Page 10 of Love, Just In

Zac and I step out of the car and stroll up his short path, and he shifts a surfboard out of my way before holding the front door open for me.

Inside, my eyes dart between off-white walls that stretch to a surprisingly lofty ceiling, a navy couch set with latte-coloured throw pillows, and a trio of cushioned barstools with iron legs facing a marbled kitchen island.

Holy sophistication.

‘I like what you’ve done with the place,’ I say jokingly because, of course, I’ve never set foot in here before.

Zac breathes a light chuckle as he kicks off his shoes beside a gym bag and heads into the open-plan kitchen, where he’s already set out a large bowl, a chopping board strewn with apple slices, a plate of bacon rashers, and a couple of other jugs and bowls.

I’m used to seeing Zac in charge behind a kitchen bench, but everything else requires processing. What happened tothe decaying shacks with bad paint jobs? I inch closer to the large abstract painting of cobalt blue slashes positioned above the couch, the raised brush-strokes confirming it’s an original artwork. I cringe internally at the thought of him being inside my studio apartment in Sydney with its IKEA wall art and op-shop furniture.

Zac gives his giant mixing bowl a stir. ‘Want something to drink?’

‘A water would be great, thanks.’ I drag out one of the barstools, nearly tripping over a distressed-leather dog bed.

‘I can’t believe you bought a dog,’ I add as he pours me a glass from the fridge dispenser.

‘I didn’t; I rescued her.’ He scoops up Trouble and runs his fingers through her matted fur. ‘As if you could have resisted this beast.’

I smile over my water as he sets her down on the dog bed. Even though Zac looks like the kind of guy who’d own a husky or a German Shepherd, he’s always had a soft spot for tiny dogs. My shoulders lighten a little at the discovery that there are still parts of him that feel familiar.

I rest my chin in my palm and watch him pour batter into a special pan filled with little round moulds. This, too, feels more like the Zac I know. He heats up the frypan and uses a spatula to smooth out a few scoops of what I think is grated potato.

I give the air a cartoon-style sniff. ‘What are you making? It smells amazing.’

‘It’s a Romanian dish called creier pane.’ He shoots me a glance over his shoulder. ‘Lamb’s brains.’

I don’t even try to hide my grimace. ‘Oh, Jesus.’

Rude, but I can still be brutally honest in front of him. Can’t I?

Zac laughs, tossing a kitchen towel over his shoulder. ‘I’m kidding. It’s aebleskiver. Danish pancakes.’

I let out a breath. ‘Thank god. I don’t want to eat someone’s thoughts.’

That earns me another chuckle. ‘I’m not sure how much deep thinking lambs do.’

He leans against the counter and crosses his arms at me, his white T-shirt printed with the words ‘Sold Out’ stretching across his broad chest.

‘It’s really good to see you, Josie.’ The words come out soft and sudden, and I have no idea what to do with myself at this juncture.

‘You too,’ I blurt out, my cheeks pinking. I hide this by slipping off the stool to fumble through my bag. ‘I actually brought something for you.’

I pull out the glossy cookbook and slide it towards him.

He spins the book to face him, gasping with amusement. ‘What the hell is that?’

I snort-laugh as he takes in the cover ofRecipes from Iceland—an image of a cooked animal skull resting beside a pile of mashed potato. ‘It’s pickled sheep’s head,’ I reply with a frown like I’m defending it. ‘I was kind of hoping you were going to make it for me today.’

It’s totally a gag gift—not that I want to offend Icelandic culture—but knowing Zac, he’ll cook every recipe in this book.

‘I got something for you, too.’ He crouches to flip open a lower cupboard while one of his hands stays braced against the counter.

‘What is it?’ I say. ‘One of those inflatable tube men from those car dealerships? A really, really tiny violin? No, wait—a monster-sized dildo with realistic vein detailing?’

Eeek, too far.

Zac reappears, and I’m kind of proud of the full-face flush I’ve induced. But I miss being silly and inappropriate with him.

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