The woman on the screen had none of that naturalness left. This Callie looked like she’d stepped out of a magazine: polished, composed, knowing how to handle a Sam-type perfectly.
Mae hated the show. Every second of it. The music. The silly commentary. The manufactured tension. But Callie kept pulling her back in, frame after frame.
Then, halfway through the episode, Sophie arrived on the scene, another contestant with blonde hair down to her arse. Mae barely registered her until it happened.
It was a stupid game, some truth or dare crap. Callie and Sophie kissed. It was quick, careless, all in good fun. It enraged the fuck out of Mae.
‘What kind of Katy Perry fake bollocks is this?!’ Mae cried at her laptop. She slammed it shut.
Twelve Years. They hadn’t spoken in twelve years. Callie didn’t owe her a bean. She was living her own life, clearly. Fake kissing whoever she wanted, laughing with whoever she wanted, having ridiculous televised adventures while Mae stayed tucked in her father’s bakery, trying to carry on.
Mae pushed her computer off her lap, letting it slide onto the couch. She wasn’t angry at that Sophie person. Or even at Callie. Not really. She was mad at someone who didn’t exist anymore. The first person to show her exactly who she was.
Back Then
Mae had been avoiding Callie for three days, and she still couldn’t explain it to herself. Not properly.
She kept herself in the back of the bakery, just in case, more than happy now to aid her dad in the baking part of the business. Every time she saw Callie’s name light up on her phone, she let it ring.
It was all so wrong. Mae had never been like this with Callie before. But then again, Callie had never dated girls before.
But that wasn’t the problem. It was the hiding of it. Andthenwalking into her dad’s place, bold as brass. What was that all about? What was Callie trying to prove?
Mae didn’t know. But she was… angry? Sad? She didn’t really understand. All she knew was that she couldn’t see Callie for a while. Not until she’d calmed down or worked it out. Ideally, both.
It had been a week and a half of silence. Even her dad, oblivious as he usually was, had begun dropping casual remarks: ‘Haven’t seen Callie in a bit.’ Mae would just shrug.
Mae was in the front on the till this morning, though. Tuesday mornings were safe enough. Callie had a shift at the pub then, predictable as clockwork.
Still, when the bell jingled, Mae flinched.
But it was only a boy. Roughly her age, maybe a year older, with hair dyed a shade Mae felt was supposed to be surfer blonde but had come out piss-yellow.
He leaned on the counter a little too casually. ‘Afternoon.’
Mae raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s morning, actually.’
That took the wind out of his sails. ‘Oh. Yeah.’ He laughed nervously.
Mae didn’t have time for this. ‘What can I get you?’
‘Depends,’ he said, smiling. ‘You free later?’
Mae blinked. ‘To sell you a sausage roll?’
He laughed. ‘I meant to hang out. Grab a drink or something. I’ve seen you around and thought… yeah, I should shoot my shot.’
Mae stared at him.
She wasn’t used to being asked out. People didn’t bother. Or if they did, she shut them down so efficiently they gave up before they’d really tried. She knew her reputation: too blunt, too sharp, too uninterested. She’d cultivated that carefully.
The boy—what was his name? She recognised him from around but couldn’t place the face—gave her another grin, leaning closer as if proximity might make him more attractive.
‘So?’ he asked lightly. ‘What do you think?’
Mae’s instinct was to say no. But then she thought of Callie. Callie wouldn’t say no to this. She didn’t say no toanything, apparently. She did things. And Mae didn’t do things. She just watched Callie do them.
I can’t stay in the passenger seat,Mae thought.
