Page 62 of A Very Happy Easter

“Like frog legs?”

“No, like the whole thing. One time in an unnamed country, a colleague showed up with this pot of herbal stew—spicy aubergine, garlic, chunks of chewy meat, and crunchy bits. We had to guess what it was. Think that’s the only time I’ve put my fork back on the table.”

“You know what? I’ve lost my appetite.”

Jerilyn pulled up, and we climbed into the back seat. Even in the car, Heath didn’t loosen his arm. I leaned into him, thinking of my conversation with Kirsten earlier. Despite everything that had happened to me, I was still into men, but now I realised those feelings were directed towards one man in particular. And I had no freaking clue what to do about that.

Or if I should do anything.

Or if I even wanted to.

Why rock the boat when I’d found a shard of happiness?

And why rock the boat when it was capable of capsizing all by itself?

We’d been in the car for five minutes when Heath started getting twitchy. Checking the windows, the mirrors, his phone.

“What’s wrong?”

“Probably nothing. Jerilyn, can we take a left up here?”

“Uh, okay.”

“And then the next left after that.”

We took the left, then another left, then another, and as Jerilyn slowed to make a fourth turn, a moped with a big box on the back sped by us and took the next right. Heath snapped a picture as it passed.

“Why did we make those turns?” I asked. “Why are we driving around in a circle?”

“The bike stayed with us through a few corners, that’s all. Chances are it was only a lost courier.”

“You think he was following us?”

“Like I said, it was just a precaution. I have a picture of the licence plate, and I’ll get the office to take a look.”

“Maybe we should go home?”

“Relax, Edie. Why do you think I spotted him?”

“Because he was creepy with that black visor?”

“Because I’m watching your back. Although given the jobs I’ve been doing for the past decade, I’m probably a touch paranoid too.”

Better for Heath to be paranoid than let a psycho get close to us. And I had been looking forward to dinner. Dinner with a friend. Three courses, wine, and coffee—another little sliver of joy.

And over dessert, a message from Blackwood. Apparently, the bike we’d seen earlier was owned by A2Z Courier Services, based in Pimlico. Heath looked up the website while I finished my portion of tiramisu. And took a spoonful of his when he pushed the bowl towards me.

“Same day, next day, international. They’re aiming to become a sustainability leader in the final-mile delivery market, plus they offer temperature-controlled options for food and medical cargo. Anyway, you can rest easy tonight.”

“Medical cargo? Like medications?”

“Yeah, and if it’s temperature-controlled, possibly tissue samples too. I doubt they’d trust an actual organ to a guy getting lost on a moped.” Heath grimaced. “Their starting salary says it’s ‘competitive,’ which means it’s shit.”

“An organ?”

“For transplant.”

“Couriers drive those around?” I considered that for a moment. “I suppose somebody has to.”

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