Page 37 of The Life-Changing Magic of Falling in Love

‘Wicked.’ I quickly insert with a waggle of my eyebrows because there is no way I want her to use the word “dull” again. ‘See you again soon, Mrs. Lundy.’

‘Hildy,’ she says with a wave as she glides down the corridor.

* * *

The things we do for love…

Or, at least, for feeling wicked for a while, I think to myself as Anya stares at me across the table, waiting for an answer.

She’s only gone and popped the question – no, not that question, which weirdly I’d find easier to answer but I don’t have time to ponder that as I need to tell her how work is going.

Mentally I go through different answers, weighing up the consequences of each one.

It’s not right, is it?

I should be able to answer a direct question about how work is going.

In a bid to try and dodge the question, I start with, ‘You know when you called me and begged me-’

‘I never beg, George,’ she demurs.

‘Okay. When you called me and asked me in ten different ways to come uptown for a late-night bite to eat-’

‘My meeting ran over. I did explain and if you had work to do, you could have simply said that.’

She’s right.

I could have.

But all work and no play makes George…

I think about the weight of work sitting on my desk back at my apartment, now feeling heavier than I could ever bench-press and my heart thuds painfully against my rib cage. I try and concentrate on my girlfriend, sitting across from me. She’s put in more hours than me today and looks relaxed and alert all at the same time.

I decide that if dull equals an elevated heart rate as much as wicked does, then I choose wicked. It’s just that after working thirteen hours straight and shoving all the fresh food I bought haphazardly into the fridge so that I could rush back out again … only to answer questions about work … well, it doesn’t feel wicked so much as it feels like … work.

Hard work.

‘Anya, are we in a rut?’ I can’t believe the words have come out of my mouth and from the shocked look on Anya’s face, she wasn’t expecting the question, either.

‘What? No, of course not.’

She answers so quickly, so emphatically.

So why has my heart seemed to have stopped mid-beat? Like I’ve suddenly stumbled on a big idea, only this one has nothing to do with my work and everything to do with my relationship?

I try and soften this big notion that has come to me. ‘Do you realise when we’re not at work, we’re talking about work?’

‘And there’s suddenly something wrong with that? What? You want more, is that it?’ Her gaze is assessing me over the rim of the glass she’s paused at her lips.

The way her eyebrow is raised, I end up saying, ‘You sound like I’m asking for a threesome.’

She scoffs and says, ‘Are you saying you wouldn’t take up that offer if it was on the table?’

For the first time tonight I smile and say, ‘How would that help – everyone we know is from?—’

‘Work,’ she answers and a laugh tumbles out of her.

The sound is fabulous and unexpected and it occurs to me that I haven’t heard her laugh in a while. The sound is like being wrapped in velvet so that I feel the tension leaving my head and my heart starts beating faster again, this time for a very different reason. I reach for her hand across the table and stroke my thumb over the pulse point on her wrist. Feel the tiny little jump. ‘You want to get out of here?’

---