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Am I genuinely interested in Alice?

My gut instinct says yes—she’s funny, beautiful, and unique. She’s a messy eater, but I could ignore that or just bring in my handheld vacuum cleaner.

Alice is definitely a wonderful human being, which begs the question of why she hasn’t got men lined up to take her to this wedding, and why she wasn’t snatched up a long time ago. It certainly isn’t for lack of trying, if what she told me the other day is true and she used to cook up scenarios to try and get the attention of men, something I still find hard to understand when she’d have anyone’s attention just being herself.

Maybe therein lies the problem.

Maybe Alice isn’t sure who she is.

Or maybe she’s sensible and knows to stay clear of all the love nonsense, as it only leads to heartbreak and sorrow.

Paul whimpers under my arm. He’s right. I’m overthinking things again. I need to slow down my thoughts and relax. I’ll ask Alice for her number tomorrow and take an extra-large portion of couscous.

12

Alice

Waiting by the kettle in the staffroom, I try not to think too much about how I’ve been counting down the minutes until ten o’clock since I arrived this morning at eight.

I’m on the early shift and Owen is on a late, which means we probably won’t be able to take our lunch together. I’m putting down the sad feeling that thought creates to not being able to interrogate him about Paul—as per Taylor’s instructions—or further our plans for Sydney’s wedding.

So instead, I’m hanging around the staffroom, knowing—yet not knowing, because it feels a bit stalker-ish—that Owen makes a cup of tea every day before he retreats to his office for the remainder of the morning.

Last night, I met up with Lori at her place to dissect our week so far. She lives with her husband, Zichen, who she married last year in Vegas after being together for four years. They live-streamed the wedding, which didn’t go well as my connection kept dropping, so they both appeared like robots.

Zichen is great, though a bit scary if I’m honest, as he works out and has biceps larger than my head, along with this furious glare that makes me feel like I’m back at school and have been caught talking in class again. He has some sort of computer job that involves analysing data and travelling to Munich once a month, which was exactly why I was summoned to Lori’s last night, as she hates being alone.

After discussing Owen at length, Lori is still convinced he has an ulterior motive and that I need to investigate this further before I move Operation Wedding into full fruition, so, combined with Taylor’s advice, I’m determined to find out a little bit more about Owen Shea.

When I talk about moving Operation Wedding into full fruition, I am, of course, referring to an outfit. I had a dress in mind—a cowl-neck maxi dress with beige-and-brown patterning flecked with black specks that I wore to Jamal’s wedding two years ago—but it appears that in the space of twenty-four months, I’ve put on a little weight.

I’m blaming my age, my hormones, and the fact that within those twenty-four months, there were two Christmases and two Easters (yes, I buy myself Easter eggs because no one else buys me one anymore, as my parents stopped this little tradition when I was seventeen, and I’ve never forgiven them for it).

As a result of this bloating—possibly water retention—I’m going to have to purchase a new dress. I’m not a label snob. The dress itself is more important than the name, but it has to be right for the occasion, the people, the time of year, the weather, and, of course, my date, even though said date isn’t a real one.

My top priority today is to pin Owen down on what we’re wearing. Does he already have a suit in mind? Knowing Owen, I’m sure he will, as he always looks immaculate for work. And if he does have a suit in mind, then I’ll need to match it, as Owen and I strike me as the kind of couple who’d be coordinated at such an event.

“Morning.” Owen’s greeting splinters my thoughts.

“Good morning, although it feels like lunchtime and it’s only ten o’clock.” I spin around to face him and lean my back against the worktop.

God, he looks good today. Dark blue trousers paired with a slim-fit off-white shirt and tan lace-up shoes—and all of this is just for work, to sit in a poky office where no one except me and a handful of other colleagues will see him. What the hell does he wear when he’s actually making an effort?

“How was your day off?” I begin, hoping he might offer me something I can report back to Lori and Taylor.

“Great.” He fishes in the cupboard for his tea.

“Did you do anything nice?”

“Nothing much,” he says as he adds water to his mug. “Paul and I went for a walk.”

“I bet that was nice.” I take a breath. “I feel bad stealing you for the wedding. Are you sure Paul is okay about it?” I fold one arm over my waist and hug my cup to my chest.

“He’s fine.”

“Won’t he miss you?”

“He always misses me, but he’s spending the day with Carmel, so don’t worry, he won’t be lonely.”