"I think it was the fridge," Griffin said glumly.

Lawson looked up from his phone. Griffin was standing on a raised platform, his arms spread out like a scarecrow. A harried-looking tailor crouched by Griffin's feet, poking and prodding at him with a needle.

"What about the fridge?" Alisdair asked.

He was sifting through a tie catalogue. Analyzing it, probably, Lawson thought; Alisdair worked in marketing, and nothing got him more excited than terms like social media activation and key performance indicator. Griffin frowned.

"That's why Mum was so upset," Griffin said. "Because the fridge didn't have hinges, and all the food had been spoiled."

"You know," Lawson said carefully, "it could have something to do with the smoke damage. Or the fifteen fire code violations."

Griffin looked baffled. "You think?"

Alisdair bookmarked a page. "Maybe you should lay off the explosives, Griff. You could try something less destructive. Like basket weaving."

"Or hula-hooping," Lawson suggested.

"Or ax throwing," Haz chipped in.

All three boys looked at him. Haz scowled.

"What?" Haz asked. "That shit's great for stress relief."

Haz was reclining in a seat, wadding up old receipts and pitching them into a bin. The tailor shot a nervous look at Haz's muddy boots but didn't comment. Few people did, when it came to Haz, Lawson reflected; he looked like the sort of person that would run you over with his motorcycle and laugh about it afterwards.

"I'm going to have to clean," Griffin said mildly, as if the thought had just occurred to him. "And get a new fridge."

Lawson held up his phone. "Already ordered one, mate."

Griffin's brow furrowed. "Does it have hinges?"

"What?"

"The fridge," Griffin repeated. "Does it have hinges?"

Lawson blinked. "I assume so."

"Maybe we should get one without hinges," Griffin said, twisting awkwardly as the tailor measured his leg. "So we can avoid this sort of incident in the future."

"Or maybe," Lawson said, "you could just leave the hinges on the fridge this time."

A throbbing had begun in his temple. Christ. He had no idea how Cass, Griffin's best mate, put up with this; that woman was superhuman. Alisdair — perhaps sensing that Lawson was losing his patience — beckoned him over. He passed Lawson the suit catalogue. Lawson imagined beating Griffin over the head with it and instantly felt better.

"How are you feeling?" Alisdair murmured.

"Violent."

Alisdair gave him a look. Lawson's irritation grew. He opened the catalogue, leafing through it at a leisurely pace, just to annoy Alisdair.

"And hungry," Lawson added. "I'm dying for a burger." He paused, squinting at an advertisement for animal-print ties. "Do you think those look like ducks? I think they look more like turtles, personally."

"Hale."

"What?"

"You know what I mean." Alisdair shot a look at the others, lowering his voice. "You scared the shit out of me this weekend. You scared the shit out of all of us. Granville didn't even complain that you fucked up his Uber score."

Lawson flipped to another page. "That's because Haz already has a terrible Uber score."

"Just answer the question."

"Wow." Lawson whistled. "No big words today. It must be serious." 

He half-expected Alisdair to snap. Haz certainly would have. But Alisdair just waited patiently, his arms crossed, looking like a blond Viking dressed in a grey jumper and jeans. It was unfair, Lawson reflected, that Alisdair spent most days in dusty libraries and still looked like that. Some of them had to spend hours on the cricket pitch and actually try.

"I'm fine," Lawson said.

One blond eyebrow rose. "Really?"

"Honestly." Lawson rolled up the catalogue. "It's a shit time of year. I'll feel better next month."

"Well, I'm here," Alisdair said. "If you want to talk."

"I don't," Lawson said. "But thanks."

His phone buzzed.

Lawson fished it out of his pocket, half-turning away so Alisdair couldn't see the screen. A single text from Harper popped up.

Can I bring anything for Tuesday?

Lawson unlocked the phone. Yes, he wrote. My misplaced dignity would be great.

Harper's response was immediate.

Think you left that in a London Uber. Will be hard to track down, but I'll do my best.

Lawson smiled, sliding the phone back into his pocket. It was only when he looked up to see Alisdair watching him that it dropped.

"What?"

Alisdair nodded at the phone. "Who is that?"

"Nobody."

"Trick question," Alisdair said. "I saw the word Ohio pop up on the screen." He took a step closer, glancing at Griffin. "Be careful, won't you?"

Stupidly, Lawson felt his hackles rise. "Of what?"

"It's his sister, mate," Alisdair said. "That's all I'm saying."

"They're not actually related."

Alisdair gave him a hard look. Lawson sighed.

"I'm not going to do anything," he muttered.

Lawson meant that, too. He made a point of being friendly with everyone, but he could count on one hand the number of people that he loved — really loved — and Griffin was one of them. Lawson would sooner cut his right hand off, give up his cricket career, and move to Chile than hurt him.

Which meant Harper was off-limits.

Obviously.

"Good," Alisdair said. "Because Griffin will kick your arse if you mess her about." He patted his shoulder. "And I'm not sure that I'd stop him."

"Noted," Lawson said.

"Brilliant. Good chat."

"Oi!" Griffin called.

They both turned. Griffin was crouching by a display cabinet, his suit riddled with tiny silver needles. He looked like a human hedgehog, Lawson thought fondly, all rounded spine and quills. Griffin waggled a greeting card in their direction.

"What do you reckon?" Griffin asked. "Do you think Mum will forgive me if I get her a card?"

Lawson stared. "What is that?"

"It's a Villager card," Griffin said, as if that should explain everything. When Lawson continued to look blankly at him, Griffin's expression turned incredulous. "You haven't heard of them? They're popular in London. Some local makes them anonymously."

Lawson could see why they'd keep it anonymous.

He crossed the room, leafing through the pile of Villager cards. If they could be called cards, Lawson thought; they were glitter-soaked, sparkly abominations, each more gratingly cheerful than the last. One read, "Honey, You're Gorgeous!" Another said, "I'm Dating Two Men — Their Names Are Ben and Jerry."

He picked up a card with a spider in a tuxedo, flipping it over. In curling font, the card said, "Congratulations, Newlywebs!"

Lawson snorted. Harper would love this shit.

He regretted the thought as soon as he had it. No. Nope. Not thinking about Griffin's sister. No more than was strictly necessary, anyway.

Haz picked a card up gingerly, as if afraid that it might bite him. The tailor glanced over at them nervously. Lawson didn't blame him; Haz looked as if he was considering putting the card through a paper-shredder.

"These," Haz said, "are horrible."

Griffin frowned. "I think they're sweet."

"You think exploding toasters are sweet," Haz pointed out.

Griffin's frown deepened. "So?"

A phone rang.

Lawson's pocket vibrated, and his stomach jolted. Harper, he thought, but no; his mother's name popped up on screen. Of course it did. Why would Harper be ringing him? They hardly knew each other. Lawson shook his head, retreating into the corridor as he punched the green button.

"Hi, Mum."

"Hi, darling," Moira said. "How's the suit shopping?"

"Scintillating," Lawson said, and then winced. Christ. Alisdair was rubbing off on him; what a dreadful thought. "You okay?"

"Can't I just ring my son for a chat?"

Moira's voice was mild. Dangerously mild. She was going to ask him for a favour. He should know, Lawson thought grimly, because he did the exact same tone of voice whenever he wanted something.

"Mum," Lawson said. "Just ask."

"Alright." Moira sighed. "Can you pass along your friend's number? The photographer?"

Lawson stilled. "Why do you want Harper's number?"

"Don't be difficult," Moira said.

"I'm just curious."

There was the sound of running water filling a bucket. "I'd like to go over the different types of flowers with her before the show. Show her some pictures. The photographer missed poor Anastasia's jasmine last year, and she was so upset that she accidentally knocked over the cupcake tower."

Privately, Lawson thought this was not an accident; Anastasia was a fifty-year-old woman from Grantham that said things like "charmed to meet you" and carried a lacy parasol everywhere. She'd probably lost the competition and beat the cupcake tower with her terrifying pink umbrella of death.

Still.

He knew better than to say so.

"You're going to invite Harper for tea, aren't you?"

Moira didn't deny it. "Just give me her number, Lawson."

For two seconds, Lawson considered it. Pictured Harper and his family, gathered around the dining table, listening as Moira told the story of six-year-old Lawson chasing a squirrel up the tree and getting stuck until the fire department arrived. Icy fear clenched his heart. Nope. Absolutely not.

"I'll do it," Lawson volunteered. "Talk her through the flowers, I mean."

Moira's voice turned wary. "Lawson..."

"Text me the photos."

"I'd rather do it myself."

"Let me do it," Lawson said. "Please."

Silence. Too late, Lawson realized his mistake: the word please. He rarely begged. Never had to beg, really, since he could usually rely on blind optimism and charm to get what he wanted. Lawson fidgeted with his signet ring, turning it round and round.

"Mum?" he asked. "Are you still there?"

Moira's voice was suspicious. "Why don't you want me to meet her?"

"I never said that."

"Interesting." He could hear his mother's smile. "Is she pretty?"

Lawson dropped his hand. "I don't see how that's relevant to her photography skills."

"She is!" Moira's voice was triumphant, and Lawson shivered. She sounded disturbingly like Paige when she did that. "I can tell by your voice. Is she nice? Is she single?"

Lawson sighed. "Goodbye, Mum."

"Wait! Is Harper—?"

He hung up the phone.

By the time Lawson made it back to the room, things were wrapping up; Griffin was at the till, paying for the adjustments to the suit. Haz was shrugging on a leather jacket. And Alisdair was crouching down, tying up a shoelace.

"Who was that?" Alisdair asked.

Lawson shrugged. "Just Mum."

Alisdair eyed him suspiciously but said nothing.

Lawson picked up his coat mechanically, trying to concentrate as they made their way to the car park. This was fine. He could do this. He'd successfully avoided Harper around the flat so far, but he had to see her eventually. And this was just a meeting, right? A professional meeting.

They could have the discussion in the living room, with Griffin puttering around. There were no beds in the living room. The living room was a safe, neutral space.

Slightly cheered by that thought, Lawson swung into the car.

"Anyone up for burgers?" he asked.

A/N: Hello lovely readers,

An early chapter update? On a Monday? Since when am I this organized?!

Okay so truthfully, I'm flying back to Canada tomorrow, and I have a feeling that the airport WiFi is going to be dodgy — hence today's unexpected update ;)

Question of the Day: what's your favourite song at the moment? I'm making a playlist for the plane tomorrow, so I'm looking for some
inspo!

Affectionately,

J.K.

p.s. a very Merry Christmas to everyone that's celebrating! I hope your weekend is filled with lots of love, mince pies and happiness xx