Page 45 of The Life-Changing Magic of Falling in Love

‘Right. Message received and understood. I’ll be getting out of your hairnet now. Enjoy your alone time. If you need anything…’

‘Bye, Ashleigh.’

* * *

Thirty minutes later, I’m sitting crossed-legged on my floor, wet hair wrapped in a turban, sweats on, contentedly re-folding the contents of my underwear drawer, when there’s a knock at my door.

My first reaction is confusion because it’s been quite the while since anyone knocked on my door. When the sound comes again, sharper this time, I get up and stare through the spy hole.

All I can see is white cotton and it takes another knock on the door followed by, ‘Ashleigh, are you in there or have you gone out again?’ for me to turn the locks and yank open the door to stare up at Oz.

‘I have not gone out again,’ I reply.

‘So, have you changed your mind about needing company?’

‘You want to come in?’ That’s so sweet and yet the very idea fills me with horror. I don’t need Oz seeing how much time I take to fold my underwear on a Saturday night.

‘And break some of your hobbit furniture just by sitting down?’ he asks with a shudder. ‘God, no. Grab your keys and come down to the kitchen.’

I emit a peal of excitement that is quite embarrassing. ‘Can I re-arrange your stock?’

‘My kitchen does not need re-organisation.’

‘Please?’

Oz sighs. ‘If you manage not to make me regret breaking my one night on my own in months to help keep you company, I may let you align all the labels on the racks of ingredients.’

‘For real?’

‘Well, no actually. Not if you’re going to salivate all over the place, like that.’

I grin, grab my keys and follow him downstairs, outside and into Oscars.

Inside the bakery, something smells amazing. ‘What are you making?’

‘Bourbon and black cherry brownies. First batch is in the oven. Going to start on the second, now.’

‘You are a baking God.’

Oz smiles for the first time and I walk over to the gleaming racks of industrial-sized ingredients and start twisting jars so that labels line up. It’s super-satisfying.

Behind me, Oz’s large hands are occupied stirring cherries in a pan of bourbon over a low heat. The aroma, combined with the hot, sweet smell of baking chocolate is more soothing than any amount of folding laundry.

After what I consider an appropriate length of companionable silence, I say, ‘Hey, Oz?’

‘If you want a glass of bourbon, help yourself.’

Totally wasn’t what I was going to ask but I wander out of the kitchen and return with a glass. Oz raises his eyebrow at the size of it but I smile and say, ‘We’ll share,’ as I pour a double and offer the glass to him first.

After a brief hesitation, he shrugs his gigantic shoulders and takes a sip.

I take my own sip and as the heat of the alcohol warms me, I gather my courage and try again. ‘Hey, Ozzie?’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘What were you and Carlos arguing about the other day?’

‘Other day?’

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