Truly, Madly, Like Me - Jo Watson Page 0,57

realize what was happening when I’d woken up, but when I had, we’d both disentangled ourselves as quickly as possible, and now we were enjoying this incredibly awkward moment in the car.

We arrived at Samirah’s and both flew out the car, careful not to look at each other. We rushed for the door as if our lives depended on getting to it before the other one and then . . .

“Sorry!” I said as our hands connected, fingers slipping between each other’s as we reached for the door handle at the same time.

“Sorry,” Mark said hurriedly, as if he couldn’t get the word out fast enough. We both pulled back and then . . .

“Crap! SORRY!” I said again as we both reached for the door handle again at the same time, mashing our hands together once more. We both pulled away and stood there quietly staring at the door handle in silence. No one moved.

“You open the door,” I said, pointing at it.

“You sure?” he asked.

“Yes. You open it,” I replied.

“Okay,” he said, but then paused and did nothing at all . . .

“Alright. Fine. I’ll open it,” I said with force, but didn’t make a move either.

“How about I open it?” We both jumped when we heard a voice coming from behind the door. The door opened and a man was standing in front of us, a smile plastered across his face.

“Hi,” I said, shooting him a lame, wave-emoji hand.

He was still smiling at us. “Reminds me of when Samirah and I first started dating,” he said in a big, friendly voice. He was the man from the photo I’d seen the night before.

“Sorry, what does?” I enquired.

“You know . . .‘Oh, you hang up,’ ‘No, you hang up,’ and then you just land up sitting on the phone even longer because neither of you wants to end it.” He burst out laughing. Samirah walked up the passage and joined him, followed by the five scrappy-looking dogs I had seen the night before. They looked like a real motley crew.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“These two trying to decide who should open the door, like we used to try and decide who hung up the phone first.”

Samirah glanced over at us and smiled; we both looked away, which I know must have made us look as guilty as hell. But guilty for what? Accidentally spooning each other in our sleep? No, let’s be honest, it wasn’t exactly spooning. Spooning is neat and ordered, this had been all over the place and twisted together and . . . whisking! That’s what it was. We’d been in bed together whisking. I forced my eyes up to Samirah’s so she would stop looking at us like we were kids on the naughty seat.

“HOW’S HARUN?” Mark and I both said at the exact same time (maybe a little too loudly). This caused Samirah and the man to burst out laughing together.

“See what I mean?” the man said, placing a hand on Samirah’s shoulder.

She nodded. “I do see,” she replied, and then eyeballed me with one of her strange, meaningful looks. The kind that burns through your soul like a flaming sword through a watermelon (which I’ve seen on a YouTube video btw! The Sword vs Watermelon #challenge)

“Frankie, this is my husband, Faizel,” she said, introducing us.

I shook his hand.

“So! You’re here to fetch Harun?” Samirah asked, moving down the passage.

“Yup,” I said as we followed behind her.

I found Harun lying on the big dog bed exactly where I’d left him. He looked so much better this morning, and on entering, he lifted his entire head and wagged his tail at me.

“He’s doing excellently,” Samirah said. “Dogs heal much faster than humans, but he’ll still be tender for a few days. I’m going to send you home with some medication, and, I’m afraid, no traveling for at least three days, even if you do have your immobilizer back.”

I bent down and laid a hand on his fur. It really was coarse. Rough and prickly and scratchy, despite the fact that a few nights ago he’d gotten lathered in a very pricey tub of jasmine-scented hair mask.

“Hey, boy,” I said, running my hand through his hair. And then I slipped his collar and leash on and was just about to pull when Samirah stopped me.

“Oh, he shouldn’t walk just yet,” she said.

“I’ll get him,” Mark said, bending down.

“I’ll help.” Faizel jumped in and he and Mark lifted Harun up. We all walked like that out