Page 146 of The Life-Changing Magic of Falling in Love

Blinking rapidly, I reach for the delicate cup of tea she offered me when I arrived this morning. I’m so tired what I could really do with is a gallon of Carlos’s super strength expresso blend. Unfortunately, I’m still shy about spending time at the bakery. Not because we aren’t talking, because we are. Sort of. In a carefully polite way I hate, although probably not as much as Carlos, and I guess the fact he stopped the ‘I Don’t Believe in You and George and Here’s Why You Shouldn’t Either’ talk, did give him points with me but there’s been damage done.

The dent to my confidence disappears whenever I’m talking to George but in all the other hours of the day and night it’s exhausting thinking Carlos will reintroduce his Worry Wagon and convince me to hitch myself to it.

I miss George.

Missing someone is a familiar feeling. It’s unsettling and makes having Carlos’s ‘You’re in too deep’ as an earworm even harder to drown out but I have to try.

If I could just stop my brain from feeling it’s become the Overthinking capital of my body. Especially today when I need to focus on the new service I’m trialling so I can work up a decent proposal to go over with Rhonda tomorrow. It’s such a big thing to have reached forward for something I wanted at work and got it. The deepest regret I could have right now is messing that up.

‘I’m fine,’ I tell Mrs. Lundy. ‘A little short on caffeine intake this morning.’ I hold up a plate in a different pattern to the ones before. ‘What do we think? Keep or donate?’

‘Not sure.’ Mrs. Lundy looks at the contents of her dining room cupboards currently stacked on her dining table, trying to find the set it belongs to.

‘How about I put it in the “keep” section for now and we can make a final decision if we find the full set?’

Mrs. Lundy is my guinea pig for a new curating and decluttering service I’m developing. I scan the area set aside for tchotchkes and fight back another industrial-sized yawn. The last thing I want is to make anyone feel their most treasured possessions are boring or irrelevant. ‘Once we have a handle on what you want to keep, I’ll work out how much storage you need and give you options for displaying everything so you can see it and use it.’

Cleaners often know the contents of clients’ homes better than the clients themselves so I’m hoping offering a way for people to re-engage with what they have will be a big hit. There’ll need to be some training on editing collections and displaying them beautifully and tonight I’m going to put all the details together for Rhonda.

I’m so glad I had the conversation with her about developing Sparkle’s services. I didn’t want to step on Jamal’s toes but was honest about feeling ready to formally take on more responsibility. I even explained about what had happened at my last job and she was great about it all.

Of course, I’ll have to break it to George that someone else from Sparkle will be cleaning his apartment now. It would be too weird for me to do it if we’re going to start seeing each other.

Is that what we’re doing?

I bend my head to concentrate on writing an inventory, protective of the grin I can feel spreading over my face. Even though I consider Mrs. Lundy a friend, after Carlos’s reaction I don’t want any more well-meant friendly warnings to spoil all the trouble I’m in.

The wonderful, heart-pounding, can’t-stop-grinning-to-myself trouble.

The kind of trouble that makes colours more intense. Food more delicious. Love songs more decipherable.

‘Will it really work in the long-term though?’ I muse.

‘I don’t know, dear. Some people aren’t ready to let go of their things, but I trust you to work it out.’

I realise Mrs. Lundy thinks I’m talking about the new service but that the same advice applies.

* * *

Later, I’m at home surrounded by notes I’ve made for my work proposal but instead of ironing out details, I’m scrolling through photos George has sent of his brother’s wedding. Pretty sure I’ve a happy-sappy smile on my face because of pictures of George looking super sexy.

I land on a photo of the bride and groom and their children, posing with the Wedding Family Tree I created for them. Yeah, my smile is getting sappier. Heartfelt joy is evident in all the photos and I know how much that will have meant to George.

My phone beeps to signal another message and I immediately open it. This time it’s a selfie of George and a little old lady with the text:

They sat me in the corner next to the ringer!

I study the photo noting the wedding posies dotted along the bar, until something else catches my eye. I tap the screen to zero in and wow, not one, not two, but three collection cups for heart health charities.

Have I only been seeing what I was expected to see? All the times George talked about it being hard to gain distance from being ill – are his smiles tinged with the strain of being back in the place that kept him in that box?

Without thinking about my hair-up-in-messy-bun-no-makeup appearance I FaceTime him and when he answers, say, ‘Didn’t you tell them no one puts baby in the corner?’

George chuckles and my heart performs a Happy Dance worthy of being on Dancing with the Stars. ‘She had me divulging my secrets within moments. But that’s more because she’s my grandmother and I’m her favourite.’

‘Of course you are,’ I say, nodding sagely. ‘Tell me more.’

‘About me being her favourite?’

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