need to make a new entry.”
“You don’t.” I shake my head, laughing.
“I do! I want to record my debt of gratitude. Have you still got it?”
“I think so,” I say, wrinkling my brow as though I’m not sure. “I think it’s somewhere around. I could come and see you again tomorrow, maybe?” I add casually. “Bring it in?”
“I’d like that.” He nods. “In fact, I’d love that. If you’re not too busy.”
“Of course not.” I pick up my bag. “So I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“With the coffee sleeve,” he insists.
“OK.” I nod, rolling my eyes with a smile. “If I can find it.”
Of course I can find it. It’s on my dressing table, right where I can look at it every day.
The three guys waiting patiently outside the cubicle smile at me politely, clearly wondering who I am. I recognize one of them from Seb’s office and fervently hope he doesn’t recognize me.
I walk away through the ward, listening to their voices as they greet Seb:
“Oh my God.”
“Man! They really got to you.”
“Yeah, but you should see how they look. Right, Seb?”
They sound so easy and affectionate, I can’t help smiling inwardly. And as I’m traveling back down in the lift, I remember all the stories I read online about Seb building up his company, cooking pasta for his staff, creating the amazing atmosphere that he’s got. He needed to make a family, I realize. And that’s what his company is, his family.
—
The next day I wake at 5:00 A.M. again. I really need to break this habit. My eyes instantly swivel to the coffee sleeve, propped up on my dressing table, and I feel a little flutter inside. The kind of light, excited flutter I haven’t felt since …
Oh God. Since Ryan, now I come to think of it. I feel about sixteen years old. This is kind of mortifying.
As I’m showering, I give myself a stern talking-to. This guy is taken. He’s simply being friendly in a platonic way. There’s absolutely no hint that … I mean, if there is any hint, it’s me reading too much into things … And anyway, he’s taken. He’s taken.
I step out of the shower, wrap myself in a towel, and look at my reflection, trying to find some inner resolve. What I should do now is quietly bow out. I should phone up the ward with a friendly excuse, wishing him well and saying goodbye. Certainly not prolonging this back-and-forth IOU game we seem to be in. It’s inappropriate. It’s gone on for long enough. What I need to do is nix it. Throw the coffee sleeve away. Get on with my life. That’s what I should do.
And as I look into my own alert, exhilarated eyes, I know that’s pretty much exactly what I’m not going to do.
After breakfast I get ready with care, putting on a dress I got in a cheap and cheerful Acton boutique the other day. It’s navy with a print of dachshunds all over it, and it makes me smile. I was going to keep it for parties, but suddenly that seems boring. Why not wear it now? Today? I do my makeup, text Greg to make sure he’s on the case, and pick up my bag to go.
Then I pick up the coffee sleeve. I run my eyes down the entries. His writing … mine … his … For a moment I hesitate. Then, almost defiantly, I pop it into my bag and head out.
Seb is awake as I arrive and greets me with a smile. He already looks a million times better than yesterday, with more color in his cheeks—although some of his bruises are turning lurid. He sees me eyeing them and laughs.
“Don’t worry. They’ll go.”
“How are you feeling?” I say as I sit down.
“Great!” he says. “I’m out of here tomorrow. And I get free crutches, so it’s not all bad. Did you bring the coffee sleeve?” he adds. “Tell me you did.”
“I did.” I can’t help smiling at his enthusiasm and produce it from my handbag. Seb takes a pen from the nightstand and writes carefully on the coffee sleeve, then hands it to me with a grin.
“Read it when you get home.”
I’m dying to read it now, but obediently I put the coffee sleeve away in my handbag. Then I reach into my canvas tote, produce a flat box, and hand it to him, feeling a little nervous.
“I brought you something, in case you get bored. It’s a chess set,”