Duh! Of course he does.
I follow closely behind Dave. There doesn’t seem to be any people around. The rooms must be huge as we’ve only passed by one door on this hallway, and we’ve been walking a little while. I wonder if Jake has the full floor hired out for his people to stay in.
We reach the door facing us at the end of the hall. Dave knocks once, loudly on the door and moves aside, standing by the door, leaning against the wall, leaving me standing in front of it on my own.
I’m instantly self-conscious. And my face is burning up with worry and nerves.
What if Jake really doesn’t remember me and then it just becomes embarrassing and horrid.
Right here and now I’m making the decision to not say anything about our childhood or even acknowledge I remember him. I’ll just wait for him to say something first and then I’ll act all cool and nonchalant about it. And if he doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t remember me, then it’s cool as I won’t look like an idiot explaining who I am.
Or not.
Whatever.
I’m just not say anything first.
The door opens, and standing before me, is a sharply dressed man, in a designer suit and the shiniest shoes I have ever seen. And holy hell he is beautiful.
“Ms. Bennett, hello, I’m Stuart, Jake’s PA. It is so lovely to meet you.” He gives me a warm smile and reaches out his hand to shake mine.
My cheeks flush red. Gorgeous and friendly. PA’s are usually not so nice to journalists, or this good looking.
I take hold of his hand and give my most professional ‘I’m a serious journalist’ handshake. I just hope he doesn’t notice how badly my hand is shaking.
He gives me another smile, his eyes crinkling up at the corners.
Yep, he felt the shake and knows how nervous I am.
“Jake is in the living room waiting for you, please follow me,” he gestures.
I follow Stuart down the hall, the door magically closing behind me; Dave I’m guessing.
Stuart rounds the corner, I follow behind, and then I find myself in a huge living room, and standing across the room from me is Jake.
My heart lurches out of my chest, jumps across the room and whams straight into him.
I feel lost.
My eyes meet his, and I see it … the instant recognition.
He remembers me.
I feel absolute relief amongst my jittery nerves. Like little monkeys are swinging trees across my nerve endings.
He’s wearing fitted black jeans and a black V-neck T-shirt, and his hair is in its trademark style.
And he just looks so painstakingly beautiful.
Stuart moves aside, and I walk a little further into the room on seriously wobbly legs. I wish I’d worn flats now.
Jake’s eyes stay trained on mine. I think he looks a little stunned, and I’m not quite sure in this moment if that is a good thing or not.
“Tru?” His voice. It sounds the same, just deeper, manly, and more American than British now of course, but still the same. I’ve heard him talk on the TV, but hearing him, here, now talking to me – it’s just Jake – the Jake I knew.
“Trudy Bennett?” he repeats. “My Trudy Bennett?”
His Trudy Bennett?
My heart goes haywire as it returns safely to my chest. Thank god he can’t hear it.
He takes a step forward. “Shit, it really is you.”
I nod. “Yes. It’s really me.” I sound like his echo, but I don’t really know what else to say.
I wasn’t exactly sure why I was so terrified and nervous about seeing him. I just figured it was because of who he is now, his stature. But looking at him here, now, I know why I was so scared.
I was afraid that seeing him again after all this time would cause my old feelings to resurface.
And seeing Jake, looking like this, I just know that I am so completely and totally fucked.
Because I’m now fourteen year old Trudy all over again.
Chapter Four
“Holy shit,” Jake exclaims, his lips shaping into a heart-breaking smile as he takes another step closer to me. “When Stuart said the name of the interviewer was Trudy Bennett, I just thought – there can’t be that many Trudy Bennett’s here in the UK can there? – I mean there probably is but –” He laughs. Surprising to me, he sounds a little nervous.
“But then I just thought it would be too much of a coincidence for it to be you … and shit … here you are.”
“Here I am.” Still echoing, sounding like some lame fucking parrot.
He comes over to me. Each stride he takes closer, my heart whams against my ribcage.
Then he stops in front of me, only inches away.
Holy crap, he’s even more beautiful close up. And he’s so much taller now than I remember, but then he was fourteen the last time I saw him in the flesh. He looks even better than he does on TV.
Wow, he really has grown up.
He’s smells like of a mixture of cigarettes, aftershave, and mint. It’s a surprisingly alluring smell, and it’s doing all kinds of funny things to me.
“It’s been what – eleven years?” he says, his voice quieter now.