25
Lisa
I’m halfway through grooming Droolius Caesar when my phone springs to life, almost resulting in a buzz cut for the poor spaniel.
My breath catches. It’s Frank!
“Hello?”
“Hi, Lisa. How are you?”
“I’m good, thanks. Just grooming the pooch.” I cup my hand over my mouth. I don’t think I ever told him what I do for work,
so that has to come across as a double entendre!
“Oh! Um . . . I’m sorry. Should I call back later?”
“No, no, it’s all fine, I’m at work.”
Silence.
“I’m a dog groomer,” I add quickly.
“Ah, okay!” He laughs. “Look, I’d love to see you again. I’m wondering if you’d like to get together Sunday?”
My heart does a happy dance. “Yes, I’d love that, thank you.”
“I wanted to offer to cook you a meal, but I’m afraid my kitchen is really tiny; if it’s not too forward of me, I was wondering
if I could bring food to cook lunch at your place. Do you like laksa?”
I freeze, picturing the current state of my house. The piles of clothes, books, shoes . . .
“Lisa? Are you there?”
“Yes.”
“Great! How does midday sound?”
What? I just meant yes that I am still here, not that he can come over. If I now say he can’t I’ll sound weird, won’t I?
“Uh . . . fine?” I stutter. Argh!
“Fabulous, I’ll see you then.”
“Okay, thanks, bye.” What on earth have I done? But the thought of seeing him again is glorious. There’s only one other person
who ever made my heart race like this.