It’s obvious that Victoria hasn’t told Faith about my Will problem because Faith would have been bombarding me with questions by now. I’m grateful. I can do without her going all FBI on his ass and googling him so hard she ends up on his nursery-school teacher’s Facebook page.
I throw my phone on the couch and head for the shower, feeling better after my little Charlotte fix but desperately needing to wash the day away and sort my head out. It’s one thing to intellectually understand that I need to refrain from getting involved with unavailable men but physically, my body doesn’t understand this reasoning at all. I bet he’s in his cabin wishing he hadn’t touched my leg while I’m here wishing that this shower head was removable.
It takes me an hour to shower, dry my hair and order dinner, after which I pace around the kitchen waiting for my tomato and chilli pasta to arrive at my door. I’m wearing my new pyjamas, albeit hidden under my robe, but I have to admit, I feel feminine as hell. It seems my arse looks incredible in pink satin.
When the knock finally comes, I sprint to the door like Usain Bolt.
‘Thanks very mu— Brad? What are you doing here?’ I pull my dressing down around me tightly.
He holds up the bag. ‘Dinner. Thought I’d help out and drop it off. The guys are busy tonight.’
‘Oh, right,’ I reply, ‘Well, thanks, I—’
‘I also thought I’d check in and see how you were feeling. You know, after this morning.’
‘I’m fine!’ I reply, preparing to tackle him for my food bag. ‘Right as rain! Just going to eat and—’
‘I ordered the pasta too. Thought we could eat together?’
He brought his dinner too? Confused, I step aside, and he struts in, places the bag on the kitchen worktop and goes straight for the plates.
‘I picked up some red as well,’ he informs me, busying himself with dinner prep, while I stand there wondering whether to go with this or call the police.
‘Brad, are you allowed to be here?’ I ask, watching him set the table. ‘Isn’t this breaking some rule?’
He pauses and looks a little alarmed, clutching his chest. ‘Oh no. You’re right. I’m pretty sure this is against the rules… maybe even the law. Oh, look, here is the constable to take me away.’
I laugh, feeling entirely foolish. ‘I just meant, is this normal bootcamp protocol? Dinner with the middle-aged crybabies?’
‘You’re hardly middle-aged, Nora. And yes, it’s allowed. We’re a full-service team here. Anna is currently dining with another guest who has been having an emotional breakthrough. We find the intimate setting far less intimidating than the class environment.’
He stops taking the lid off the pasta and turns to me. ‘If this makes you uncomfortable, I’m happy to leave. My husband always says I can be a little overbearing when I see someone I can help. I don’t mean to be.’
Wow. I really have no gaydar whatsoever. I feel stupid. My talent for lusting after unsuitable men has just reached a new level. Who’s next? The Pope?
I can’t help but laugh. ‘No, stay,’ I reply. ‘I could use the distraction. Red wine would be lovely. I should probably throw some clothes on, though.’
‘Nah,’ he replies. ‘If I was at home, I’d be in my robe too. Just relax!’
After this afternoon, this is not how I saw my evening panning out, but Brad is good company once he strays from the universe repartee. Turns out red wine can transform anyone into a gossipmonger and also a stoner.
‘I cannot believe you smoke weed,’ I say, as he lights his joint. ‘You come across as so clean-cut!’
‘Nora, I do yoga, I’m not a priest. Besides, it’s legal where I live. You Brits are so uptight. I would smoke outside, but the smell… well, I don’t want to get arrested. Where was I? Oh yeah, we actually sent Sally, the personal assistant, down to their cabin to remind them that due to numbers, their participation was actually required in sessions. She said the entire place smelled like sex and ass.’ He flicks his joint into a makeshift ashtray.
‘I wondered why I hadn’t seen Patricia or Kenneth since their little breakthrough!’ I cackle loudly. ‘It’s sort of sweet though and kudos to you lot. You brought them back together!’
He takes a swig of wine. ‘True. Though the universe obviously had plans for them anyway. We only facilitated the reconnection.’
‘So, you wouldn’t call it a coincidence that they were both here?’ I ask. ‘Or that maybe one of them knew the other was attending and bought a ticket to be near them?’
‘Does that matter?’ he asks. ‘Remember, the universe is always conspiring. To call it a coincidence means you have no control. You always have control. But call it what you want – conspiracy, synchronicity, being on the same frequency, it doesn’t matter. Just take responsibility. You can’t control anything unless you own it first.’
I pour some more wine. ‘I mean, I’m getting that. Sort of. I’m struggling with changing my past patterns of behaviour, and I know only I can control that. But it’s hard.’
‘Past intimacy behaviours?’ he asks. ‘Don’t think we didn’t see that lil’ hand touch in visualisation, girl. We see everything.’
I cringe. ‘Oh God. It’s so silly! In the past, I’ve been known to get involved with men I know I have no future with… and then I’m devastated when they don’t suddenly discover they can’t live without me. Even if I don’t want them to!’
