“Aww.” Fitz smiles. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“It is not.”
“It’s not every day your best friend asks you to be their best man. Where will you go on your honeymoon?”
I forgot that Fitz runs off with crazy ideas if I give him any encouragement whatsoever.
“I haven’t even met her yet. And well, I don’t have a good track record with dating. I mess it up bytalking.”
“How can you mess up a date by talking?”
“Because I’m hopeless at it.”
“Are we, or are we not having a perfectly good conversation right now?”
He tosses halved baby potatoes in oil with some other stuff mixed in. I’m not paying enough attention to know what he’s feeding me.
“Talking to you is different.”
“Why?”
“Because there’s no pressure. I don’t get nervous around you.”
“You used to.”
“Yeah, like twenty years ago.”
“Yup, and in twenty years, you won’t be flustered around Beatrice either.”
I glare at him. “That’s very reassuring. Wonderful pep talk. Thanks, Fitz.”
“You’re welcome.”
He’s right, though. I did use to get all tongue-tied around him. I still remember the day he decided to walk over and sit beside me in the dinner hall at school. No one ever chose to sit next to me. I was an awkward loner and a confirmed nerd who was already taller and bulkier than all the other boys in our year group. Fitz transferred to the school mid-year. It was clear from day one that he made friends with ease. He stuck out a mile with his bright-orange hair. He made friends right away. But one day, he sat next to me and talked for the entire lunch break, even though I ignored him because I was convinced he was talking to me for a joke or on a dare or something. But he sat with me the next day and the next, and somewhere along the line, I started answering his questions, stuttering over my words. He didn’t talk over me, just listened and waited for me to spit out whatever it was I was trying to say. Before long, he decided we were best friends, and I realised that yes, we were.
“Addy?” Fitz clicks his fingers in front of my face.
“Sorry, what?”
“You were miles away. I asked if Vanessa had said whether Beatrice was vegetarian or if she had any allergies.”
I recheck the message. “No. I can ask.”
“Please. I don’t want to plan a romantic steak dinner for two if she’d rather eat nut roast.”
I pull a face. “Does anyone like nut roast?”
“Mushroom Wellington, then. Forget that. I’ll come up with something better. Equally, she might hate seafood. At which point, an oyster starter would be a waste.”
“Don’t cook oysters, please.” I shudder. “They’re disgusting.”
“They’re an aphrodisiac.”
“So are chocolate and strawberries. Do you know what the difference is? They’re nice.”
“For dessert, not for a starter.”
I point at him. “Swear you won’t cook oysters.”
