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“Oh yeah, I’ve heard of that.”
“Oh good that saves explaining. So you know the general idea behind the show?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“So my flat is clean. And mostly tidy. But it’s really disorganized.”
Zoe raises her brows at me and peers around the immaculate studio.
“I know, I know. But I spend so much time here, and it’s my business. Aesthetic is everything and I hardly have time to do anything between Ade and this place. Anyway, I was wondering if you could do something like that for me at home?”
“You want me to organize your house for you?”
“Erm, yeah, sorta...yes. Yes please.”
“I mean, sure. I love choreographing cleaning supplies.”
I smile because the cleaning supplies are still hard at work around us, mopping and dusting on their own while we chat. Zoe gestures at the two mops skating across the floor like they’re in a pairs competition. “It’s probably just as fun getting all your stuff to run around and organize itself.”
“It can do that?” I blink, impressed.
“Yep.” She grins and takes a sip of her latte.
“Amazing. So do you need to come over and look at the place first or anything?”
“I’ll come by next week and I can make a start. It might take more than one visit, but I can squeeze it in between jobs and I’m sure I can have it done in a day or two.”
“This is...really amazing. Thank you. It’s going to make such a difference to our time at home. Though I should probably warn you that Ade’s room will probably take a week itself!”
“No worries. I’ve got you…So, who’s the lucky guy then?” Zoe asks. I look at her blankly. “That you’re waiting to go on a date with?”
“Erm, well, there’s actually, erm, three of them.” I’m sure my cheeks are on fire, but Zoe just nods like that’s totally normal. I mean, for her it is. For me? Not so much.
The alarm I set myself on my phone so that I didn’t get too engrossed in paperwork and turn up late goes off, and I hastily get to my feet.
“I’d better go,” I say, wiping my already sweaty palms down the thighs of my jeans, as a motorbike pulls up outside. Thank goodness I opted for boots and leather jacket rather than a dress. “Thanks for agreeing to help at the flat. Apartment. Whatever. I’ll see you in the week.”
“Absolutely. Have a great time. I can’t wait to hear all about it!”
I give her a stiff smile that’s probably more of a grimace and nod. I feel like a root canal would be a preferable option to going on this date, even though I owe it to them to see what they have to say and maybe give this bond malarkey a try.
Why oh why did my vagina do the talking?
* * *
I don’t say much to Quilo when I meet him outside, taking the spare helmet he offers me with a small smile before climbing on the back of his bike. It’s a classic British make, even though it’s a sports bike, so it must be imported. I like it.
I know that I could use the grab rail to hold on, but it feels much more fun to wrap my arms around Quil and snuggle into his back. He doesn’t tense or remove my arms, so I’m taking it as a good sign. It messes with my head a little though, just how comfortable I feel pressed against him.
He takes it easy with me on the back, obviously not knowing that I’ve ridden before. I don’t mind though, I think it’s really sweet how he’s careful with me. He pulls up at the rink in a space marked for Staff, helps me off, and locks my lid to the grab rail alongside his. Then he casually takes my hand in his and leads me to Après Ski.
The place is super cute, like a real wooden ski lodge I would have found back home or in Scandinavia or somewhere. The warm interior with rustic wood and furs draped on the seats, and a real log burning fire—though currently not lit, obviously—instantly makes me feel at ease. The whole place has a romantic, cozy feeling that I really like.
“Go grab a seat and I’ll get drinks. What would you like?”
“Can I have a glass of red please?”
“Assuming you mean wine and not blood.” Quilo smirks.
