‘Check.’
‘Store map?’
‘Check.’
‘Trolley?’
‘Do we really need a trolley? I thought you said you only needed a couple of bits …’
‘Let me stop you right there,’ I interject. ‘It is a truth universally known that you cannot go to IKEA and only buy “a couple of bits”. Even the most focus-minded people get side-tracked by all the stuff. You just wait.’
‘All right, but you’re pushing,’ he grins.
‘Ooh, what a gentleman,’ I joke.
Now I’m making it my mission to plonk my bum down in every single room set-up we walk past, pretending that I live in each perfectly styled Scandinavian haven. Zach’s joined in and we’re making up role play scenarios in every one. Currently I’m Devil Boss, perched on the swivel chair in a home office set-up. I swing round to face Zach and bark: ‘What makes you think you’re qualified for this job?’
His eyebrows raise in amusement as he plays along. ‘Could you remind me of the job specifications, please?’
‘Dating me,’ I say, pulling my most stern face. ‘It’s a full-time commitment. I’m very high maintenance. I expect calls at least once every ten minutes during the day, a good morning message the minute you’ve woken up and to be lavished with adoration at every opportunity.’
Zach mimes making notes as I march on with my pretend checklist.
‘Absolutely,’ he squares his shoulders. ‘I’m fully on board. I will always agree with everything you say and will never argue, even if you do decide to become high maintenance.’
He holds up the store map. On the back he’s scribbled: ‘You’re cute and I like you.’
I laugh. ‘That is very inappropriate for a job interview.’
He scribbles a new note and holds it up. ‘You deserve to be happy.’
‘So soppy,’ I scoff, rolling my eyes even though my heart is pounding. My date is charming and it’s a joy to feel like we’ve fallen back into the swing of things together. Spinning back to my imaginary computer, I start pretend typing and say, ‘I’d ask you to send me your CV but we all know whatthatlooks like.’
‘What’s wrong with being a successful artist?’
‘I meant your love CV.’
‘Low blow. How about you stop ribbing me and buy me something pretty instead?’
‘Uh uh, no way,’ I say, swerving the trolley out of Zach’s reach.
‘What do you mean?’ He asks, mock-crestfallen eyes looking at me. Those eyes.
‘There is no way you’re putting anything in my trolley.’
‘Oh it’syourtrolley now, is it?’
‘It’s always been my trolley. Ever since you scoffed at the idea of needing one, remember? Or have you conveniently forgotten now you too have discovered a load of stuff you don’t need and yet have to buy?’
He looks down at the ceramic soap dish in his hand.
‘It’s possible that I was wrong,’ he grins.
‘Mmm hmm. So what are you going to do now?’
‘Use yours! It isn’t even yours, Alice. It’s IKEA’s.’
‘I foresaw the need for it, like a bargain basement fortune teller.’
