Page 10 of The Life-Changing Magic of Falling in Love

‘By the time I’d left there, you’d never know I’d been,’ I complain to Carlos when there’s a lull in customers. ‘And that’s not a good thing, by the way,’ I add as an explanation.

A day later, sitting at one of the seven tables in the bijou bakery downstairs from my even more bijou apartment, I don’t know why I’m still so vexed about Apartment 33C. Other cleaners would be stoked when faced with what essentially translates as a mini-break in the middle of their day.

‘Poor Ashleigh.’ Carlos pouts for me from behind the bakery counter. ‘No one to save for an entire day. It’s a wonder you’re still standing.’

My jaw drops open. That wasn’t where I was going with my musings at all. I was comfortable coming around to the idea that I was fixated on George Northcote’s apartment and its lack of mess as a way of not having to think about my cousin Tina’s wedding, my mother’s forecast that I wouldn’t have a plus one a year plus from now and the fact that last night’s date showed no promise of contradicting her.

‘But enough about work,’ Carlos states. ‘Last night, details, please.’

Here’s where I need to mention Carlos’s current side hustle is best described as Project Manager for Finding Ashleigh Love.

It was supposed to be called Project: Finding Ashleigh Someone To Hang Out With On The Weekend, but I guess that’s not as catchy?

‘Last night? Hmm,’ I pause for effect. ‘How to describe last night … okay, yes, it’s coming to me now…’ I beam. ‘Last night was … incredible.’

Carlos punches the air. ‘I knew it. I am so good at this – Oz?’ he calls out behind him, ‘Ozzie-Baby, I’m taking my break, Our Ashleigh’s finally ready to grace us with a sitrep.’

Confession: every time Carlos or Oz refer to me as ‘Our Ashleigh’ my palms get all sweaty and that trap door into my heart rattles. I find myself wanting to tell them about the typo in Best Home magazine, but if I didn’t want to tell my mother, I hesitate in telling them. I’m not sure they’d get it – we’re new friends and haven’t yet developed the sort of shorthand that comes from knowing each other years.

Luckily, I don’t have time to ruminate because Carlos is whipping off his apron and dashing out from behind the shiny cabinets of seductive breads and pastries like he’s in a parkour event being live streamed.

I’m habitually clumsy unless I have a duster or a vacuum cleaner in my hands so I’m always impressed every time Carlos, who looks like he was born on a surf-board, leaps lithely over boxes or around customers to clear tables in the bakery he co-owns with his other half Oz ‘Ozzie-Baby’ Crannick.

In order to serve the new line of people forming, Oz is forced to come out of the kitchen where his hands knead dough into all forms of delicious addictiveness. While he mutters under his breath at the inconvenience, Carlos slides onto the chair across from mine, plants his elbows on the circular marble table top and leans in, his dancing bourbon-brown eyes imploring.

His eagerness to hear the run-down of last night’s date only encourages me and I make my own average brown eyes wide and super-impressed. ‘I felt something I haven’t felt in ages.’

Carlos sighs with happiness and then leans precariously back in his chair. ‘You hear that, Ozzie-Baby? She felt something she hasn’t felt in ages.’

‘I heard,’ Oz grunts. ‘The whole place heard.’

I hide a grin with a sip of my coffee because no matter how many times Carlos forces Oz into Shop-Front Land, Oz never progresses beyond looking caustically disdainful at having to actually interact with customers.

The customers seem to love it though. Seriously, it’s like getting to watch a visual representation of puppies clamouring happily over a dog-hating hooman!

Sparing me a quick wink to soften his grunt, Oz begins dumping a selection of the mouth-watering beignets that I started smelling at 5am into a cardboard box with the bakery’s name Oscars emblazoned across the front in black swirly letters.

Combining their names Oswald and Carlos for business screams ‘committed relationship’ and to stop myself comparing that to the casual company of friends, I allow myself the distraction of looking at Oz, and the fact that only someone of his size and stature could rock a hairnet.

Believe me, Carlos knows this as well, which is why, I suspect, he cultivates every opportunity to get him out of the kitchen and onto the frontline.

Carlos turns back to me, as does the entire line of people waiting at the counter, expressions all eager anticipation. ‘So, dish the debauchery,’ he demands. ‘What exactly did you feel … and how many times did you feel it?’

‘Boredom.’ I drop the word and all it represents for a date before casually bringing my coffee mug to my lips to take another sip.

‘Boredom?’ Carlos looks instantly suspicious.

‘Yep. That’s what I felt last night. Incredible, unrelenting boredom.’

Carlos’s mouth drops open and I take that as my cue to continue. ‘I have to tell you I’m not sure I’d considered it was even possible to be that bored in someone’s company.’ I put my mug down and then raise my hands to the sides of my temples so that I can mime mind-blown.

Someone in the line laughs but I don’t know whether it’s at my amazing wit, my obvious misfortune when it comes to dating or Carlos’s heartfelt ‘Noooo’ of disappointment.

In fact, Carlos looks so disappointed on my behalf that I start to feel ungrateful. From the moment the pair discovered I lived alone above their new business they sort of adopted me and while I tried everything I could to run away from their friendship, somehow, possibly through the power of baked goods, they inveigled their way into my cautious heart.

To be honest I wouldn’t have survived being in New York without them.

Not after what happened last year.

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