“You don’t understand!” I say eagerly. “I overheard the guy talking. I got the inside scoop! They don’t want people with a million degrees. Look, I’ll get the name of the company and you can google them.”

I hurry into the hall and reach into my bag. The coffee-cup sleeve is still there, the business card still pinned to it with my Anna’s Accessories hair clip. I carry them both into the kitchen, reading out the name of the company.

“Ethical Sense Investment Management. ESIM. There you go.” I reach for my laptop, type the name into Google, and a moment later I’m looking at a familiar frondy-haired face. Sebastian Marlowe. Founder and CEO.

“They’re based in Farringdon.” I scan the opening paragraph. “Ethically led investment.”

“What the fuck is that?” Jake snorts.

“Don’t you want something a bit ethical, for a change?” I say to Ryan, ignoring Jake. “Anyway, look, here’s the job!” I’ve already clicked on Vacancies and found it: Trainee Researcher. “Applications are still being accepted for this post,” I read out loud. “Candidates are likely to have a business or finance degree; however, this is not necessary. An appropriate background in business will be taken into account. You see?”

“Trainee.” Ryan wrinkles his nose. “Like, intern?”

“You’ll be fine, mate.” Jake gives a short laugh. “Mine’s a flat white, and be quick about it.”

“It’s not an internship,” I say hastily. “But, I mean, you’ll have to be trained, won’t you?”

“Paying how much?” Ryan frowns at the screen.

“Does that matter?” I say. “It’s a foot in the door, isn’t it? I think it sounds really exciting!”

There’s silence for a few moments. I was hoping Ryan’s face would break into a joyful smile or he might even hug me. But he’s still reading the job description, his brow furrowed.

“Dunno,” he says at last. “I dunno. I need a proper job, not some crummy internship. I mean, in L.A. I employed interns.”

“Yes, but—” I break off awkwardly.

I don’t want to rub salt in his wounds. He doesn’t need reminding that he can’t afford to employ anyone now. I know exactly what that feels like. For about a month after my catering company failed, I’d wake up and had forgotten. Then the truth came crashing in on me again, and every time it was horrible.

“What’s this?” Ryan reaches curiously for the coffee-cup sleeve and reads the writing on it. “I owe you one. Redeemable in perpetuity.” He looks up. “What does that mean?”

“Oh.” For some weird reason, I find myself blushing. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Whose signature is that?” Ryan peers at the scribbly words.

“Yeah, what is this?” Jake takes the coffee-cup sleeve from Ryan and scans it, frowning. “Who owes you one?”

“He does,” I admit, a bit reluctantly. “The guy.”

“What guy?”

“The CEO guy.”

“Him?” Ryan jerks an incredulous thumb at Sebastian, still looking at us from the laptop screen. “How come? What happened?”

“I saved his laptop.”

“How?” Both of them are agog by now.

“It was nothing!” I say, trying to play it down. “There was this gush of water and I grabbed it. He said I’d saved his bacon. He tried to buy me a coffee, but I didn’t want it, so he wrote me this IOU. But it’s a joke,” I repeat for emphasis. “It’s not serious or anything.”

Ryan doesn’t seem to be listening.

“You saved his bacon,” he’s saying slowly. “So now he owes you a favor. Like maybe … giving a job to someone. A proper job. With proper money.”

I stare at Ryan, as it gradually dawns on me what he’s suggesting. He can’t mean— He couldn’t mean—

“Yes!” Jake joins in, his face animated. “Do it!”

“Do what?”

“Claim your IOU. Go and see the guy. Get Ryan a job. And make sure the salary’s decent.”

“I can’t do that!” I say, shocked. “I don’t even know him! He’s a stranger! I mean, I did bump into him tonight, actually,” I add, for the sake of accuracy. “But I don’t know him.…”

“It’s not about knowing him, it’s about your rights. He owes you one!” Jake jabs at the coffee-cup sleeve. “Says it here.”

“He doesn’t owe me that! All I did was save his laptop from getting wet. It was a tiny favor.”

“You don’t know that,” counters Jake at once. “You don’t know what was on that laptop. You could have saved him thousands of pounds.”

“Hundreds of thousands,” puts in Ryan. “You might have saved his whole company, for all you know.”

“You probably did.” Jake nods firmly. “You probably saved him millions and he tries to palm you off with a cappuccino. Cheapskate.”

“Look …” I exhale, trying to stay calm. “It wasn’t like that. And I can’t go waltzing into some guy’s office and say, ‘You owe me one, so give Ryan a job.’ ” I turn to Ryan. “Why don’t you apply properly? You have great experience, a great CV—”

“Oh, give me a break!” Ryan erupts. “I’ll never get this job! Not a chance. No one’ll read my CV and think, Yes! This is the guy we want to do our ethical trading shit.”

“They might!”

Ryan shakes his head, staring at the table. Then his eyes rise to meet mine and I can see the pain in them. A bleak, humiliated pain that I recognize.

“I’m going back to L.A.,” he says, and turns to Jake. “Sorry, mate, we’ll have to put our plans on hold.”

“No!” I say in dismay. “You can’t go!”

“I don’t have anything here.” Ryan speaks evenly, but there’s a bubbling, self-hating anger in his voice.

“You could! You might! Look, maybe I …” I check myself.

“You what?” Ryan tilts his head, suddenly alert.

“I …”

Oh God, oh God. I take a swig of wine, playing for time, trying to understand my own contradictory brain process. A moment ago it seemed unthinkable, the idea of claiming that IOU, actually going and claiming it. The very thought made me shudder. It was unpalatable. Grasping. Just … no way. Never.

But now my thoughts are swinging the other way. Am I being too precious? Maybe I did save Sebastian millions of pounds. Maybe he does owe me something proper. Something big.

Besides which, Ryan would be a great employee. He’s so bright and experienced. He’s been through such a lot. He deserves a chance—and what he says is true: He might not get through the application process. It’s brutal out there. And if I don’t do something, he’ll disappear back to L.A. before we’ve even had a chance to …

Anyway, Sebastian can always say no. This last thought bolsters my confidence. He can always say no.

“I’ll do it,” I say in a rush, and take another swig of wine before I can change my mind.

“You,” says Ryan, “are a star.” And he leans over to kiss me in a way that makes my head sing. “An absolute star, Fixie. To Fixie.” He lifts his wineglass and my cheeks glow.

“What’s going on?” says Leila, coming into the kitchen, clutching Jake’s cigarettes.

“Fixie’s got Ryan a job!” says Jake, and he grins at me, a proper affectionate grin.

“Fixie!” exclaims Leila. “You’re brilliant!”

“Isn’t she?” says Ryan, his arm around my shoulders.

I feel warm and radiant, basking in all this approval. It’s so unfamiliar. It’s so lovely. Ryan leans over to kiss me again—and this time his hand creeps up my thigh—and any remaining doubts I had are swept away. I’ll get Ryan a job, he’ll love me for it, Jake will be impressed … everyone will be happy!

—

After I’ve finished clearing up the kitchen, we watch TV for a while—but I can’t concentrate. I’m too aware of Ryan sitting next to me on the sofa, his thigh brushing against mine, his arm draped around my shoulders. Are we really back on? Properly?

“OK, we’re off,” says Jake as the show ends, and Leila immediately gets to her feet. “Coming, Ryan?”

“Not yet.” Ryan gives my arm an invisible squeeze. “I’ll hang out here a bit longer. That’s OK, isn’t it, Fixie?”

“Fine,” I say, my voice a little thick. “Yeah. Why not?”

I don’t know how I’m managing to sound so calm when my brain is shrieking, He’s staying! It’s happening!

Should I quickly take a shower?

No. Do not leave his side.

Oh God, it’s been over a year. Do I even remember what I’m doing?

“Fair enough.” Jake raises his eyebrows at the pair of us, and Leila comes over to kiss me goodbye, her eyes dancing with excitement as she glances at Ryan and back at me.

“Fixie, you look lovely,” she murmurs in my ear. “But let me quickly … your parting …” I feel her tugging at my hair. The next moment she’s got the lip gloss out again and she’s smearing it on my lips. She’s giving me a touch-up?

“Thanks, Leila.” I can’t help smiling, and she clasps my hand fervently as though to say, “Good luck.”

And then they’ve gone and it’s the two of us. At last. There’s a breathless, silent beat—then Ryan leans over to kiss me properly, deeply, his hand cradling my head. I can feel my whole body responding. Remembering. God, I’ve missed him.

I hadn’t realized how desperate I was. Two tiny tears are leaking out of the corners of my eyes and I quickly blink them away, because I don’t want Ryan to think I’m getting all serious or anything. I’m not. It’s just I thought this might never happen again. Ever.

I keep catching my breath, because he’s even hotter than he was before. He’s so pumped up. His biceps are about twice the size they were last year. I run a hand over his broad, rock-hard chest and feel a wash of lust so strong, I can hardly breathe. But somehow I murmur, “Shall we go upstairs?” and he nods and leads me out of the room.