Double-Decker Dreams by Lindsay MacMillan

Author:Lindsay MacMillan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: CROOKED LANE BOOKS

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

He calls back soon after and offers to meet up after work in Islington or anywhere that’s most convenient for me. I’ve returned from the office early and am in no mood to go out into the cold, cold world, so I text him that he can come to Marlow House so long as he brings gelato.

Already on it, he texts back. Be there in a jiffy.

And sure enough, he buzzes up just as I’m pulling on my coziest sweatpants after an excessively long bubble bath during which I watched The Holiday on my phone. I’ve rarely felt more in need of an escapist rom-com than today. It doesn’t make me forget the sharpness of the day, but it dulls the edges just a bit.

I’ve meant to freshen up after my bath—brush out my hair, which is slung into a messy bun, and apply some foundation and lip liner—but there wasn’t time. My au naturel version will have to do. It’s probably better that way. The telltale sign of being real friends with someone is not needing to go out of your way to look more put-together than you feel.

“It’s the gelato delivery boy.” Rory’s voice comes through the intercom, making me feel better before I even see him.

Unlocking the door, I let him in. There he is, in his wool coat and maroon scarf, wearing that old raggedy backpack that makes me feel better about my own lack of elegance.

“Thanks for coming,” I say.

“Happy to be here. I mean, I’m not happy that you’re not happy, obviously. But it’s good to see ya again.”

Unzipping his backpack, Rory pulls out three pints of Badiani’s gelato. “Now onto the big question,” he says. “Tiramisu, salted caramel, or pistachio?”

Those were the flavors I ordered when we went for gelato in Camden Passage. The ones I said were my favorite. It’s a small thing that he remembered this, but it gets me sniffling a bit, in an ugly, gunky sort of way.

For some reason, it makes me feel sad that someone might be so thoughtful without a hidden agenda. The notion that there are such kind people in a world that can be so cruel. I want to hug him again, but that might come across as a romantic gesture, or a pathetic one, so I just pluck one of the pints from his hands. “Let’s start with tiramisu. But I thought you only liked vanilla.”

“I like other flavors too,” he insists. “Vanilla is just my favorite, but I can get that anytime.”

Grabbing peanut butter and spoons for us, I flop down on the couch, connecting my phone to the TV to resume the movie.

Rory sits down on the couch as well, way on the other end so we could fit three more people between us. I wish he was closer, but I’m glad he’s not. It reinforces the friendship boundaries and how neither of us have any notion of blurring them.

My phone buzzes with an incoming call from Blake. Rory sees the name on my screen, and I find myself worrying that he might think a guy is calling me.

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