Page 35 of Crashing Into You

“Um, no.” Kylie busies herself stirring a pot of something on the stove, but there’s something in her voice. I straighten up, suspicion curling in my stomach.

“Kyles?”

She loves a beer. And I’ve never seen her cook a meal without a glass of wine to hand. Yet there’s none to be seen on the expanse of pale granite countertop.

“Is there something you need to tell me?” Suspicion changes to excitement, laced with a slight hit of bittersweet sorrow. Matt is my best mate and, if my suspicions are correct, his life is about to change in a massive way. I couldn’t be happier for him. At the same time there’s that feeling of our paths diverging, in the way that happens sometimes in life.

“No.” She still stirs the pot, but there a curl of a smile on her lips.

“You were drinking cocktails at the pub the other night.”

“Was I?”

“Holy fuck, Kylie.” Realisation crashes over me. Easiest way in the world to drink a non-alcoholic drink and have no one know about it. “How long? And I am so, so fucking happy for you both.” My voice breaks.

She stops stirring and turns to me. “Eight weeks. We found out a week ago.” Her eyes are bright with tears, her smile so wide it’s like sunshine. “And?—”

Whatever she’s about to say is lost in the bear hug I sweep her into, swinging her around. Then, horrified, I put her down. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I don’t want to hurt you.”

She punches me in the shoulder. “I’m pregnant, not made of porcelain, you dick,” she says, affectionately. “Hug me all you like.”

So I do. I love this woman like a sister. She makes my best friend happy and is just about the coolest chick I know. My bittersweet sorrow slides away, and all that’s left is pure joy for her and Matt and the little life they’ve created.

“This kid is going to have all the best surf stuff,” I say. “Uncle Bryce is going to?—”

“Uncle Bryce? What the fuck, Kyles? Did you tell him?” Laughter laces the words as Matt comes into the kitchen, putting a canvas bag of groceries on the counter.

“Didn’t need to.” Kylie goes to Matt, sliding her arms around his neck. “He figured it out for himself.”

“I told you no one would buy that fake cocktail thing,” Matt says with a grin, wrapping his arms around his wife. He bends his head and kisses her, his eyes closing, and as the two of them sway together, I recognise it.

The spark. The thing that brings them together, that makes them work so well as a couple. I wonder why I’ve never really noticed it before. They come apart, smiling at each other, and my chest hurts just looking at them. It’s beautiful.

“Mate, I could not be happier for you both,” I say, grabbing Matt in a hug. “Genuinely the best news.”

“Thanks, man.” He looks a bit shell-shocked, to be honest, but in a sort of teary joyful way, and I get it. This is big news. “You’re going to be godfather, I hope.”

I resist the urge to do a Marlon Brando impression. Tears prickle the back of my eyes, and I hug him again. “It’s an honour. I’ll teach him, or her, all my wicked ways.”

“Speaking of,” says Kylie, slanting a glance my way, “how are things with the lovely Claire?”

They know, of course, what the deal is between us. And now they’re going to give me shit when I tell them how it’s changed. But I don’t care. Despite my worry for Mum and Millie, today has genuinely been an awesome day. And it’s mostly down to Claire.

“So… er, I kissed her.”

Matt rolls his eyes and grabs himself a beer. “Oh yeah.” He pops the top and takes a sip. “And then what?”

“And then we agreed we’d like to get to know each other. Properly.”

Kylie shoots a raised-eyebrows glance at Matt. “Get to know each other? What, in the biblical sense?”

Matt snorts, taking another swig of his beer.

“No. I mean… shit, of course I’d like that– she’s fucking stunning– but no. Actually, you know, spend time together. Like you guys do.”

Heat comes to my face, and I cover it by taking a gulp of my own beer. Why do I feel like a kid caught with their hand in the lolly jar?

“Like… Matt and I do?” Kylie has stopped stirring whatever she’s making, standing with the spoon in her hand like some sort of domestic goddess statue. “Holy shit, Bryce. Are you telling me she’s going to be youractualgirlfriend?”