Page 98 of The Wedding Forecast

‘Well, I waited as long as I possibly could.’

‘And you gave up on looking cool.’

‘I gave that up the minute I wore that Christmas jumper.’

‘Well, I think we should revisit this no-talking rule,’ I say.

‘So do I.’

‘What about we just scrap it entirely?’

‘I’d like that,’ he says. ‘Because I’m going to call you again tomorrow.’

31

IT’S MY FIRST solo shift at the shop. Bobbi has taken the first week of January off, and I’m in charge. ‘It’ll be slow,’ she assured me. ‘It always is. Call if you have any problems. Or questions. Call anytime. I expect you to text at least five times a day. I’ll worry if you don’t.’ She stocked the biscuit jar with Tim Tams. She must have asked Hayley.

It’s hot, and muggy, and then it starts pouring, which immediately sets the tone of the day. It’s not just slow, it’s deserted. No one has come in. There might be no one left in Melbourne. Everyone is at the beach or holed up inside with bad TV. You should be reading, I want to yell into the bare streets. And not the books you got for Christmas. Those should be finished already. New ones!

I don’t want my first day manning the tills to be Bobbi’s first day of zero takings. I move around the shop with a feather duster, making a list in my head of the books I want to buy. Then I start pulling them off the shelves and stacking them behind the counter. A lovely looking romance. A new Australian debut that sounds funny. A crime novel, for supporting my fellow authors of murder. A memoir by a writer I have long admired. A classic I’ve always wanted to read. A middle-grade adventure, so I can get better acquainted with the children’s book section. I pause, looking at my stack. I am going to spend more than I’ll earn today, even with a staff discount. But at least it won’t be a no sales day.

The phone rings.

‘It’s me,’ Bobbi says. ‘Everything going okay?’

‘Yes! All going well.’

‘Is it dead?’

‘It’s…not super busy.’

‘How dead? How many customers are in the shop right now?’

‘Um…’ I have the door closed for the air conditioning, and I hear it opening. ‘Someone is coming in right now, I better go,’ I say, and hang up.

I look up with relief. A customer at last.

And then I freeze.

It’s Joel. Pushing a pram.

I know a million emotions are crossing my face right now, and that Joel knows exactly how to read them, but I can’t stop myself. It’s Joel and his baby.

‘Hi,’ he says.

‘Hi,’ I say.

He looks uncomfortable, and the silence between us draws out.

‘I work here now,’ I say, in part to fill in the silence and in part because he looks scared about why I’m standing behind the counter.

‘I didn’t know that,’ he says.

‘It’s a new situation.’

‘You quit your job?’ he says, looking concerned. He probably thinks I was fired.

‘I did,’ I say. I almost start babbling about dreams and the future and Marco, but I stop myself. I don’t owe Joel any explanations about my life. And I know he would have told me to tough it out and stay.