I pick it up and take a bite.
“Holy creaming Jesus,” I mumble with my mouthful. “This is amazing.”
If I thought that little taste of cream was heaven I was sorely mistaken, because the whole thing; sponge and chocolate-chip and cream, together is bliss. If I die today, then I will die a very happy lady indeed.
“Seriously, Jake, you have to give me the name of this place because I’m going to have to set up a credit account with them.”
He smiles at me, but I detect a hint of nervousness. I’m instantly curious. “Delivery might be a bit of a problem.”
“Why?” I say taking another bite.
“Because the delicatessen is in Paris.”
I pause mid-bite, staring at him.
“I had them flown in this morning,” he adds.
“Oh.” I put the cake down.
“It’s one of my favourite places, I always go there whenever I’m in Paris, and I knew you’d love them so…”
“Wow, Jake … um … wow, that is so nice and incredibly thoughtful of you, but you didn’t have to go to any trouble for me.”
“I didn’t. I pay other people to go to the trouble for me, Tru.”
“Oh.”
Shit, I am so way out of my league here.
He pulls his cigarettes out. “You mind if I smoke?”
I shake my head and watch as he lights a cigarette up.
I can’t exactly complain about his smoking around the food, when he’s just had said food flown in on an aeroplane. From Paris.
Jesus Christ. This is me getting a little glimpse into just how much pull Jake Wethers actually has.
But he’s just so erratic.
He takes me for a simple dinner to Pizza Hut – well maybe not simple, as he did hire the place out – but still, it was Pizza Hut. And now today, he’s flown in mini cakes from Paris.
I feel like my head is spinning from just being around him. I don’t remember him been this confusing when we were younger.
Straight talking, yes. Confusing, no.
“So what does your boyfriend think of you coming on the tour?” he asks out of the blue, taking a sip of his coffee.
And there’s the straight talking.
“Um … I … um … he doesn’t think anything yet, because I haven’t had a chance to tell him.”
That’s a lie. I’ve had all morning to ring Will and tell him, but I’m not sure how he’ll take it, so I’m putting it off until tonight when I’ve fed him and seduced him, then I’ll tell him.
Suddenly the idea of seducing Will while here with Jake, doesn’t feel alluring at all. It actually makes me feel quite unwell.
“I’m going to tell him tonight when I see him,” I add.
He puts his coffee down and takes a drag of his cigarette. Then reaches down and picks up an ashtray from off the floor beside his chair, placing it on his thigh, he taps the ash into it.
“Are you doing anything nice?”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“Oh, um, no, Will’s just coming round to my flat to have some dinner.”
He’s staring at my face, his own impassive.
“How did you meet him?”
“I knew him from uni and we bumped into each other on a night out a few years ago. He asked me out and we’ve been together since.”
“But you don’t live together.”
“No.”
“Do you think you’ll marry him?”
What? Personal much.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I hate it when he starts being direct like this.
I feel like I’m up for a job interview, I’m just not actually sure of the job. Unless he has another one lined up for me that he’s also not told me about.
For want of something to do with my fidgety hands, I dip my finger in the cream of my half-eaten bun again and pop it in my mouth.
I notice Jake staring at my mouth.
I quickly pull my finger out, and dry it on a napkin. “Well I was proposing marriage to you a few minutes ago,” I laugh. He doesn’t.
“I don’t know,” I shrug, turning serious. “It’s not something I’ve thought about. I guess I don’t really see myself ever getting married.”
He has another drag of his cigarette and slowly blows the smoke out from between his lips, tapping his ash into the ashtray.
“Why?”
I shrug again, looking down.
I’m not going to tell him that I don’t think any guy would ever ask me.
“I always figured you’d end up with a musician,” he says, in a low voice.
I look up at him surprised.
Surprised that he even considered that about me.
“So how long are you in the UK for?” I ask, for want of a subject change.
“I’m flying back to LA first thing in the morning.”
“Oh,” I say, disappointed he’s leaving so soon. “Do you have a private jet?” I ask, being nosey.
“Yeah. It’s the label’s.”
“You mean the label which you own.”
“Hmm.”
Bloody hell, he’s got his own private jet.
“So the next time I see you will be at the tour.”
“Yes.”
I feel quite sad that I’m not going to see him for two weeks.
“Some best-friend you are,” I pout, jokingly. “You do remember that in the contract for being my best friend it has a beck-and-call clause in it don’t you. I mean what if I need … I don’t know – chocolates from Belgium, who’s gonna get them while you’re off in LA. I don’t know Jake, I might have to seriously consider trading you in,” I grin.