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“Do I have feelings for him? Yes. Anyone would when faced with a friend who’s been through so much. And yes, I enjoy spending time with him. He makes me laugh, and we have loads to talk about. Well, I do most of the talking, but he brings out a good side in me, a side I like. He’s broadening my horizons, because I’m now into gardening and trying to write again. And I’d like to think I’m broadening his. I took him to the beach today, and he’s never swum in the sea before, and it was fun, and I had the best day I’ve had in ages, but that doesn’t mean I love him. I mean, what even is love? How would I even know if I love him, because I’ve never been in love before? So to say I love him or am falling in love with him, well, no, that’s just… no.”

The tap drips.

“You just keep telling yourself that, girl,” Lori says. “I’ll let you get back to your bath. Goodnight.”

We end the call, and I’m left alone with the suds and my thoughts.

Lori doesn’t know what she’s talking about.

But then again, neither do I.

I’ve never been in love. Never loved someone the way Sydney and Drew love each other, the kind of love where you’d run a thousand miles, swim through stormy seas, cross deserts, or break the law to track down someone’s long-lost friend just because you know it’ll make them happy.

I’m not sure buying shrubs at the garden centre on your day off quite compares.

When I called Sydney to ask about the dress code for the wedding, we got talking about relationships. I asked her what being in love felt like, and she said it was all-consuming. When I asked her to elaborate, she said that when Drew isn’t with her, she craves him. Feels hollow without him. Misses him the second he leaves.

I think about Owen all the time, but I figured that was just because of Operation Wedding and now Paul dying. Of course Owen has been on my mind these last few weeks. That doesn’t mean I’m in love with him.

Then I remember his hands on my skin when he rubbed the sun cream into my back today, and the way my body practically sang beneath his touch, the desperate wanting for his hands to carry on, to keep touching me, to never stop.

But surely that’s just physical attraction?

And what about the horrible twisting feeling when I imagined him checking out other women on the beach? Jealousy? But what do I have to be jealous about? Owen isn’t mine.

But maybe I want him to be.

If it’d been me, I’d be running to him with open arms.

My body shakes, and a hot sweat breaks out over my skin as realisation lands all at once.

I’m falling in love with Owen Shea.

The water suddenly feels very hot.

I’ve spent my whole life searching for love, looking for my Patrick Swayze, for Mr Right, for my Romeo. And for the past year, I’ve been working with him, talking to him about alligators and tea and kitchen taps.

It doesn’t matter, though. I may be falling in love with Owen Shea, but he doesn’t feel the same about me. He’s already told me he’ll never date again, so what chance do I have?

Getting out of the bath, I have the sudden urge to write. I dry off quickly and wrap myself in my dressing gown before grabbing my notepad and pen.

I don’t think. Don’t look up. Don’t listen to the nagging little voices in my head telling me to empty the bins, or to look up who invented chewing gum, or to do some online clothes shopping for a holiday I haven’t booked yet and probably never will. I shut those thoughts down and just write.

And I write and write and write until I’ve written The End.

52

Owen

Alice is the first person I talked to at work on Saturday, although Taylor at the reception desk gave me a soft “Morning” when I arrived, which I found odd, as she normally just says a frosty “Hi.”

But Alice is the one who seeks me out in the staffroom, cup in hand and a smile on her face.

“Hi, how are you doing? Nice tan, by the way,” she says.

“You look a bit tanned yourself,” I tell her.

“More like orange if my fake-tanning skills are anything to go by.” She holds up her arm and inspects her skin. “I’ve been practicing with a few different brands of fake tan for the wedding, and the last one was less successful and more… unhealthy shade of satsuma.”