Page 110 of The Revenge Game

My pulse quickens. Will they interpret Drew and me having lunch together in a way that makes them suspect the truth?

But Drew’s just standing there with that half-smile of his, and suddenly, keeping up appearances seems less important than spending my lunch hour with him.

“Sure,” I say.

We go to the café just around the corner from DTL Enterprises, which looks like British nostalgia had a head-on collision with a 1950s American diner, then decided to cover up the damage with a layer of grease.

“I can’t believe you’re voluntarily eating beans for lunch,” Drew says as he eyes my plate suspiciously.

“Hey, don’t think I haven’t noticed you going native with the black pudding.” I nod at his full English breakfast.

He grins. “It’s growing on me. Like mold on slightly expired bread.”

“British food was what we first talked about, remember? That night in the pub?”

Back when Drew was simply a cute IT guy who had helped me when my presentation went feral.

A complicated emotion comes across Drew’s face.

“I remember,” he says quietly.

We stare at each other for a few heartbeats. I never know what triggers these moments with Drew when he seems so conflicted and his smile takes on that edge of uncertainty.

“But that wasn’t the first time we talked. You saved me from committing the cardinal sin of using Marleen’s mug,” Drew continues finally.

“Oh, that’s right. I prevented you from committing social suicide by ceramic.”

It’s so easy to forget that things between Drew and I are supposed to be casual. Easy to forget about everything except how much I love being with someone who makes even eating beans on toast feel like fun.

“So anyway,” Drew says, breaking our eye contact to fiddle with his phone. “I was looking up some stuff about prosopagnosia last night and found this app that’s in beta testing. I thought you might find it useful for the customer Christmas function.”

He slides his phone across the table, and I nearly drop my fork as I scan through the features.

The app is called Recall+, and it uses your phone or smartwatch camera to discreetly identify people you’ve tagged previously, sending subtle vibration patterns to a smartwatch to alert you about who’s approaching.

“Holy shit,” I breathe, scrolling through the setup screens. “This is… This could actually work. Like, really work.”

“The reviews say it’s pretty accurate,” Drew says. “You can trial it for free for the next month.”

I look up at him, my throat suddenly tight with an emotion I’m not ready to name.

I can’t believe he found this for me.

His whole reaction to my face blindness has been amazing. He’s the one who actually worked out what was going on with my brain, and now he’s trying to find ways to make my life easier without making me feel broken.

Is this what it feels like to have a proper partner? A partner who doesn’t just accept your imperfections but actively works to help you navigate through life more easily.

“Thank you,” I say, and I’m not just thanking him for showing me the app.

He ducks his head, a blush creeping up his neck. “I just happened to stumble across it. It’s not a big deal.”

But despite his words, it feels like a big deal to me.

It’s a sign that Drew cares about me. Really cares. It has to be.

Armed with the Recall+ app, the Christmas client function goes better than any social event I’ve attended.

My watch buzzes discreetly against my wrist as Janet from United Sports approaches, and I greet her by name before she even opens her mouth. Two quick buzzes signal Rebecca from Active Life. When the CFO of United Manufacturing joins our group, the gentle vibration pattern lets me know who he is, which turns a potentially awkward encounter into a twenty-minute discussion about green initiatives that I know he’s interested in.