Page 72 of The Life-Changing Magic of Falling in Love

My gaze snags once again on the Irritator, reminding me I’m irritated with myself. I’ve been rushing around all week and, as yet, haven’t had time to properly check if Carlos has told Oz about the problems with the bakery. Talking about the business while standing in line in the premises isn’t ideal so other than my whispered, ‘How did it go? Have you told him?’ and his rushed, ‘It’ll be fine’ I don’t know any more and all efforts to catch a glimpse of Oz in the kitchen have been thwarted.

Has Carlos told him?

Is everything going to be okay?

Tomorrow I’m determined to get the lowdown if I have to hold over his head not telling him about how it goes with Zach tonight until he does.

Tonight, with Zach. The nerves jangle in my belly.

To distract myself I head into Julia’s bathroom to doublecheck every surface sparkles. Extra supply of freshly laundered fluffy white towels on the heat-rack – check. Mirror streak free – check – whoa… I take in my reflection, hoping the shadows under my eyes are from the bathroom light, rather than proof of sleepless nights.

I guess Rhonda rattled me with the “being a good friend” comment followed by the “you can’t be a cleaner all your life,” comment, and what with worrying about Carlos and Oz as well, for more nights than I’d like to admit, I’ve been having trouble sleeping again.

I lean further forward to inspect under my eyes. I’m going to need concealer for my date with Zach.

After reading Carlos the riot act about talking to Oz, did I take my own medicine and tell Zach about Sarah or about the invite to her sister’s wedding?

I did not.

Instead of having a conversation about this thing that I can feel growing bigger between us, I decided to check out how big his thing was first – that’s right – I prioritised sex. Decided talking about Sarah and being with Zach are in no way connected, but that talking about Sarah will get me upset and I was allowed to have some fun first. At least, I hope it’s going to be fun?

I’ll tell him after.

Well, not right after, obviously.

That would be weird.

But soon after.

I’ll find a way to bring it up in conversation.

Why am I so nervous?

Maybe it’s that I prefer sex to feel less scheduled? I know I said I was good with making plans, but I don’t think I’ve ever once had to plan when to have sex.

At least his housemates are going to be out. There’s nothing worse than waking up in someone’s bed, finding your way to the kitchen, bumping into a stranger and making awkward small talk while trying not to draw their attention to the fact your underwear is half-hanging off the couch.

This way I’ll know my way around the place before I emerge from a bed in the morning.

At least I hope it will be the morning.

What if we don’t … work?

Why is this so difficult?

I sigh into the mirror.

At least “why” is different to “what if”.

I square back my shoulders.

It’s going to be okay.

And if it isn’t okay, I’ll figure it out.

Because I’m okay.

All I need to do is keep busy and not freak myself out, which is why I’m so grateful I have an extra shift volunteer reading at the hospital this afternoon. I’ll be able to get that done and head back to my apartment with just enough time to shower and find something to wear before heading over to Zach’s.

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