“So, how do you guys know Owen?” I interrupt the argument as more and more side eyes were aimed their way. I may be a cold-hearted bitch, but this is a big deal for Owen. Whatever tonight’s big thing is—and well, as weird as it sounds—I don’t want anything to ruin it. Including these two bickering fools.
Our plates are removed, so I place my hand out to the lady who is sitting next to me. She shakes it, her partner frowning.
“Lucy. Nice to meet you.” I smile politely.
“I’m Sarah. I work with Owen.” Sarah tucks her hair behind her ear, watching the man stand up, excusing himself from the table. “Oh yeah? In politics, too?”
“Kind of, I work with Juliette. I’m Owen’s financial accountant. Liam is my plus one, but God knows why I brought him. Annoying twat.”
I giggle, and she does, too.
“So, I heard you grew up with Owen. I bet you have some brilliant stories and embarrassing ones at that.”
“Don’t even think about,” Owen interrupts, his voice close to my ear. I glance over my shoulder to find his body angled close. I turn back to Sarah, grinning. “Has he ever told you about his favourite glove?”
“Glove?”
Owen’s hand comes over my mouth, and I try to bat him away. “Cookie, don’t you even dare,” he says, and although I can’t see him, I can hear the laughter in his voice.
“Oh God, I have to know now. Look at you. You’re terrified.” Sarah’s eyes crinkle as she scoots chairs and joins me in battling Owen’s arm away. “Was it his wanking glove?”
“No!” I exclaim, laughing even more. “But that would have been funny. It’s quite heartbreaking, really. He must have been about thirteen, and we had just watchedCastaway. You know, the one with Tom Hanks, where he gets stranded on an island.”
“With Wilson?”
“Oh God,” Owen groans from behind me, and I laugh again. His head in his hands as he continues to groan. “This is so embarrassing. Why are you here again?”
“Yes, that’s the one,” I continue, ignoring his pleas. “Well, Owen loved that film. Loved Tom Hanks.”
“LovesTom Hanks. He’s a phenomenal actor,” he adds from behind me.
“Yes, yes,lovesTom Hanks. Anyway, he found an old gardening glove in the shed one day, and decided to make his own version of Wilson. He wasn’t quite willing to waste a perfect football, but figured a glove would suffice. I heard him rummaging in my room in my craft box. I had one of those cabin beds when I was young, so I could see from the top without him realising I was awake.”
Sarah is smirking at me, listening intently as she takes a sip of her drink.
“He picked out two googly eyes and fastened them to the fingers, drew a big smiley face on the leather palm. What did you call it?”
“Mr McGlove’in,” Owen mutters from behind his hands.
Sarah falls about in her seat, laughing her head off. I grin and sit back, letting Owen feel the stare and laughs from her firsthand.
“Come on, you. I’m taking you to dance before you spill anymore secrets.” Owen stands and puts his hand out to me.
“But pudding,” I pout, taking the napkin that had been resting on my lap and throwing it onto the empty table.
“Will be a while. We have time to mingle and dance before it comes out.”
I drop my clutch bag on the table. “Can you keep an eye on it?”
“Sure,” Sarah replies, filling up her glass of wine, watching us both. I place my hand in his and let him lead me through the tables.
We are stopped a few times where Owen says hello, shakes hands, and makes very brief introductions. He seems to know everyone and remembers everyone’s name. I do my usual: smile politely, nod, listen intently.
But honestly, I’m not really listening. I’m too busy noticing the way my hand feels in Owen’s, how when he isn’t holding my hand, he is navigating me through the crowd with his hand on the small of my back.
Regardless of the position, I’m aware of the heat, how it radiates, and how I can feel it all the way to my core.
Because no matter how many years have passed, there’s something that Owen has always made me feel, and still makes me feel.
