Page 64 of Someone Like You

He tugs on his left earlobe. ‘I was in the office that morning, Poppy. I heard the entire conversation.’

‘Of course you did.’

I look down at the tabletop. ‘George, I feel sick,’ I admit. ‘Either I did my best with the information I had, or I screwed up. And I’m worried it’s the latter.’

We say matchmaking isn’t an exact science and as we’re working with people and heightened emotions and high-stakes situations, there are a multitude of factors that can go wrong in a case.Andwe’re human and just as fallible as everyone else.

But all that said, we’re experienced and professional, and we’re expected to stay on top of the ins and outs of our cases. Like nimbly handling the romantic feelings of someone who is heavily involved.

‘You couldn’t have known for sure how this would pan out,’ he says reassuringly. ‘Or that the timing would be so…ironic.’

I meet his eye. ‘I spent a decade as a psychologist, George. A decade of analysing the inner machinations of people’s minds and helping them acknowledge their truths. Ishouldhave known better. I’m slipping.’

‘You’re not slip— Poppy, you’re not a psychologist any more. You haven’t been for years, and yes, those skills come in handy sometimes, but they’re not the only thing that make you a good matchmaker. If they were, then what does that make me? I’m not a former psychologist – I’m an art school dropout – but I like to think I’m damned good at my job.’

This may be the first time George has spoken so frankly to me and I couldn’t appreciate it – or him – more.

‘Thank you,’ I say, reaching the short distance between us to give his hand a squeeze. ‘Normally it’s Nas who doles out the truth bombs, but you’re right. I can’t be expected to know everythingthat’s going on inside everyone’s head at any given moment. That’s too much pressure for anyone to bear.’

‘Precisely.’

‘And youaredamned good at your job.’

‘I know.’

We share a smile.

‘But I still feel like I’ve made a misstep here, even if it’s forgivable,’ I say, my smile falling away. ‘And now I have a woman who might be in love with her best friend and there’s every chance he’s been successfully matched with someone else. Oh, and my colleague – the one who got me into this mess in the first place – is going to besoupset when I tell her.’

‘Freya will understand.’

There’s silence for a second, then we start chuckling at the same time.

‘Well, shemight,’ he says.

‘Hmm.’

‘But if she doesn’t, she needs to consider that she’s culpable too. She should have trusted your judgement when you first brought it up.’

‘I know. Ugh. Tell me why I agreed to take this case in the first place.’

‘Because you’re a good egg, Poppy.’

‘A good egg bearing bad news.’

‘Was that you trying to be funny?’ he asks.

‘Trying and not succeeding, apparently. Come on, we should get back.’

‘In here, darling,’ Tristan calls out from the bedroom as I close the front door.

‘Be right there,’ I call back. I’m not sure I’m up for a sexy interlude right now, but maybe he’s in there waiting to administer a huge hug.

I drop my handbag on the hallstand, then shrug out of my coat and hang it up and toe off my shoes. The flat smells delicious – Tristan’s famous pasta sauce is simmering on the stove – and on the stereo, Michael Bublé is enticing it to snow.

God, is Christmas really only a couple of weeks away? This time last year, Tristan and I were packing for a quick trip to Tassie so he could meet Mum and Dad and have his first hot Christmas.

This reminds me that I won’t get to see Mum and Dad till Easter when they’re coming here for a holiday. Tris and I haven’t told Saffron that they’ll be taking her room and she’ll have to slum it in ours – a distracting thought that makes me smile before I get too melancholic about missing my parents.

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