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“What?” Freddie shook his head. “I’m starving, and there’s nothing worse than a grumbling stomach during a quiet spell in a play.” He grabbed the menu from her hand. “And I know how expensive it is. I’ll curtail my alcohol consumption accordingly, so I won’t overspend, but thanks for the warning, Miss Moneypenny.”

A budgeting lecture from Lucy was coming, so Freddie changed the subject. “So, Alex, I hear you have a Manchester connection? I love the place! Went to uni there.”

“His ex lives there, too,” said Lucy.

“He did. Not sure he still does.” Freddie looked back at Alex. “When are you visiting your dad?”

“Don’t know. I want to be settled first. If I don’t have things clicking along, he’ll nag me about staying in London when I could live up there rent-free.” She fiddled with her necklace’s clasp, returning the A to its spot above the rounded neck of her blue and white-striped Breton top. “I don’t think he’s realized that I’m twenty-one, not twelve. And he worries about me. A lot. It’s actually quite sweet because Mom never does.”

“I know what that feels like. My mum only worried about her empty rum bottle—the lush.” Lucy handed napkin-wrapped bundles of forks and knives to her friends. “So that’s where your worry wart genes come from.”

“Yep. Blame Dad. I’d be lost without something to fret over.”

A rushed server ducked through the crowd to place two hot plates on the table.

“Feeding the greater London area tonight, Freddie? That thing’s massive.” Lucy chuckled at the mountainous burger.

“Sod off! At least I can eat all of this and not put on a pound.” Freddie spun the plate around, finding the burger’s best side. He captured its magnificence on his phone.

Lucy pouted and dipped her fries into a metal pot of ketchup. “You and your bloody metabolism. I’m so jealous. That said, if we’re still hungry after all this, let’s share the warm chocolate brownie with ice cream. I don’t care if I can’t button up my jeans tomorrow.”

“Sometimes I order dessert as my meal if I don’t like anything on the menu,” said Alex. “And it has to be sinful and chocolatey. No fruit allowed—ever.”

“But you’re downing vodka—and orange. You must like some fruit, then?” asked Freddie.

“I like strawberries, bananas, orange juice. Love citrus scent. Can’t get enough. But eating the actual orange segments? That gross stringy white skin? Hurls-ville.”

“Says the chick from bloody Florida.” Lucy elbowed her friend. “You freak!”

Freddie clasped Alex’s hand across the table, prompting a smile to creep across her cheeks. “Pleeease, Lucy? Can we keep her? We can be freaks together.”

When their laughter abated, Alex caught the last strains of Habits by Tove Lo over the pub’s sound system. A chill embraced her heart. She was back in Devin’s car—feeling loved, feeling content, holding his hand, singing along at the top of their lungs. She stared at her hands, empty in her lap. She had to let go—she knew that—but her heart still needed to catch up to her head. Devin played that damn song all the time, and even here, over 4,000 miles away, she couldn’t escape it or how it made her miss him.

“…See, Lucy? You’re wrong. I don’t have a big gob.”

A welcome distraction came with Freddie’s comical attempts to eat his monster burger. He raised the stack of beef, cheese, and tomato to his lips but couldn’t stretch his mouth wide enough. He fumbled with the cutlery cocooned within a tightly wrapped napkin and scowled. The pub’s playlist shuffled onto Lady Gaga’s Bad Romance. His scowl grew into a snarl. “Nooo. I despise Gaga. Bring back what you were playing earlier …the Monkees, Taylor Swift…I’ve lost my appetite now.”

“You don’t like Lady Gaga? But she’s so creative, so theatrical.” Alex laid a napkin on her lap. “I thought you would like her…because…”

“What? Because I’m gay? That’s…homophobic.”

Alex’s face dropped.

“I’m kidding.” Freddie squealed. “No, I don’t like her because she feuds with my beloved Madonna. Mess with Madge, you land on my ‘Don’t Play’ list. Simples.”

He removed the bun from his burger, slicing the oversize patty with his knife and fork.

“But didn’t Lady Gaga and Madonna kiss and make up?” asked Lucy.

“Doesn’t matter. The damage has been done.” Freddie looked at Alex. “So…about Manchester…let me know when you plan to visit. I’d love to tag along.”

“Promise, I will.” Alex raised her voice in order to be heard over the increasing din in the lively pub. “But I must warn you that Joan—I mean, my grandma. I’m so used to calling her Joan—will want to meet you both.”

“You call your gran by her first name?” Freddie blotted excess relish from his upper lip. “Do all Americans do that?”

Alex licked barbecue sauce from her fingers. “No, she always told us to call her Joan instead of Granny or Nanny because she felt too youthful to carry around those so-called ageist ‘labels’. She’s feisty. Dad says some people find her quite intimidating. I’ve only met her in person once. She’s this unfiltered force. Lucy, you’ll love her.”

“I love her already. My kind of woman.” Lucy tossed a chicken wing bone onto the pile on her plate.