“Debra, whatever happened, youknowyou’ve got me.”
Maeve’s kindness unravelled something final inside of her. “I know. That’s why I called.”
“I’ll be there.”
When the call ended, the street noise suddenly seemed louder. Debra drew in another breath and exhaled it slowly through her nose, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth.
She hadn’t told Maeve that she’d spent the night with Billie or that Billie had kissed her gently in the early hours of the morning, pretending not to be terrified about what was happening between them. She hadn’t told Maeve that they’d had lunch with one another, or that they’d strolled the museum together, or that they’d spent time texting back and forth. Brief or not, those things had still happened.
She hadn’t told Maeve that she’d felt incredibly seen…or how wanted she’d felt. She hadn’t told her about how hopeful the future seemed now that she had Billie in her life. And now shedidn’t know how she was supposed to explain all of that, then follow it up with the cold and distant look Billie had just given her in that fitting room. God, it almost felt as though none of those moments with Billie had happened, and Debra was simply losing her mind.
All she did know was that she couldn’t fall apart here. Not where Billie could walk out and see her heart shattered all over the pavement. But she could feel it. That bruising forming behind her ribs. Still, when Maeve arrived, Debra knew she would have to come clean and say what she was feeling out loud. That she’d cared more than Billie ever could.
Chapter Eighteen
When Maeve foundDebra in precisely eight minutes, she didn’t know whether to be impressed or concerned. Still, before she could say anything, she was being pulled into a bone-crushing hug, while simultaneously being assaulted by Maeve’s bergamot perfume. Even without being up close, it was enough to make your eyes water.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Maeve murmured against her hair. “You’re trembling.”
“I’m fine.” Debra pressed her face into Maeve’s shoulder, aware that she was lying through her teeth. She just didn’t want to get into it all standing on Savile Row. “Really, I am.”
Maeve pulled back, raised an eyebrow, and said nothing. “Come on.” She looped her arm through Debra’s and dragged her across the street. “We’re not standing out here where you can catch hypothermia and have a breakdown in public. There’s a bar two shops down that does martinis strong enough to raise the dead. You need two.”
Debra let out a choked laugh. “Just two?”
“Oh, if it’s as bad as you sounded on the phone,” Maeve said cheerfully, “we may ask for one of those cocktail trees they do.I’ll have you home and blissfully unaware before you’ve had time to even think about why you’re upset.”
Instead of fighting her best friend on that one, Debra chose to be guided to wherever Maeve had suggested.
She dragged her into one of those dark, moody cocktail lounges with velvet booths and bartenders who looked like they’d taken vows of artistic seriousness with their garnishes before they’d been employed.
Before Debra had made herself comfortable in a curved booth, Maeve was already ordering for them. “Two French martinis, extra Chambord, and whatever olives you’ve got in the back that cost more than my car.”
Debra stared at the table. Then at her hands. Right now, she was willing to focus on anything that wasn’t the expectation on Maeve’s face.
“So,” Maeve said as she folded her arms. “Start talking.”
Debra sighed. “It’s stupid, really.”
“Oh, how wonderful. My favourite kind of tragedy. Go on.”
“It’s Billie.”
“Ah, yes. Billie.” Maeve grinned. “The one who stuck her fingers?—”
“Don’t say it out loud in a bar.”
Maeve held up her hands. “Fine. The artisan tailor who provided additional…craftsmanship.”
Debra wanted to weep knowing she’d never have those moments with Billie again. “She did far more than that.”
“Clearly,” Maeve said. “So, come on. What’sreallybeen going on, because I have a feeling you’ve been holding some things back.”
Their drinks arrived, and Debra took a sip before she started. Then she told Maeve everything. Lunch and the museum. The night Billie stayed over. How gentle she’d been, how she’d let goand allowed herself to be undone by Debra’s hands, and then how Debra had let herself hope.
“And this morning?” Maeve pressed gently. “What happened?”
Debra stared down at her glass. “I had my final fitting appointment. I thought that maybe she’d been busy or was feeling a little awkward with the unexpected connection we’d found between us. I thought that whatever her reason for the silence…we could salvagesomething.”
