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“So we had this new nurse start in our department last week, and he’s gorgeous!” she tells us while we brace ourselves for what this could mean. “And I think he wanted to ask me out. We were flirting, and then all of a sudden, bam! Dr Douche has taken him away from me, just had him transferred to another department. I didn’t even know he had the power to do that to nurses.”
Sami and I look at each other, smiling behind our hands, and Amy, upon seeing this, launches a handful of French fries at our heads.
“It’s not funny, guys. It’s infuriating. There is not a single part of my life that this man hasn’t tried to infiltrate. First my job and now my love life.”
“You seem to be getting very worked up about this,” I tell her in a soothing tone, fearing another fry to the head.
“And it’s not like he has moved this nurse man to the moon,” Sammi adds, ever the practical one. “You can still find him and ask him out.”
“As per usual, you guys appear to be missing the point. It’s the principle of the matter. You would be furious too if you had someone like this in your life meddling and messing with things.”
I remember back to how good looking this guy is and do not 100 percent agree with this assessment. But I also do not want to upset Amy any further, so as always, I am on her side.
“Absolutely, Ames. The guy is a jerk. Let’s just hope he will move to another hospital soon and you will be rid of him. They do that on Grey’s Anatomy a lot, you know? Move hospitals,” I finish, filled with knowledge on the matter.
Sammi nods at this. “Yup, Derek moved all the way to Boston in season eleven. Maybe your McHottie will do that too?”
“You two and your Grey’s Anatomy,” Amy laughs at us, seeming to snap out of her dark mood. “You know that it doesn’t work like that in real life? But maybe you are right. He may move to another department soon, and then he will finally be out of my hair.”
We both nod in solidarity as I think to myself that perhaps she is protesting too much and that maybe she has a crush. But I also keep this to myself. If Amy isn’t ready to face her true feelings, who am I to rush her?
After this soul-refreshing girls’ lunch, and in the lead-up to the Sunday market stall, I also have the pleasure of texting back and forth with Oliver. Although he often speaks about how busy work is for him at the moment, he still has found the time to bounce about a few marketing and brand strategies for Love, Lilly with me, including a gorgeous logo that he somehow found the time to design.
For my part, I have been sending him annoying links to cat videos and clips of goats screaming. So, you know, we are both dedicated and working hard to make my dreams a reality. And as the weekend approaches, I am filled with anticipation for what could just be the start of my big career break.
CHAPTER 9
Lilly
Saturday morning arrives, and I am puffed up with confidence and three arm loads of ingredients. With the help of my pal Johnny, who seems pretty excited about my upcoming market stall, promising to come down and visit if he can, I load Frankie with all the products a person could need to create every sugary treat imaginable. I tuck my trusty laptop into my bag, and I hop into the driver’s seat. I wanted to print and laminate all my recipes before today, but the bean counters at O’Brien/O’Ryan take note of every page printed at the office, and I don’t want to risk getting fired so close to being able to quit.
As I drive to the Harlow house, I make a mental plan on how I am going to tackle the day ahead. I am planning on baking two dozen double chocolate chip cookies with M&M’S, two dozen chocolate mint cookies, a dozen blueberry mini muffins, two banana-and-walnut loaves, and two trays of my double chocolate fudge brownies. Everything has to go just right for me today to get this all done on time.
As I pull up to the driveway, I see Oliver out front, getting ready to leave for his run. Damn, that boy likes to be active.
He jogs up to my car when he catches sight of me. “Hey, Lilly, need a hand bringing in stuff from your car?”
I tear my eyes away from his tight running top, hugging his shoulders nice and snug, and smile. “Thanks, Ol. That’d be a great help.”
It takes two trips to get all the groceries into the kitchen as Oliver laughs, “Did you leave any sugar on the shelves at the store, Lilly?”
I glance around at what is six kilos of sugar in various varieties and reflect that maybe it does look excessive, but I had all my calculations made and I am certain this is the right amount.
“OK, I’m going to go for my run now,” Oliver says once I have unpacked the last of the bags onto the counter. Before he leaves, he hesitates as he looks around at what already looks like chaos. Organised chaos is how I see it. “Unless you need me to stay and help? Amy is out all day, but I can lend a hand if you need?”
“I will be fine.” I give him a little push towards the door. “Don’t you worry about a thing.”
Oliver looks at me, his eyes filled with doubt, my track record of past disasters working against me, and says, “The fire extinguisher is in the hallway, just in case.” And with that, he runs out the front door.
“Smart arse,” I mutter to myself as I check to see that there is in fact a fire extinguisher sitting in plain view. “Humph, I will show him.”
I get to work measuring out ingredients and melting butter. I have one stand mixer stirring the cookie dough and another creaming together some butter and sugar. I am a well-oiled baking machine. As I get into a groove, things start to come together, and before I know it, I have two batches of cookies in the oven.
“Off to a great start, Lilly,” I congratulate myself. And then right on cue, things take a turn for the worse. All of a sudden, I have too many things going on at once. There are three pans of various chocolate types melting on the stove, a stand mixer whirring out of control on the counter, and two timers going off at the same time. What are these timers even for? And then, the smoke alarm goes off.
“Lilly?” Oliver yells, running into the room with the fire extinguisher ready to go. “What is happening?”
I turn to see my roasted hazelnuts burning to a crisp on the stove, sending up plumes of smoke, and groan. As Oliver goes to open the windows to let out the smoke, and let some fresh air in, I wave a tea towel under the smoke alarm in a feeble attempt to silence it.
