Page 38 of A Very Happy Easter

I nearly choked on my own tongue. We’d go back and forth like this all the time on the days we didn’t see each other—at least when he wasn’t busy with work—and I’d grown to kind of like it. Before Heath, I’d dreaded the buzz of my phone because it usually meant either a crisis or somebody asking me to do something.

But now, he texted stuff to me from dawn till dusk. Shit-texting, he’d coined it. When I said that sounded like a way to pass the time on the toilet, he said that maybe that was true, but not to worry because he always washed his hands afterwards. I loved that he didn’t treat me like the delicate china doll the rest of the world saw. He never crossed any lines—he’d told me to tell him right away if he came close—but he didn’t hold back and tiptoe around me the way others did. Memes, jokes, cute pictures, snippets of his life—he sent it all. And I did the same back. He said if we got to know each other, it would make our public appearances more convincing.

Heath

And salsa is remarkably close to seolsa in Korean.

Me

Dare I ask?

Heath

Diarrhoea.

Me

So we’re going to a bar called Small Penis Diarrhoea?

Heath

Let’s hope there isn’t a queue for the bathroom, eh?

I got dressed in skinny jeans, ankle boots, a camisole, and a loose sparkly jumper that hung below my arse. That was my rule—if I wore tight trousers, I wore a baggy top and vice versa. If I could get away with it, I’d wear an abaya, but cultural appropriation didn’t feel right.

Salma had gone home, so I let Heath in myself while we waited for Jerilyn. They’d both noticed the change in me. Before Heath, Salma had been a lifeline I’d constantly clung to, and then I’d felt guilty for the clinging, which led to endless apologies as she assured me she didn’t mind staying a bit late nearly every night. But now the phone was my lifeline because I knew Heath was at the other end.

“Hey,” he said as he gave my arm the lightest touch and slipped inside. “You look nice.”

So did he. He’d worn indigo jeans with brown boots and a tight grey V-neck jumper that moulded to his pecs. Pecs I’d never realised he had. Where had he been hiding those muscles? I swallowed hard as he headed towards the stairs.

“Want a coffee?” he asked, and he just looked so at home in my house… My stomach lurched.

“I’m okay. How was work?”

“Busy. ’Tis the season to be cheating. Lot of adultery cases on at the moment.”

“Do you enjoy those?”

“Nope. But they pay the bills. I’m also looking for a missing dog, so there’s that.”

“All part of the glamorous life of a private investigator.”

We reached the kitchen, and Heath set about rooting through my collection of coffee pods.

“I can’t complain. This is the job I need at this point in my life. The other stuff weighed heavy, you know?”

“The special forces stuff?”

“Yeah. Figured it was time for a change, for a couple of years at least.”

“You might go back to it? Into the Army?”

“Not into the Army. The private sector.”

“Like a mercenary?” I didn’t like that. I didn’t like it at all. “What if you get hurt? What if you die?”

“Don’t worry about any of that.” He opened his arms, and I stepped into them. It was like being hugged by a warm, compact wall. “Don’t worry.”

---