“No one,” she echoed, and came into the kitchen. There was a cat in her arms—Dumpling, he thought its name was—and as she moved, it opened its glowing eyes and leapt gracefully to the floor. Unburdened, Abbie came to join him at the table. Now he could see her face, and he’d been right to think she was annoyed. In fact, her eyes—tired behind her glasses, but dark and dangerous as still-hot coals—said she was angry. “Does no one always make you sound so upset?” she demanded, like if the answer was yes, she’d bash no one over the head.

“Upset?” Will frowned, his thoughts sluggish in his brain. He realised after a second that Abbie had overheard his depressed mumblings and assumed they were Kara’s fault, when actually, he’d been focused on Abbie herself.

Not that he was going to admit it. He’d had enough of freaking her out with feelings she hadn’t asked for. So he spilled another of his secrets, daring her to tell him what Kara already had: that he was being a fool. “It was my agent,” he said. “She’s pissed because I quit my job.”

Abbie blinked, looking as shocked as he’d ever seen her. “You what?”

“Yeah, I quit.”

He was waiting for some sort of judgement when Abbie took the wind out of his sails by asking with genuine concern, “Is everything okay? Are you okay?”

He kind of deflated. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “It’s weird. But it was … time, I think.”

She leaned closer. “What does that mean, time?”

Will shrugged. “I was done with it.” Done with his latest project, yes. And done with always being on show, done with performing even when he wasn’t on set. Done with being apart from the people he loved, done with the strange schedules and the surreal lifestyle. He was grateful for every opportunity he’d had, and he knew full well that he’d achieved his success because he looked a certain way, fit a certain mould, and had been extremely fucking lucky—but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be tired of it.

He’d hoped, one day, to tell Abbie how much he’d missed her while he was in America, and how he’d known she wouldn’t enjoy his career any more than he did, and how he’d quit partly with her in mind. He’d thought it might seem a little romantic. Will was beginning to suspect he was a romantic, which was inconvenient, since the woman he wanted to be romantic for didn’t seem to like it.

“Wow,” Abbie said after a moment. There was a short silence, a silence in which she studied his face, then his glass of gin, then the bottle on the counter. “Wow,” she said again, softly. “Okay. Well. I’m happy for you, and a little sad, too, I suppose.”