Page 99 of Love, Just In

My gaze darts to Tara, whose expression pinches a touch when she glances up at Zac.

Zachary—no. You can’t ask a woman to jiggle her butt in front of your girlfriend, even if it’s me.

‘Let’s not scare the sloths,’ I say with a scoff. ‘Or trigger any sudden bowel movements.’

My arm links through Tara’s. ‘Come on, babe; we’ve seen my slothies. Let’s go find you some elephants.’ Her lips split into a grin as I tug her forward.

When I glance back at Zac, I find him smiling at Tara’s back. But then his soft gaze cuts to mine, and I quickly turn away.

CHAPTER 36

Today

I wake at the buttcrack of dawn to Trouble scratching at the front door to be let out. Before I’ve even lifted my head, the thought tsunami crashes into me.

‘You’re clearly not ready, so I’m pulling you off presenting duties.’

‘It would be silly of me not to recommend an ultrasound.’

‘I don’t think that guy can take any more heartache.’

Too wired to fall back asleep, I throw on a coat and take Trouble for a stroll around the block before defrosting on the couch with a mug of coffee.

I’ve got a dentist appointment this morning, but when Zac and I were texting last night, he said he’d be home before breakfast. My heart bunches up in anticipation of seeing him, my head still on a merry-go-round over what to do about The Zac Situation. Calling the whole thing off feels over the top—and is the oppositeof what I want—but we do need to talk about where this is going. Whatever happens, I have to make sure that I don’t flip his settled life up here upside down.

Dark-roasted coffee rolls over my tongue as I pick up my phone, finding a message from Lola.

LOLA:Oh my god, I’m at the airport and just saw the article!

I’m so, so sorry. I hope you’re OK. I can’t believe I’m going away today! What shit timing.

I’ll text you from Hawaii, OK? I promise it’ll blow over.

What’ll blow over? What article? My gut tightens as I open my social media feed to see if there are any more messages or clues there, finding myself tagged in a video by a gossipy news account.OK, that’s weird. I play the video, nearly spitting out my coffee.

It’s a clip of me gazing at the camera like a deer in headlights, the accompanying headline reading: ‘“Josie, We Are Live!”: Excruciating On-Air Gaffe Goes Viral’.

‘Oh my god, it’s got eight thousand bloody views!’ I cry to the empty air. Any hope that Oliver Novak might have missed my blunder disintegrates as I scroll through the comments, braving a read of the first four before hurriedly swiping out of the story.

My fingers sink into my hair as I stare open-mouthed into space.I’m viral. I’m viral for all the wrong reasons. I’m a laughing-stock!

I need to peel my mind off the look that will be on Natasha Harrington’s face when she sees this by busying my mind and hands, so I scurry into the kitchen and fling open the fridge, scanning the contents. For months, I’ve wanted to repay Zac for the countless meals he’s made for me, and breakfast feels like a safer bet than dinner. I google ‘easy international breakfast dishes’ until I hit one that matches our pantry ingredients.

My fingers shake as I move about the kitchen, frenetically frying chopped onion, garlic and capsicum before tossing in a diced tomato. I crack eggs over the top, and they’re simmering away when my self-control plummets and I check the gaffe video. It’s reached nine thousand views, and I clench away the urge to toss the phone at the wall.

My culinary effort goes surprisingly well under the circumstances, and when Zac steps through the door, two bowls of pretty-damn-edible-looking shakshouka are staring up at me.

‘Perfect timing,’ I say to him, working hard to sound light.

‘What’s going on?’ He heads into the kitchen with a curious smile, but instead of inspecting the bowls, he comes straight to me. He cups the back of my neck and pulls my lips to his, an urge to deepen the kiss firing a heated dart through me. But I shuffle back a step, knowing that if I take a piece of him now, I’ll want more, and there’s too much I want to say first.

A trace of alarm flickers in his eyes before he peers closer at the steaming bowls. ‘What are you making? Is this shakshouka?’

I manage a small smile, impressed. ‘Bullseye. I decided it was time to cook for you for a change. I make no guarantees about the taste.’

His eyes lift back to mine, and a rush of longing fills my chest. I’m back in dangerous I-wanna-kiss-him-so-bad territory, so I hand him a fork and pull out a bar stool. ‘Eat.’

Zac settles beside me, biting into the eggs. ‘Holy shit, this is good. Better burn my chef’s apron.’

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