Page 11 of Love, Just In

He pushes a box towards me that’s neatly wrapped in pearl-pink paper. I hadn’t even thought to wrap the cookbook. I carefully unstick the paper, uncovering a one-thousand-piece puzzle of the gigantic words ‘JIGSAW PUZZLES ARE FOR NERDS’.

I practically cackle, not because the gift is that funny, but because it propels me back to when Zac and I would argue over my half-finished puzzles of seascapes that would hijack our dining table at uni, thwarting his plans to host more international-themed dinner parties. Warmth spreads through my chest when I realise that both gifts prove we haven’t forgotten each other just yet.

‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘I feel so seen.’

I’m still a little buzzy over the whole thing when we sit down to eat his Danish masterpiece; the golden-brownspheres lie somewhere between a pancake and a doughnut. After I’ve downed three of them through borderline erotic moans of satisfaction, I sprinkle a rain of salt over the homemade hash browns and slice into one.

‘Still do that?’ Zac says, nodding at the salt storm.

‘Still do that.’

‘You’d better watch your blood pressure.’ He brings his fork to his lips with his brows raised.

‘Such a medical man,’ I rag, but my gut twists tight. The gentle sound of Zac chewing envelopes the room before I collect enough courage to speak again. ‘Can it cause cancer?’

‘Too much salt?’ He holds the back of his hand to his mouth while chewing. ‘Possibly a loose link to stomach cancer.’

My chest clamps up and I do a mental sweep of my stomach for strange symptoms before pushing for a subject change. ‘Any news on that accident from yesterday?’ I nudge the salty hash browns to the side with my fork.

He shakes his head. ‘My ambo mate told me a cyclist got hit by a car, but his injuries weren’t too bad. I’m not sure what happened after that. They never tell us after we take them to the hospital.’

‘Really?’

‘It’s not our business, I suppose. But for some of the bigger jobs—where you don’t know if you’ve actually helped save someone’s life or not—some closure might be nice.’

Some of the bigger jobs.

I watch him cut into a crispy rasher of bacon, questioning the timeline of when I became such a wimp and why I can’t bring myself to just ask how he’s been since everything happened. We used to be able to ask each other anything. I remember Zac once quizzing me over what it feels like to get a period, and I’ve probed him before about the finer details of having a male body. I think we both secretly loved these insights into the opposite sex, this all-access pass to insider information. Now, that secret door we once slipped through with ease feels bolted shut.

‘How’s it been going down in Sydney?’ Zac says, making direct eye contact with me for short bursts at a time. ‘Are you reading the news yet?’

My gaze falls to my plate. He has no idea that I recently proved incapable of handling myself on air because I’m so stupidly terrified of dying. I guess he’s not the only one holding back key news updates.

‘Not yet. But just this morning, I found out that one of the main newsreaders down there, who’s a really good friend of mine, is going to be taking maternity leave in five months. She thinks I should apply to be her replacement while she’s away.’

He drapes an arm over the back of his chair. ‘Wow. What are the chances of that happening?’

‘Who knows? To be honest, the head of news doesn’t really like me, so, as my dad would say, I probably need to get my “head read” for even thinking about it.’

A small smile finds Zac’s lips. ‘I miss your dad.’ He doesn’t look away this time and his gaze entangles with mine. ‘And what do you mean, the head of news doesn’t like you? There’s no one on this planet who wouldn’t like you.’

A warm blush whips across my skin, and for the first time since I got here, I glimpse the old Zac—the one who cares about me deeply. ‘Thank you, that’s sweet, but I think my boss actually wants to kill me. He has very specific ideas about who he wants on air, and I can’t seem to figure out what those are or why I’m never those things. I might be too blonde, not blonde enough, too old, too young, too bubbly, too serious—god only knows.’

When Oliver Novak hired me after my several years of reporting for a small online news channel, he was full of smiles and compliments. But I was young and nervous, and I made a couple of rookie screw-ups—like accidentally calling a newly elected politician the wrong name on air. After that, Oliver stopped saying hello when he walked past my desk, glazed over when I spoke in meetings, and all these years later, I still haven’t managed to win him back. ‘He kind of lost faith in me early on, when I was a junior and still learning,’ I continue, ‘but I’ve learneda lotsince then. So, I have these next few months to nail it up here and prove to him that I’m not only good at my job, but that I’m exactly what he wants.’

I then leap into a caricature of a news reporter, all silky-edged and serious-browed. ‘I’m Josie Larsen, andyou’re watching60 Minutes.’ I add the tick-tocking of the60 Minutesclock to complete the scene.

Zac watches me with one side of his mouth turned up before he suddenly leans across the table and brings his hand to my face. My shoulders lock, and blood rushes to my cheeks as the pad of his thumb makes a slow, firm brush across my jaw. He pulls away, looking at the glob of syrup he’s caught with his thumb.

‘I was saving that for my waffles later,’ I joke softly, and he hums a light laugh. I wrap my hand around my water glass and blurt out the first question that pops into my head. ‘Enough about me. How was yourdateyesterday?’

Zac blushes like a schoolboy. ‘Uh, the date was good.’ He scratches the back of his neck, his T-shirt riding up to expose a stretch of toned stomach. ‘I took her to a dumpling restaurant, but it wasn’t great. One thing I miss about Sydney is the Chinese food.’

One thing I miss.

Dumplings, I guess, but not me.

He says no more, so I force a smile. ‘It’s good to hear you’re dating again. Meanwhile, I’m going to be the last single person left on earth, so …’

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