Mr. Nice Guy by Belinda Williams

Chapter Sixteen

Chelsea remainedsilent until they reached the car park, by which time Tom was furious with himself. He shouldn’t have lied to Vanessa, much less pulled Chelsea into it. He’d just been so surprised to see Vanessa there, and then when she’d started asking questions . . .

‘So, ah, apparently our arrangement is now public,’ Chelsea joked.

Tom caught her hand to stop her walking and squeezed it before dropping it.

‘I’m so sorry about that,’ he told her. ‘I just . . .’

‘Wanted her to think you were living happily ever after without Gemma in your life?’ Chelsea guessed accurately.

‘Something like that. Although, with a bit of distance, I can now say I wasn’t thinking clearly. I shouldn’t have said anything.’

Chelsea shrugged. ‘It’s OK. It happens to all of us. Quite frequently to me, as it turns out.’

Tom managed a weak smile. ‘I’m sorry to imply that we were—are—in a relationship.’

‘We are,’ Chelsea said simply. ‘Just not the sort of relationship she thinks we’re having.’

‘You’re not bothered by that?’

Chelsea shook her head, her blonde hair fanning around her shoulders in the fading light. ‘No. Why would I be? I don’t even know her. And if it helps you get back at your old girlfriend, then I’m happy to help.’

‘Fiancée,’ he corrected automatically. ‘And I don’t want to get back at her. I . . .’

He wasn’t sure what he wanted in regard to his previous partner. Closure? To forget about her completely? Those exact questions had been going around in his mind for close to three years now, and he still didn’t have a good answer.

‘You were engaged?’ Chelsea asked. ‘How did I miss that?’

‘Bad boy number eight hundred and five, probably,’ Tom said without thinking.

‘Hey.’ She shoved him lightly on the shoulder. ‘I know my taste in men leaves a lot to be desired, but I’m not one of those women who ignores everyone else when she’s in love.’

Tom cocked an eyebrow at her. ‘In love?’

‘Fine. Lust. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. I still don’t know how I missed that you were engaged. I mean, I know we weren’t really in touch then, but we were both still living in Sydney. My brother saw you regularly, but he never mentioned it. At least, I don’t think he did.’

‘We kept it low-key. It was easy to miss,’ Tom told her.

Chelsea frowned. ‘It’s an engagement. Surely, on the scale of importance, it’s up there.’

Tom sighed, undecided how much to tell her. They’d lived together for two years, and Chelsea still didn’t know. Until now, he’d preferred to keep it that way. That had been the entire purpose of moving to Newcastle. Taking a new job and relocating meant that he didn’t have to endure the pitying stares of friends and family on a regular basis. The last thing he wanted was for Chelsea to look at him the same way.

Chelsea reached out and touched his arm. ‘Hey, you know what? It’s none of my business. If it had been something you wanted to share with me, you would have told me by now. Don’t worry about it.’

Tom stared at her, shocked into silence.

‘What?’ she asked.

‘Thank you,’ he said gruffly. ‘It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just that . . .’ He closed his eyes briefly. ‘It’s hard to explain without explaining, if that makes sense. And then if I explain it to you . . .’

‘I’ll know all the gory details. Got it. Subject closed. Just because I regularly share the pathetic details of my sad love life doesn’t mean you have to. Besides, I’m sure the reasons for your break-up are way more adult than some loser borrowing money from me, or proposing a threesome, or because I’d failed to notice the nice professor was actually old and creepy. I’ll spare you the pain.’

‘Thank you,’ he said again.

‘No worries. Now, can we go find something to eat? I’m starving.’

* * *

In the end,Chelsea and Tom’s sixth date turned out to be an enjoyable dinner with no choking incidents. They drove around and parked near Darby Street in town—considered one of the city’s trendy café and restaurant hubs—and enjoyed Japanese food. Nothing awkward. Just a couple of friends out having a good time.

Except Chelsea couldn’t help feeling that Tom wasn’t quite himself after seeing Vanessa. He wasn’t as quick with his jokes or his smiles, and he seemed distant. Like when she’d gone to the bathroom and found him staring out the window frowning on her return.

Chelsea had never met Gemma, but she was pretty sure she didn’t like her. If it meant that Tom developed a resting frowning face whenever she was on his mind, then Chelsea definitely didn’t like the woman. But Chelsea chose to keep her mouth shut.

She’d meant what she’d said earlier. It was up to Tom to tell her his business, and if he didn’t want to, that was totally fine. Which it was. Except that now, of course, Chelsea was burning with curiosity.

After they arrived home, Tom told her he needed an early night as he had another early start in the morning. Chelsea had gone to her room to read a book. Instead, she pretended to read while vacillating between wondering if Gemma was a really horrible person and hoping she wasn’t. The idea of Tom being hurt wasn’t something Chelsea enjoyed thinking about.

Not your business, she told herself for the fifteenth time that night. She had better things to worry about, like what to wear tomorrow evening.

Before he’d gone to his room, Tom had reminded her that tomorrow was the last official day of their arrangement. He said he had something planned, and for her to be ready at six o’clock wearing nice but comfortable clothing with practical shoes.

Chelsea mused over this almost as much as the Gemma incident. What on earth did Tom have planned if he wanted her to look nice and be wearing practical shoes? That didn’t sound very romantic to her.

‘It’s not supposed to be romantic,’ she muttered to herself as she surveyed the items in her wardrobe.

There was no way she was leaving the clothing decision-making process until tomorrow night. She was likely to be running late and then do something stupid like wear practical clothes and inappropriate shoes.

Chelsea settled on her favourite pair of Guess jeans and a vibrant blue short-sleeved top that was high-necked but showed off her arms. No point showing off her cleavage because it was Tom, and she didn’t know what they’d be doing. Then she pulled out her black boots. They had a small heel but were so well-worn and loved that they were super comfortable.

There. Tomorrow she could arrive home and be ready in fifteen minutes. Ready for what, she had no idea. But she’d be ready.

* * *

Tom spentthe entire next day distracted about the evening to come, hoping that what he’d planned wasn’t too over-the-top. Given it was the last night of their arrangement, he planned to go out with a bang. The week leading up to this point hadn’t exactly been wow factor stuff. Sure, it had all been “nice”, and the sort of things that demonstrated what a normal, healthy relationship might look like. However, normal, healthy relationships also required some energy. Some spark. And the occasional impulsive gesture that told the other person they were your favourite person in the entire world.

Not a hard thing to fake when it came to Chelsea.

‘Stop being a creep,’ he murmured to himself.

He was waiting in the downstairs basement, warming the engine of his car for the trip to come that, as yet, she had absolutely no idea about.

The door opened, and Chelsea hopped in. ‘Right. I’m good to go.’

Tom flicked the stereo on, and they set off.

‘Oh, I love this band so much,’ Chelsea gushed.

“That band” was an up-and-coming indie rock band from the UK.

Tom’s lips quirked, and he tried not to act self-satisfied. ‘Yeah, you know, I kind of got that after having lived with you this long.’

Chelsea winced. ‘Sorry. I never asked if you liked them or not. You’re probably sick of listening to them by now.’

‘No, I’m not.’ He gestured to the back seat. ‘Can you grab the bag behind us for me?’

Chelsea twisted and retrieved the backpack as requested. ‘What do you need?’

‘Nothing yet. But if you look in the main part of the pack, there are some snacks and drinks if you’re hungry or thirsty. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.’

‘We do?’

‘Uh-huh. Then you might want to look in the envelope in the front pocket of the bag.’

‘OK.’ Chelsea undid the zip and pulled out an unmarked envelope.

At this point she wouldn’t know what a long drive and the envelope had in common, but she was about to find out.

‘Go on. Open it,’ Tom instructed.

Tom was careful to keep his tone neutral. He didn’t want to suggest that whatever was inside the envelope was particularly remarkable, but obviously it had to be something interesting, otherwise why go to this trouble?

Chelsea used her finger to undo the top of the envelope and then pulled out two tickets. Her eyes grew wide and she sucked in a sharp breath.

Then she screamed.