22. Mabel

" I 'm going to be brave today," I declared, standing by the kitchen counter, cutting up a watermelon. I loved melons. Sweet, colourful slices of juicy goodness.

Someone had once written a song comparing going down on a woman to eating melon. I'd almost gone off fruit completely after that.

I was queer. Super queer, but only attracted to men. I said that out loud as well.

"I know you are, Pickle," he said, walking past me, placing my coffee on the side. Another perfect cup.

"The queerest people are not always the bravest, though. We talk about that in group. How the people with the brightest clothes and maddest hair who show their true selves on the outside? Sometimes they feel totally worn out on the inside, hiding everything behind loud colours."

"Do you feel like that?" Trust him to ask the right questions.

"I do. I sometimes feel really frightened of the world around me. And again, I'm not what everyone expects. But if I try to tell people who I am, they stare at me like I'm a freak. It gets boring after a while. So yes, I hide behind the lip gloss and wigs and loud clothes. Because they show who I am, even if I can't always find the right words."

"If I were to describe you?" He pulled out one of the bar stools that were so cleverly hidden in the kitchen island that I tended to forget they were there. "I would say you're the perfect mix of everything I find attractive. Curves and planes in all the right places, your low-cut tops that give a glimpse of…I don't know. Beauty."

"You should have been a pop star, writing lyrics like that."

"I told you. Literature and poetry were my favourite subjects at school."

"It shows."

"You also present yourself really well. Confidence and beauty. Warmth. You care. You pull people into your space, and us poor minions become transfixed."

"Then you drag me home and make me offers of living arrangements." I had to bring that up because I still wasn't sure of any of this, but I was coming back here tonight for more. More of him. More of…fuck.

"That offer is permanent, you know," he said, reading my mind, clearly. "I really would love it if you'd stay. Move your things into the guest room, work from here, sleep with me. Just think about it."

"Okay," I said noncommittally. That was a solution I could work with. I wasn't sure it was a sensible one—I'd been here a week, known him only for a few more—but God, I wanted it. I wanted all of this.

What the hell was I doing?

Being me, apparently.

"Mark's working today," I said. "I track him on my phone, so I know he's down there right now. So…I'm going to go down there and face him. Apologise. Not throw stuff at him. And—"

"Is this one of your ducks?"

"Ducks?"

"The ones you're getting into a row."

"Ah! Yes!" I laughed. He did too. "And I think I will have to properly resign. Walk away. Jump off that cliff."

"From what I gather, that's the right decision, and a very brave one."

"It's terrifying."

"I know. But when you jump off that cliff…"

He did that thing again where he held my face, looked at me with so much emotion that I felt like I was floating. Lost.

He made me feel lost. And at the same time?

"This is your home, if you want it. I hear you on the stupidity and impulsiveness, but it's your decision alone. No one else has the right to define you or tell you that you need your independence and freedom and should get a new job, be a productive, normal human being, whatever that means."

"Wow!" I whispered, and he kissed me.

"You have people who care. You have people who will look after you. And you have me."

"I don't expect you to help me."

"No, I know that. But you have things—sewing projects—yes?"

"Yes?"

"So you start there. Finish your projects. Get paid. Take on some more. For once in your life, I think you can afford to slow down. I say this as someone who didn't read the signs. I just kept going, and look at me now."

"I love you."

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Help.

Shit.

"Pickle?"

I couldn't look at him. What the fuck had I just said?

"Look at me, Mabel."

More of that chin tipping we both did. Shit. Shit.

I wanted him to speak. To say something. Anything.

I wanted to take it back. Shame engulfed me, which was ridiculous since I meant it. Jonny Templar. Of all people in the universe, fate had to land me a millionaire. A complicated, damaged, closeted millionaire who let me… He'd told me he wanted it. I'd made him do it because he'd asked me to.

I wanted to, honestly, throw myself off something, including the barstool I was still leaning against.

He kissed me again. A soft, gentle one, his heavy stubble scratching mine. We both needed to shave. I needed to grow up.

He started to speak. I wasn't sure if I dared to listen.

"I think I loved you from…" And he kissed me again, right in the middle of a sentence. "…the first time I saw you. Those orange trousers you wore. The way you walked. Then you fed me and smiled at me, and I went home and felt like I was floating. Then wanked like a teenager, thinking about you."

We stood there for the longest time, him holding me while I clung to his shirt. Thank God I hadn't done my face yet because I would have completely ruined his tie. It was light blue, and I loved it on him, a perfect contrast against his darker hair, a complement to his pale skin, those sweet-tasting lips, blue, blue eyes…

I'd blindsided myself, completely and utterly so, say those three little words. But he'd said them back, in a roundabout way. If I was surprising, he floored me. Every single time.

His office phone snatched the moment away, and he walked backwards, past me and into the office, his hairy legs on display, coffee in his hand.

I snapped myself back into functioning mode and snatched that plate of fruit I'd prepared for him, slid in and quietly placed it on the table out of view, in case his webcam was on. He looked deep in concentration, trying to listen to whatever was being said, so I left him to it, closed the door gently and returned to trying to make this day count.

It had already counted, the butterflies in my stomach reminded me. I felt like a princess in a fairy tale, happy and light, nothing to bring me down as I rummaged through another hastily packed tote bag, finding a floaty blouse and cardigan, another long skirt, nylon stay-ups.

Heels. I'd remembered heels.

I needed to bring more things over if I was going to be doing this staying-around thing, hanging out with my…I didn't dare to say the words. My mouth had made far too many slips lately. Still, I had a smile on my face as I dressed and sorted out my face, pulled a brush through my hair.

A day like this I craved a wig, the flow of long locks over my shoulders. I owned some sensational hairpieces. Being friends with people in the know had done me many favours, and several of my favourite outfits were hand-me-downs from friends. Pieces I'd admired and complimented that had discreetly come my way. I loved that a lot of my clothes had memories. Good vibes. Karma. I needed plenty of that today.

Grabbing my coat, I felt for the keycard the concierge had handed me last night—another thing Jonny had done for me. Told the concierge that if I turned up, I was to be given a key. I was also to be asked to hand over my car keys so that my car could be parked where it belonged: in Mr Templar's space because Mr Templar didn't own a car.

I liked the concierge, another man who thrived on gossip. I bet he had some tales to tell, but those could wait for another day.

I walked through the front entrance to the Clouds Hotel like I owned the place, keeping my head held high and my eyes focused on simply getting from A to B. And hopefully back again in one piece without losing my nerve.

"Mabel."

Oh, shit. Stewart. Head doorman. Not to be messed with. Had probably never broken an official rule in his life, despite my sneaky suspicion that he wasn't all he seemed. But yes. I'd been rumbled. I wasn't supposed to use the main entrance, but seeing as I didn't have my work ID on me, I couldn't actually get through the staff entrance.

Anyway. Details. I wouldn't be long.

"Stewart. Apologies, but I'm just popping in to hand in my resignation. Will only be a minute."

"Mabel," he almost pleaded, reaching out to gently grab my arm. "Mabel, are you okay?"

Well, I suppose someone was going to ask, but I'd kind of hoped to get a bit further than the lobby before they did. I wasn't going to not be okay. That was not an option. Was I okay right now? Probably not.

"I will be, Stewart. And I will miss this place. Honestly, I will. But there comes a time…"

I had a whole speech prepared, but not one for Stewart, even though I liked him. Cue my narrating alter ego, spewing taglines in my head. An older man, with a kind smile, silver in his hair. Far too old. Also…not into men.

A friendly face.

I hadn't expected one. Not after my last little showstopper of a stunt here.

"Go on then," he said, giving me a little shove, like I needed one. I was in full jump mode, free-falling into the future, and there was no fucking parachute in sight.

I'd always tried not to swear at work, and my internal narrator followed my lead, but I was so nervous I was spewing explicit bile under my breath as I entered the place that had been my home for years, and place of many fond memories and some not-so-fond ones.

We'd built this up from nothing, Mark and me. Turned a basic plain space into greatness. Long nights of the two of us crunching numbers and drawing up designs, moulding ideas into concepts, then pulling them off.

I'd never been as proud of myself as I'd been working here. Also never more ashamed. Because here I was, standing in the middle of a full breakfast service, having to move out of the way as Tabitha shoved past me with a glare.

"We're two waiters short, Mabs. Two. I can't run this place on air. Where the hell have you been?"

Before I could figure out how to respond to that, Mark appeared right in front of me in a suit, teamed with a soiled apron and a tray of dirties in his arms, and stared hard at me. My head was filling up with terrifying scenarios, all involving crockery and myself bleeding. Probably him as well.

I stared back in defiance. We were better than this. Both of us.

"Come," he said, holding his arm out towards the back office.

And I did as he told me because…shit. Shit. Shit.

I let him hold the door for me as I walked in and took my normal seat at the desk. I didn't work here anymore. I shouldn't even be here. And he was still holding his goddamn tray.

I wanted to be anywhere but here.

Mark just dumped tray on the floor, then stood there, his arms crossed.

"You know, Mabs, Finn and I, we've been married for what, a week? And we had the biggest argument last night, the worst one since I've known him, and it was all over you."

"I have my moments." I smiled, crossed my legs. "Plenty of good uses." I had no idea where my sarcasm was coming from or why hearing him say that made me happy, because I really wasn't a mean person, but it did. "Your husband pretty much told me to throw myself off a cliff, so I think we're on the same page here."

Now he laughed.

Mark. Oh God, Mark. Love of my life, bane of my existence.

"I really need a hug," he said, and he did. I could tell.

"Not a hugger." I tried to sound cool, but I was desperate for one too.

"Fuck off, Mabs. You're so full of shit."

Typical Mark. Trying to come at me from one angle, failing, and having to change tactics. I could almost hear the cogs in his head whirring.

"You're not coming back then," his voice changed again. Kindness. No smile. Just fear. Right, so we were playing this game, were we?

"I'm not coming back, Mark." I tried to sit up taller, hold myself together. "I'm only here to officially resign. This…this game we've been playing, it ends now. You're married to Finn. I'm out of here."

"Don't."

Here he was, the man I knew and loved, trembling as he sat down on the stool opposite me. Then he did that thing with his shoulders where he composed himself. I knew what was coming. Would he beg? Cry? Try to bribe me with empty promises?

"I know what I've done, and Finn pretty much tore into me last night. I know, and I take full responsibility for dragging you along all these years. I should have pushed you to excel, but I didn't want you to. That's me. You know me, I needed you."

"I know, and I needed you too. But I can't allow myself to do that anymore. I need to break away and actually figure out how to live without you. Without Finn. Without this place ripping the very soul out of me, day after day. I used to love it here—"

"As much as you loved me?"

Yeah. He still needed to hear it.

"I will always love you. But not like this."

"Not like this," he agreed. "Mabs, I know who I am. I know I've hurt you and used you and dragged you through stuff you shouldn't have been part of in the first place. I just did because I wanted you close. In a selfish way, I admit that, but you have to believe me when I say it wasn't just that. I wanted you close to keep you safe. To protect you. I didn't want you hurt, or used, or in a dead-end doorperson job on minimum wage with idiots treating you like shit. If you were with me? You didn't have to worry. I tried to take care of you."

"You still pay me minimum wage." I had to put that in there. Not Mark's fault. We were both employed by a big chain. No chance of any glory wages here.

"I know. But I get just a few pennies more an hour than you do. I can't change that. Can't give you more than I do."

"I don't have a job. Or a home. And I don't feel particularly safe anywhere, Mark, but I don't even feel safe here anymore, and that's the whole point of this. I trusted you. You shat on me from a great fucking height when you could just have talked to me. We always talked. What the hell is wrong with you? Why couldn't you just have sat me down and told me to fuck off? Instead, you let me make a massive fool of myself in front of everyone we knew. Everyone. That was cruel. Mean. And unforgivable."

"I get that. Hindsight is a great thing, and I know now that I was being an idiot too, I just…failed to grasp it. It took someone to bang my head with…" He stopped, pulled a grimace that I couldn't quite read.

"A carafe?" I wasn't being flippant. But for once, we were having a proper conversation, putting all those cards on the table.

"More like a virtual sledgehammer, but I needed to hear it. You're right. You always were. Finn's right too, and I'm…I'm the guy who needs to grow the fuck up."

"You do."

He looked so small, defeated, yet very much him. That handsome face. The way he still made me feel for him when I knew I shouldn't. But at the same time, it was different, constantly growing and changing and evolving. It was a roller coaster I needed to get off, because it made me anxious to the bone just sitting here listening to him.

"This is no good for either of us, so I'm going to pull up my big-boy pants and let you go. Because you're absolutely doing the right thing here, however much it feels like a kick in the balls."

"Good." I nodded, still wringing my hands.

"There's an opening for a catering manager at the Reading hotel. I already put in a word for you. Or the Thameside needs a bartender if you want to have something to tide you over. They'd have you back in an instant."

"Noted." I was a little shocked at his…most agreeable manner. The way he sat there, properly paying attention to me. "I appreciate your help, but I'm not going back into the restaurant trade. I'm ripping that plaster off for good and taking some time to regroup. New challenges." Bullshitting my way out of this like a pro.

"You have a boyfriend," he stated. Well, I suppose Finn had gossiped again.

"I have a partner . And I'm going to build a new life, finally make use of who I am and…" It had sounded better in my head. "Truthfully, I have no idea what I'm going to do, but it is what it is. I'll figure something out."

"That doesn't sound like you. You always have a plan. And a backup plan. And people to hold on to the rest of your meticulous weekly plans. I know you."

"You do. And this is me trying something new."

"New…looks good on you."

"It does, doesn't it?"

"I don't know how to do this. Without you."

Predictably back to his old tricks. But for once, it felt good to have him back the way he was supposed to be. The idiot.

"You do. You know how to run this place in your sleep. You have Tabitha, who will step into my shoes without even blinking. She's already out there giving people grief. She's got your back."

"Milliee resigned. I have three new waiters starting for the lunch shift. I'm shitting myself, and Tabitha is ready to kill me."

"She won't. That's my job. And don't you forget, I'm pretty good with a carafe."

We laughed. I liked that we did. This had been easier than I'd imagined, so I stood up, ready to leave before one of us lost it. I could feel it in the air. All these polite phases were just smoothing over what was underneath. I was still too angry. He was still too up himself.

"Hug?" he asked, holding out his arms.

"I'm going to make you a promise," I said, stepping to the side. "I'm going to come back in a few weeks when I'm not so angry anymore. Right now, I might hug you and accidentally strangle your sorry arse."

"That sounds…good." He didn't look…good.

"It's the right thing to do, and you know it. Let me go, Mark. And look after Finny for me. Promise you will. Because I won't be here to rescue either of you when the two of you go tits up."

"We're not going to go…tits up," he muttered. But it was there, a small smile.

"You're not," I agreed. "Because you're going to bloody man up and make him happy. I couldn't, but you can, Mark. I know you can."

Then I walked out. And I wasn't sure if I would smile or burst into tears.