cuppa with a friend.”
A friend.
My mouth almost drops open at that pronouncement.
A friend?
Since when are we friends?!
“Yes, Mum, she’s a girl.” He raises his brows and wiggles them at me. “No, just a friend.” Pause. “I’ve only been in the States a few weeks—I do not have a girlfriend.”
Double wink.
He needs to stop doing that—being fun and playful and cute. It’s disconcerting and…
Rude.
Yes, rude!
I’m creating boundaries and distance and…and…
Before I can even think about it, my omelet is gone. Jack has eaten the entire thing without me noticing, even while on the phone with his mother.
I’ve been too lost in thought wondering what his life is like, wondering what is going to become of him and Kaylee, wondering why he is subjecting himself to rugby when he clearly cannot stand the sport.
I screw up my face, irritated that he has yet again eaten my meal and left me sitting here hungry.
“Gosh darn it, Jack, I’m still hungry!” I tell him when he says goodbye to his mom and sets his phone down on the table.
“You’ve got to be quick when I’m around.” He is not the least bit abashed.
It bothers him not one iota that I’m clearly agitated. In fact, he seems to be relishing the fact that I’m irritated, proving it by leaning over to pluck a menu from the end of the table like I did earlier.
Scans it, ignoring the cross look on my face.
“What should we order next?” he asks out loud, as if this behavior is normal. As if I can budget three meals in one morning when I came for one. “I’m in the mood for…” His eyes rake over the menu from top to bottom, then bottom to top, finger trailing along. He stabs the plastic menu with the tip of his index finger twice. “This bake sounds pretty good. Or what about a hamburger? It’s almost lunchtime.”
He glances up, questioning me.
“Are you crazy? It’s ten o’clock in the morning. They’re probably not serving lunch yet.”
Why am I bothering to tell him this?
Ugh!
Jack does not care.
Still, even if they were serving lunch, I wouldn’t eat it, especially not with him. This entire morning has dragged on long enough, and I have gotten absolutely nothing done.
Thank goodness I’m not on a deadline.
“All right,” he says. “How do you feel about quiche? The spinach and artichoke quiche looks delightful.”
Delightful?
I can’t tell if he’s being serious right now, but he’s not pulling a face, and his expression looks neutral enough.
“Do you want quiche?” I find myself saying. “That hardly seems like it’s going to fill you up. I just don’t think eggs are the way to go.”
What am I even saying! I just decided I wasn’t eating any more food with this guy and here I am debating about what to eat.
“Point taken,” he says. “What if I just order us some danishes? And maybe a cuppa.”
“A cuppa what?”
“A cuppa means tea.” Jack laughs, placing the menu back in its rightful spot at the end of the table, sandwiched between the napkin dispenser and the salt and pepper. “Tea always makes me feel like I’m not missing home as much,” he tells me, eyes scanning the room for the server.
When he finds her, he raises an arm and does a signal with his hand that says, Please come over.
“Can she and I both get a cup of tea? I will do the breakfast tea, and she will have…” He looks at me. “You might like the chamomile?” he suggests helpfully.
That does sound lovely.
I nod, giving in to his ridiculous cuteness.
Oh, why does he have to be so freaking adorable? Kaylee is so lucky. For a brief moment I’m actually feeling a certain kind of way… Is it jealousy? I have no right to be jealous, but on the other hand, it’s not like this is her boyfriend. Still, if they keep seeing each other, he could very well end up being her boyfriend.
I don’t know what Jack’s intentions are, and I don’t feel it’s within my right to ask, so I just nod along, let him order the tea and whatever else he plans on ordering.
It’s danishes.
And another omelet.
Mentally, I do a quick calculation of how much this is going to cost me—it’s my breakfast and my tab since I was the last one to place an order, even though Jack was here first. But I’m not going to make any assumptions that Jack will pay for my meal, although it would be dandy if he paid his share at the very least.
I’ve been stiffed by friends before at restaurants, it never hurts to be prepared.
Because I only have twelve dollars in my wallet.
“Jack, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you are dragging this morning out much longer than is necessary. Don’t you have something else to do today?”
I know it sounds rude, but now I’m beginning to wonder what the heck he is doing still sitting here with me—wouldn’t he rather be with Kaylee or his friends or teammates instead of randomly entertaining me?
Eating my food and dilly-dallying?
“What do you mean?”
He genuinely appears confused, and now I feel like a shithead.
Surely he has more important stuff he could be doing.
People he could be seeing.
Although—I come to this coffee shop to avoid my friends and to avoid running into anyone I know, so now the question begs: is that the reason he is here?
I study him, wanting to ask but knowing it’s not my place.
Besides, who cares what he’s doing here?
It’s a free country. Jack Jones can go wherever and do whatever he wants, and this was his table first. I’m only sitting here because he was being kind.
I should never have mentioned to Kaylee that I ran into Jack at the coffee shop this morning.
Never.
Since finding out, she’s been peppering me nonstop with questions: what food does he like, what did he say his family is like, has he ever met William and Harry or the Queen, do I remember what his favorite color is?
“Why on earth would I have asked him what his favorite color is?” I ask her, popping a pizza in the oven because I have no energy to actually prepare something healthy or decent. “I was squatting at his table, not making small talk.”
I mean…
We were kind of making small talk, if you count being nosey about rugby and why he hasn’t quit.
My roommate shrugs her dainty shoulders.
“I don’t know, it just seems like something you would ask a person?” Her tone is hopeful and innocent, not a single inflection of jealousy.
“Yeah, maybe you ask someone that on a dating app, but we were in a coffee shop and I have zero interest in him romantically.” I close the door to the oven then lean against it. “We talked about things like him eating all my food, and could he please not eat my food.” I laugh. “He’s kind of a giant pain in the ass.”
“How?”
“Well, for starters, the bill was almost fifty dollars.”
“The bill?”
“Yes. He kept ordering food and eating—it’s as if he has a bottomless pit of a stomach.” I consider this. “Then again, he kept eating eggs? And personally those don’t fill me up.”
Kaylee stares at me. “What else?”
“What do you mean, what else?”
She leans forward and rests her elbows on the kitchen counter, enthralled.
“I mean—what else can you tell me about him?”
I stare back. “Uh. Nothing?”
She stands upright again. “So you were just sitting there and he walked in?”
I sigh, having explained this three times already. “No. I walked in the door and the place was packed—zero places to sit. And then I looked around and he was waving his little British hand to get my attention.”
“His little British hand? What does that mean?”
“I…don’t know why I said that.” It was dumb and now she’s confused. “He was waving his hand to get my attention because he recognized me, and it was either leave or sit with him.”
“So you sat with him.”
“Well yeah—I had shit to do.” I lean down to gaze into the little window in the oven, willing the pizza to hurry the hell up and be done cooking. Why is the darn thing taking so long? I cannot handle the inquisition any longer; she has completely bled me dry of any information.
I do understand why she has cornered me and is asking a million questions about Jack—she’s obviously interested in him and has had almost no time alone with him—but seriously, what could I possibly have gleaned from a simple breakfast?
I open the oven door, just in case the window isn’t showing me a true representation of its done-ness, frowning at the cheese that hasn’t even melted.
Ugh!
“What was he wearing?” Kaylee is
leaning on the counter again.
“Clothes?”
Athletic shorts—navy—and a hoodie—also navy. Black sneakers, black baseball cap, five o’clock shadow.
“Like, workout clothes?”
How is this relevant?
“I don’t know, Kaylee. He kind of looked like a slob.”
A hot slob, but a slob no less.
Okay fine—a super-hot, attractive, masculine, rugged slob.
Not that I noticed, because Jack Jones is not mine to notice…
Kaylee saw him first.
Stop it, Eliza. Stop it. You are not interested in Jack McBritishHottiePants. Not yesterday and not today, and especially because your roommate is.
You might have been…
Nope.
No. You are not going to internal-dialogue this either, Eliza—Kaylee is looking at you like you’ve lost your damn mind.
Duh, because I have.
“Was he at practice this morning? He said something about a match or something.”
“Um…I think it was a practice. A scrimmage?” I pretend I can’t remember. “Dirty gym clothes. You know how it is.”
“Did he eat anything besides eggs?” Kaylee pushes again.
“Yes. Scones. And tea.”
Lots and lots of scones, and he ordered five to go.
Takeaway, he called it.
This new information seems to mollify her, and she nods. I can see the cogs churning in her brain as she files this information away for later.
“Can you get me some when you’re there next? For me to give him?”
“Get you what? Scones?”
“Yes.”
The last thing I want to be is a go-between or an errand girl, but I feel a bit guilty and concede.
“Sure.” Why not.
No harm in that…
Five
Jack
Eliza sure was a suspicious little thing.
I could see the wheels turning in her brain while she was across from me at the café—and though she wasn’t saying a word, she was doing her best to use her computer as a diversion to avoid me.
It technically made no sense that she would join me at the table, unpack all her things, and engage me in conversation if her intention was to be alone and avoid people…
