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“You’re worried you’ll see him, aren’t you?”
My anxiety spiked. “Jet’s invited?”
“Well, I invited everyone at work. I mean, Ryan and I have worked together for years, and John has been an amazing boss and yeah, I like Jet. He’s cool. Wait, have you talked to him and explained yourself for your dumb actions?”
“No.”
“Then you are being a coward, Ari. A big coward. Call the man and make this right.”
“I’m not a coward! I just don’t know what to say!”
“Start with sorry. Now, I’m hanging up on you and returning to make the best chicken parmis Ballydoon has ever seen feeling like a bilious whale. I am ending this call by saying, with honesty and love, that you are a dumbass.”
Ash hung up, and I stood looking out at the marina and knew she was right.
13
Jet
Deal-breaker: What does keeping house mean for you?
Blake stuck out like a sore thumb yet again in the middle of my kitchen, like he didn’t know whether to stand or sit. Like he didn’t know how to be a guest in someone’s house. He glanced around at every flat surface covered in bowls, glasses, saucepans and baking trays, and every item that had been crammed into the pantry.
“Found some spices dating back to 1997,” I said by way of explanation for the cleaning frenzy in the kitchen. “Doing a big clean-out. Getting this place sorted.”
Blake looked mystified. Everything he owned was packed on the tray of his ute. He didn’t need cumin or bay leaves or even a spice rack.
My phone pinged several times with messages.
Blake picked up my phone before I could reach it. “Huh, Ari is sure apologising hard to you.”
Curiosity urged me to snatch my phone off Blake and read what she’d said. I took two steps forward, shook my head and paced away.
“What’s going on?” Blake asked.
“Nothing.”
Blake made a game show buzzer noise for an incorrect answer and rolled his eyes. “Try again. What is going on?”
“I met someone at the speed dating night.”
He said nothing at first and then rolled his eyes again. “Ari.”
I blinked. “Yes.”
“You’ve got her postcards up at the pub.” He waved to the fridge where I had her apology postcard from Broome tacked up with several magnets. “And the shell over the fireplace. And the fact that you bleated out that you loved her on your birthday.”
I sunk into a kitchen chair. “I did what now?” My voice was nothing more than a hoarse whisper.
“You don’t remember? You called her and everything.”
“Fuck.”
“This calls for beers.” Blake opened the fridge and plonked a cold one in front of me. “What’s she apologising for?”
“She wants to be friends.”
Blake shrugged. “So, find another girl.”
