Page 54 of Say Hello, Kiss Goodbye

“Meet one of my closest friends. Alex Sinclair, playwright and Twizzler aficionado.”

Tarquin’s ex, Alex? Oh, shit! Leia’s breath hitched. I knew I should’ve made an effort. I look like a college kid who fell out of bed. She painted on a polite smile. “Hi! Simon’s told me a lot about you.”

“And you!” said Alex. “This guy can’t stop talking about the new sewing machine you gave him.”

“I can’t.” Simon nodded, lifting bowls of sliced veggies and dips from the filled-to-the-brim hamper. “I’m officially a card-carrying member of the Leia Scott fan club.”

Leia chuckled and tucked a loose strand from her ponytail behind her ear, a blush blooming on her cheeks. So, Tarquin has a thing for American blondes?

Alex grinned, her fingers bunching up her woolly hat. “And I love your name—Leia. It’s so pretty.” Her gaze flitted to Simon.

Leia blurted out a quick “Thanks.” Lost for more words, she remained silent, lending their conversation a pregnant pause. Hmm. What else did Simon tell her? About Tarquin—and me? She played with her ponytail and let it go, unsettled. Alex is being super polite. No Star Wars jokes, no mention of Tarquin—and she’s white-knuckling her hat. Leia gulped. Pretty sure she knows… but so what? Why does that make me feel awkward?

Simon placed a square container labelled ‘smoked salmon platter’ and another bursting with colorful fruit beside the veggie bowls. “Leia is a fashion designer. She’s Canadian but lives in New York.”

“Oh, cool. I’m headed there in April for my play,” said Alex. “It opens in late May.”

“Oh, really? That’s amazing,” said Leia, spinning the gold band on her right hand, unaware she was doing it. “Which theater? I love Broadway.”

Alex’s face briefly pinched. “Uh, actually, it’s off-Broadway. If it does well, it might get a transfer.”

Shit. Waves rolled in Leia’s stomach, her once-ravenous appetite lost in the undertow. I’ve insulted her. I’ve slept with her ex—who’s still her friend—and insulted her. She’s gonna hate me. At least this hell will be over in a few minutes.

Simon popped open a clamshell container filled with cocktail sausages, the aroma of honey Dijon dressing infusing the air with a zesty zing. “Alex, stay for lunch?”

Oh, good god, no.

Simon grinned. “There’s enough to feed all of Hackney.”

“Um, well, I only stopped in to return Spencer’s fondue pot…” Alex squeezed the strap of her laptop bag, her eyes darting to Leia.

Oh, shit. Do I look like I don’t want her here? She beamed a friendly smile, her reply bright and breezy. “Oh, stay!” Leia wasted no time, eagerly shifting her cola bottles, fabric, and sewing tools to the far end of the table so their party of three could dine without getting pricked by rogue pins. A nervous giggle escaped her throat, but it went unnoticed thanks to the squeaky plastic lid Simon was opening on one of the serving trays. You’re about to break the first rule of flings without strings—don’t hang with their friends! Or worse, exes.

“Lex, there’s a cheese tray!” Simon set down the noisy platter. “And brownies,” he teased, waving the wrapped-up chocolate treats. “Your two favorites!”

Alex’s smile bloomed. “Okay, I’ll stay. Thanks. Saves stopping at Pret!” She lowered her laptop bag to the floor and unbuttoned her wool coat, a flash of sky blue, making Leia do a double take.

It’s that dress!

Coat off, Alex smoothed the flattering skirt, its hem floating just shy of her knees. The garment’s fit-and-flare silhouette and elegant crepe material drew an appreciative smile and a wink from Simon. For good reason, too. The dress’s emerald twin, glammed up with dazzling sequins and a plunging bodice, graced a mannequin in his latest shop window display, one Leia ogled every day on Wilton Way.

It’s even more gorgeous on her. Leia picked up one of the cola bottles, a splash of soft drink swirling around the bottom. “You look so pretty.” She grinned and meant it as she surveyed her college hoodie and ripped jeans. And I look a hot mess. Alex must be thinking, ‘Some designer you are. You can’t even dress yourself.’

“Thanks!” Alex smoothed the skirt. “I treated myself.”

“And I’m glad you did,” said Simon, elbow-deep in Tarquin’s lunch delivery. “Do you have a meeting today?” Bottles of prosecco and sparkling water clinked as he removed them from the hamper.

“At three.” Alex played with the charm on her necklace. To Leia, it looked like a tiny blue and silver motorcycle or maybe a Vespa, the retro type she’d seen zooming through London traffic. “I’m a bit anxious about it. It’s at the Young Vic.”

Simon stopped rooting around in the wicker, his jaw slack. “They called you back?”

Leia twisted the cap on her cola bottle open and closed, her gaze volleying between the two friends.

“Yup,” said Alex, smothering a spare chair with her coat. “Fingers crossed, Waterloo Bridge will be on stage eighteen months from now.”

“Alex, that’s fantastic!” Simon lifted out another large container. “Leia, Alex’s play is about the women who built Waterloo Bridge during World War II. It’s really good.” Snapping open the domed lid, he surveyed the table crowded with covered containers and bowls. A bemused grin creased his brow. “Did Tarquin leave anything in the actual store? We’ve got cheese-stuffed bell peppers, olives, crispbreads, smoked salmon. This one’s pork pies.” He looked up. “Alex, can you grab some dishes from the kitchen? Get four of everything. I’ll make up a plate for Spence, too.”

“Sure thing.” Sweeping her bangs from her eyes, she strode into the kitchen.