Page 36 of One Last Gift

Cassie grimaced, though she quickly smoothed out her expression before twisting around on the stool to see Robert coming over to them, running a hand across his receding hairline. “What are you doing? I thought you were…” Robert trailed off, giving Amy an assessing look, and Cassie just knew he was trying to work out if she was a potential client, if he should switch on the charm. For a second, Cassie debated lying about it—claiming that Amy was some important guest who was thinking about hosting one of those not-so-fancy launch parties here or something. Amy would probably go along with it. But then, the follow-up questions from Robert wouldn’t be worth it—and she doubted she’d be able to keep up the lie without getting caught.

“This is Amy,” she said. “A friend of mine.” Amy nodded politely, and Robert’s expression turned sour. He opened his mouth to press on, no doubt to tell her that she wasn’t allowed friends at the bar—which was ridiculous, because there was no policy against it—but Cassie talked over him before he could speak. “I’m taking the time out of my lunch break,” she said pointedly. He frowned at her. She never usually spoke so firmly, never usually showed any sign of a backbone. Maybe it was just that she didn’t want to look weak and pathetic in front of Amy. Maybe it was that he’d been getting to her more and more recently. Or maybe it was the fact that she’d been feeling stretched. Not only was half her mind constantly preoccupied with Tom’s clue, but she was still worried about the fate of Linda’s pub, along with trying to keep Robert happy.

And Robert hadn’t cared when she’d tried to explain about the pub. He’d refused to let her take a couple of days’ holiday at short notice, so she hadn’t been able to go and be with Linda in person, and he’d shut her down when she’d tried to talk to him. It’s just a pub, Cassie. There are worse things in the world to get upset about. And yes, fine, maybe that was true, but it still meant something to her.

“I’ll catch you at lunchtime, then,” he said eventually, and Cassie heard the unspoken promise—that he’d check up on her, and make sure she was working her lunch break to make up for it.

She wrinkled her nose as Robert walked away. “Sorry about that,” she said with a sigh.

“Don’t be silly.” Amy hesitated. “I guess I don’t need to ask you how work’s going then…?”

“Oh, it’s fine,” she said, attempting to brighten her tone a bit for Amy’s sake. “Robert might be a dick, but I still love what I do.” It was true, she thought firmly. Even if the hotel was feeling a little claustrophobic at the moment, she did love the events, the organization of it, the buzz she got when it all came together. She loved the expression on people’s faces when the event was just as they’d imagined—or better—and knowing that she’d played a part, no matter how small, in their happiness for that one day. It would feel silly to admit any of that out loud, she knew—she’d never even told Tom, not in so many words. And now she never would.

She noticed Amy watching her, her eyes too understanding, as if she knew exactly where Cassie’s thoughts had gone. So she straightened her back. “Sorry, you were saying, before we were so rudely interrupted?”

“Oh.” Amy looked down at her coffee, then back at Cassie. “It was nothing really. I just…I wanted to see you, I suppose.” She offered her a weak smile, so unlike the wicked grin that Cassie remembered from the very first time Tom had introduced them to one another.

They’d been meeting at Gordon’s Wine Bar, near the Embankment, and Amy had arrived late, coming up to the outdoor table where Cassie and Tom stood chatting, and apologizing profusely before clasping Cassie’s hands and telling her how wonderful it was to meet her. “I’ve heard all about you, of course. Come on, let’s get wine. Do you like wine? If you don’t, it’s OK, we can still be friends, but I’m getting wine.”

“Amy,” Tom had said, a touch warningly, to which Amy had given him an eyeroll.

“Relax, I’ll be careful with her.” She and Tom had exchanged a look, and Cassie had seen how Tom’s expression softened, his eyes just on Amy, like they were totally alone in the alleyway. And she’d thought, then, that this was it for Tom. Though it seemed she’d been proven wrong in the end about that, just as she’d been proven wrong about her own “it” moment, all those years ago.

“I’m sorry.” Cassie reached out, took Amy’s hand in hers across the table. “I should’ve called.”

“No,” Amy said firmly. “This is not on you. I…” But she shook her head, making her curls bounce, and pressed trembling lips together. “Sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t be.” Cassie squeezed Amy’s hand.

For a moment, neither of them said anything, Amy’s eyes firmly on her cappuccino as she clearly fought for some control.

“I started Tom’s treasure hunt, you know,” Cassie found herself saying, wanting to find something to distract Amy. Amy knew about the annual tradition of the treasure hunt already—it had come up when the three of them had been hanging out at Tom’s flat once, and Amy had loved the whole thing. Cassie had recited some of Tom’s childhood rhymes, making Amy laugh. “I’m in love with a poet!” she’d declared.

It was the first time Cassie heard either of them say “love” like that and it had made her jolt, but Tom just grinned, then threw a cushion at Amy’s head. “You wait, I’ll be writing you love sonnets soon.”

“Oh, please do, I can give you editorial notes on how to improve.”

“Really?” Amy said now. “I’d forgotten about that. But he was working on it, I think, before we…” She shook her head. “How’s it going?”

“I’ve only done one clue so far,” Cassie admitted. “I’m kind of stuck on the next one.”

“What is it?”

Cassie had taken a photo of the clue, and though she didn’t need to, could recite it from memory, she got out her phone, read it out.

“One spring day the teams will meet,

But one will go home in defeat,

All of them have brains, it’s true,

But this is what it means to be a blue.

P.S. I still can’t believe you’ve never done this—time to fix that and try something new.

P.P.S. Life is but a dream.”

Amy frowned contemplatively. “So it’s some kind of sport?”