nods slowly. “I mean, L.A. It’s a different standard, isn’t it? The women, I mean. They do things. To their lips, their boobs … plus they don’t age,” he adds, warming to his topic. “You’re a whole year older than when you last saw Ryan. In L.A. years, that’s what? A decade?”
“So I’m an old crone now?” I say. I’m trying to find this funny, but Tim has this way of pursuing a subject relentlessly, like a terrier, not noticing that you’re bleeding from the neck. Normally Hannah steps in tactfully, but I can’t see her. Where is she?
Then, as though in answer to my question, the doorbell rings and Hannah’s voice comes from the hall: “I’ll get it!” There’s a pause, then her voice comes again, like a clarion: “Oh wow, Ryan! Welcome back!”
I can feel eyes all around the room bouncing toward me with curiosity. In horror, I suddenly realize how I look, standing here with a broom in my hand and no chance to refresh my lip gloss even, and oh my God, here he is.
He’s in the doorway. His tan, sun-bleached wavy hair, and cool frayed T-shirt are like nothing else in this room. As he walks up to me, a hush falls over the party. As for me, I can’t even breathe. I’m desperately thinking: Stay cool, Fixie; do NOT get any hopes up.…
But, God, he’s beautiful. He glows.
“Hi, Fixie,” he says, his California blues locking on to mine, a lazy smile slowly spreading. “I’ve missed you.”
As everyone watches in silence, he unclips my hair with a sexy gesture, letting it fall around my shoulders.
“No, don’t!” I want to cry out, but it’s too late. As my hair drops down, half curled, half straight, Ryan blinks at it, startled—and no wonder. I can see my reflection in the mirror, and I look totally weird.
My face flames, and behind me someone stifles a snort of laughter. Great. I’ve been waiting a whole year to see Ryan and this is how I greet him. With freaky hair.
But before I can even draw breath to explain, Ryan lifts both hands to cup my face. He looks at me for a few silent seconds, then kisses me, hard. As though he doesn’t care about the hair; as though he isn’t interested in anyone else. Through a kind of humming in my ears, I hear Nicole exclaim, “Oh!” and Tim saying, “Bloody hell!”
At last we draw apart. I’m aware that the whole room is watching us, and I muster every fiber in my body to address him nonchalantly.
“Welcome back, Ryan. So how long is it for this time? A day?”
Ryan surveys me silently for a moment, his mouth twitching as though with some little joke. Then he says, “Actually, I’m back.”
“I can see that.” I match his light, bantering tone.
“No, I’m back.” His eyes flick around the room again, aware of our audience. “I’m done with L.A. Finished with it. Back for good.”
He’s—what?
I stare at him, blood thundering through my head. My brain can’t quite process his words. Or believe them. For good? He’s back here for good? Desperately I try to find a cool, witty reply, but my mouth won’t work properly.
“I’d better get you a drink, then,” I manage at last, and Ryan’s eyes crinkle as though he knows exactly how stunned I am.
“Yeah,” he says, and kisses my hand. “You better had.”
I head to the drinks table, trying to gather myself. I never dreamed he’d come back to the UK for good. I never even contemplated it.
And as I grab a beer out of the ice bucket, a giddy joy starts to infuse me. Miracles don’t come true; I know they don’t. But just this once—this magical one-off time—one did.
Six
The party goes on, as it does every year. I know I should be helping Mum with the profiteroles. I know I should be clearing plates. But for once in my life I’m thinking: Let Nicole do it. Let Jake do it. Let anyone else do it. Because Ryan wants to talk to me, and that sweeps everything else away.
We’re alone in the tiny back room overlooking the garden. It’s stuffed with furniture that we moved out of the sitting room for the party—we’re sitting on the floor awkwardly between two sofas—but I don’t think either of us cares. We’re transfixed, in our own private bubble. Ryan has been talking for about an hour and I’ve been listening in a state of shock, because he’s not saying anything