Late Love Read online

  Hadn’t met.

  Fuck me and my fucking brain for being stuck on the word “hadn’t.”

  “You’re a good person, Owen. You’re incredibly kind and caring, far more than you’d ever take credit for. Hell, you befriended a pregnant girl for no other reason than the fact that you wanted to help.”

  “Hey,” he says quickly, raising a hand. “I met you before you were pregnant, Lottie. And it was that ten-second introduction that told me all I needed to know, that I saw you as someone who could be in my life. I never want you to think I’m staying here out of pity or obligation just because I’m the only one who knows. And if I need to, I’ll dispel any other preconceived notions you have right now. That first night I met you in Saint Street, there was a connection there. You can deny it all you want, but we both felt it. It was that connection that made me want to know you. So yeah, you ended up finding out a life-changing revelation a few weeks later, but either way, whether you’re pregnant or not, I want to be in your life. I just think the capacity of how much you’ll let me be has to shift.”

  “I remember hearing all about you from Stana during her first few months in town.” I fiddle with my glass of water, my stomach suddenly rejecting anything else.

  Owen looks up at me, his dark blond eyebrows coming together, yet he says nothing. Sure, maybe this was the wrong thing to say after what he’s just put forward, but the nagging question pulls at my mind. I’ve always been the spokesperson for if you have something on your mind, say it. But right now, I feel as though I might have entered a danger zone I can’t get out of.

  So I smile, my attempt to keep things lighthearted. “You had quite the fascination with my cousin.” My voice isn’t dark or deepening, each note with more cheer than intended so he doesn’t think this is some kind of interrogation. Hell, Owen and I are friends despite those underlying feelings yelling that it could have been otherwise. Yet we both know I’m in no position to reach for something else with him. But alas, my entire life I’ve had an illness called curiosity. Mix that with my big mouth, and I can’t exactly stay quiet about my questions in regard to his feelings toward my cousin.

  “That was a long time ago, Lottie,” Owen replies, his smile fading. I focus my attention on my nails, still keeping up the smile.

  “Less than a year,” I reply, even though I agree that that life feels like decades ago. How so much has managed to change in so little time… I didn’t even know Owen at the start of the year, and now I can’t imagine a life without him.

  “A lot can change in a few months. I think you know that more than anyone, Charlotte.” His gaze is piercing, making my body squirm and my hands dig into my legs. Owen never calls me by my first name unless he’s feeling serious, I’ve come to learn, and with him, it’s almost always jokes.

  “Very true,” I say, appeasing him, no longer satisfied with myself for beginning this line of questioning. Again, I try to change the subject, as if the mere action can brush off the feelings I’m starting to have a very hard time avoiding.

  “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 the back room. I still have ten minutes before my shift starts, so you best believe I’m taking my time. Joan sees me as I sit down, giving me a small wave before disappearing to the front.

  Em and I speak for a few more minutes before I have to go, my shift starting in five. We hang up with our plans finalized to see one another tonight at the party.

  I lean back against the metal chair, a sliver of my wool jumper riding up, exposing skin on my back to the cold rod. Attempting to get more comfortable and relieve my back pain, I move around, but it’s too little relief. Despite only being twenty weeks pregnant, my body feels as though it’s going to crap out on me at any moment. I’ve even started seeing the physical changes this month. My previously flat stomach has rounded slightly, but it’s still subtle enough that I can easily hide it.

  Thankfully the morning sickness dissipated when I entered my second trimester, making me able to do longer hours at work. I know Owen thinks I need to take it easy, but he isn’t the one bringing a baby into the world alone. He never says it out loud—it isn’t his style to outwardly judge—but I’ve come to learn his tells. Like that he’s almost too quiet when I talk about things he disagrees with.

  It’s funny, I think so many people look at Owen and see this big sexy goofball, and sure, he definitely is, but there are so many layers to that man, I could start peeling them back today and I don’t know if I’d ever get to the center.

  “Lottie?” Joan’s voice jerks me out of my Owen-centered thoughts and I quickly stand, making sure my jumper is pulled all the way down.

  “Sorry, hun, but we are so swamped. Do you mind helping out Ms. Meyers?”

  I nod and head over to the counter, ready to earn every single dollar.

  “Are you sure it’s okay I crash?” Although it’s probably too late to ask the question, as we’re already in the car, I can’t help myself. Intruding on Owen’s family lunch feels weird, especially since I’ve yet to meet his mother, stepfather, or younger brother. But from what Owen has said Hugo won’t be here today, so I guess it’s meet-the-parents day.

  “Lottie, relax,” Owen says next to me, a grin still plastered to his face over the fact he’s driving my parents’ vintage BMW. Mum called me a few days ago and said I need to use the car more to make sure it keeps running smoothly. I’m not sure if that’s an actual thing or if she’s just being generous, but I didn’t need to be told twice.

  So this morning when Owen surprised me with news I was meeting his family, it didn’t take me too long to decide we’d take my car.

  “I just don’t want your mum to feel like I’m intruding on your family time. I know she’s been traveling the past year, and I don’t want it to seem like I’m running her time with her children.”

  “Lottie, are you nervous?” I don’t need to look at him to see he’s grinning, showing off all those pearly whites. I hear the smile in his voice.

  “Well, duh, Owen. She’s your mum. Of course I’m nervous.”

  “She’s been home for a while—she’s fine. Plus she really wants to meet you.”

  I freeze up at the statement, clutching the silver door handle next to me.

  “Does she know?” I ask, my voice low, almost a whisper. Owen knows this secret about me, he’s the only one, and although I’d understand if he wanted to confide in his mother, it’s not something I would want. I don’t need pity or charity, especially in the form of a Sunday lunch. Yes, I know I sound like an asshole, but if Owen’s spilled the metaphorical beans, then I fear this will be me dropping him off and speeding back to my flat.

  I must have gone silent, because Owen’s hand leaves the wheel and comes to rest upon my own that’s sitting on the center console.

  “I’d never break your confidence like that, Lottie. Mum just knows we’re new friends and to be totally honest, she’s a bit of a busybody. She thinks of anyone I care about as a surrogate child at this point, so it isn’t a shock to me she wants to meet you.”

  I try not to let my mind linger on the “care about” aspect, knowing I’m already far too invested in this friendship with Owen. Now I’m meeting his mother and this could really go one of two ways. I just hope she doesn’t view me as someone stringing her son along. Guess I’ll find out in less than twenty minutes.

  Evie is probably the kindest human I’ve ever met. Plus, Owen is her spitting image. Her blonde hair is pinned up in a twist while black glasses frame her blue eyes, exact replicas of Owen’s. Being a family lawyer, she’s probably one of the calmest, most centered people I’ve had the pleasure of meeting.

  Despite my initial hesitance about meeting her, as soon as she tugged open the door to her flat, she pulled me into a hug, going on about how excited she was to meet me. It didn’t for one second feel disingenuous.

  “So, Lottie, Owen tells me you’re a pharmacist?” Steve, Owen’s stepfather, takes a sip of his wine, looking at me from across the table. He isn’t the father to Owen or Hugo. With Owen’s dad having passed when he was little, Evie thought she wouldn’t meet anyone else, so she decided to do IVF and that’s how she got Hugo. Then she eventually met Steve and the rest is history.

  “I am,” I confirm after swallowing another roast potato.

  These are the best fucking potatoes I’ve ever had.

  Steve smiles at me, his salt-and-pepper hair giving away the ten years he has on Evie, although neither of them looks their age. From what Owen’s told me, his mum must be at least fifty, but I would easily say forty.

  “I can’t say I know many young people becoming chemists these days. It’s very impressive.” Evie’s head nods with Steve’s, a small smile tracing her lips.

  “Thank you,” I say, then take a gulp of my water. Owen sits next to me, digging into his mountain of food Evie served him. She really is a mum, feeding us all and already telling me she wants me to come back soon. It’s hard to feel uncomfortable here.

  “And you met Owen through Emilia and Alistair?” Steve asks, genuinely curious.

  I tilt my head to the side. “Kind of. My cousin, Stana, is dating Ali so I met everyone through her, but I’ve been lucky enough to become very close with Emilia.”

  “She’s a good girl, my Em.” Evie has the look of love and tenderness at the mention of Emilia, who I know is like a surrogate daughter to her.

  “She’s the best,” I confirm.

  “Well, we feel very lucky to know you too, Ms. Lottie. My son has only had great things to say about you. And you should know this is the first time my Owen has ever brought a girl home.” She winks at me before finishing off the wine in her glass.

  I try to swallow the chicken in my mouth, but it suddenly gets stuck, like trying to push a leather shoe down a dry slide.

  “Mum,” Owen says from next to me, turning to pat me on the back a few times, his face slightly flushed. I take a gulp of water, trying to calm my mortifying coughing fit.

  “Sorry,” I say, placing a hand against my chest. “Wrong pipe.” I grimace, suddenly feeling strangely hot and flustered.

  “Don’t worry, darling. Steve, get Lottie some more water. Once we finish here, I’ve got Owen’s special chocolate cake for dessert!” She pops up from the table and tries to carry the plates before Owen’s much taller form stops her. That’s probably the only difference between the two—Owen has at least ten inches on his mother.

  “Mum, you cooked. I’ll clean.�
� His voice is firm and it’s clear he won’t take no for an answer.

  She pinches his cheeks, scrunching up her face before sitting down.

  I stand, then collect what I can as I walk behind Owen to the kitchen. I spot all of Evie’s little knickknacks along the way—small collections of trinkets from her life and abroad. I like that about Evie; she isn’t cohesive. She’s this big bright mixture of everything.

  “Lottie, you’re a guest. There is no way I’m letting you do the dishes.” Owen grabs the dishes from my arms and despite wanting to snatch them back and tell him I can help if I want to, I resist. Instead I sneak back into the dining room and try to collect what is left. Too bad Steve has me beat and nods for me to sit down, both of his hands full.

  “I feel like a bit of a leech not helping,” I tell Evie as I sit next to her, then grab my water glass and have a few more sips.

  “It’s the fact you asked to help that matters, Lottie. Owen and Steve can handle doing the dishes.” She offers me some wine, which I decline, thankful she clearly has no idea about my condition.

  “So, darling girl, tell me about yourself. I want to know it all!”

  I laugh and take a sip of my water. “Well, I’ve lived in London my whole life, only child. I’m a pharmacist, and much to the chagrin of your son, I’m not a movie person.”

  Evie laughs at the last part. “Well, that tells me you must be special if Owen still keeps you around even though you don’t like movies. I’ll tell you, Lottie, ever since he was a boy, I could never keep him interested in anything if it wasn’t related to film or the drums. Every birthday party he had till he was twelve was superhero or Star Wars themed.”