‘What? Of course it’s about the mug. I just told you I can’t find it. What else could it be about?’ I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror on the back of the door, trying not to look too startled by the crazed-looking, sleep-deprived, hair-sticking-in-every-direction-it-shouldn’t woman staring back at me. ‘I’ll just go past the flat on my way to work and get it,’ I told myself, the frantic-looking woman in the mirror nodding her approval at my plan back at me.
‘Jenny, love, I know it’s difficult letting go. That flat was an important chapter of your life, of—’ she hesitated, clearly wondering whether she should say his name, ‘—Joe’s and your life together, and nothing can take away those memories. But perhaps everything that’s happened these past few days is the universe’s way of telling you to leave the mug behind? To move on?’
‘Move on?’ I spat, the words hot and fiery in my mouth. ‘Move on from what, Mum? From Joe?’ I could feel the tears burning behind my eyes at the thought of a time when I’d no longer yearn for Joe every second of every day. Rooting through the mountain of belongings on the bed in search of socially acceptable clothing, I gave up trying to find socks, and shoved my bare feet into trainers, not bothering to tie the laces. ‘Well, I’m sorry I’m not moving on fast enough for you, Mum.’
‘No, that’s not what I—’
‘I’ve got to go,’ I said briskly, rescuing my handbag from beneath a pile of Joe’s stuff and brushing past her. I knew I was avoiding, but I couldn’t hear this right now. To be reminded that I had to move on, but not forget entirely. To be strong, but also gentle with myself. To live, but not let the memories die. Everything was a precarious balancing act. One false move, and the scales could tip to the point of no return and there’d be no going back. Grief yet another pre-determined timeline that I wasfailing miserably to follow. It was exhausting just thinking about it, and the truth was I had no desire to do any of those things. I just wanted to find Joe’s mug.
‘Why. Won’t. You. Open?’ I growled aggressively at the door, jiggling my key in the lock for the tenth time to no avail. It was less than 24 hours since I’d moved out; they couldn’t possibly have changed the locks already – could they? Come to think of it, the bright, gleaming metal surround was noticeably shinier than before. Like,newshiny. This fuelled my rage further and I jammed my key in once again, willing it to open.
‘Aha!’
My moment of triumph was short lived as the door swung inwards and I toppled ungracefully forward, realising as I did so that my key had not opened the door after all, but that the latter had in fact been wrenched open by the black t-shirt-wearing, mildly irritated-looking man who I was currently falling face-first towards.
‘What the—?’
Thankfully, he chose to prioritise preventing us both from ending up in a heap on the floor over finishing his sentence. His left hand caught my right forearm, his less accurate right hand performing an incredibly awkward (and slightly painful) boob grab before managing to slide to the safety of my shoulder. My cheek slammed hard against the man’s pectoral region. I staggered backwards, feeling like I’d just run headfirst into a brick wall, and ricocheting painfully off the doorframe as I went. A searing pain shot up my arm as I opened my mouth to give this hard-chested stranger residing inmyflat a piece of my mind. Squatters was the very last thing I needed.
Only it wasn’t a stranger.
‘It’s you?’
Luca stared back at me with that same quizzical look he’dgiven me at the community centre. Head lopsided, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth, eyes narrowing as though he were trying to place me. Of course he wasthatguy. The one who didn’t remember the woman he’d spent the best part of an hour speaking to a mere two days before. I bet if I’d been wearing a short skirt and knee-high boots he’d have remembered me. A sour taste built up in my mouth at the sight of him stood there, the doorway too narrow to accommodate his broad shoulders so he was forced to turn sideways. It looked wrong. Itwaswrong.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ I spluttered accusingly, my brain working overtime to try to comprehend this weird turn of events. Luca frowned, glancing briefly over his shoulder as though to check I wasn’t talking to someone else.
‘I’m Jenny,’ I said simply, as if that explained everything.
Luca just blinked at me, his face blank. OK, seriously? Was I really that forgettable?
‘From theTribune?’ I added.
‘Right, yes, of course.’ A flicker of recognition sparked behind his eyes and he gave a little laugh, as if my name was somehow amusing to him. ‘Well, Jenny from theTribune, do you mind explaining why you’re trying to break into my flat? Is this to do with the article?’
My stomach lurched. ‘Your flat?’
‘Yes, my flat.’
The way he stood there, his bare feet looking so comfortable on the wooden floorboards – my wooden floorboards – made my teeth grind.
‘I’ll have you know that until 22 hours ago, this was very muchmyflat.’
‘Great. I’m glad we’ve established that you no longer live here. Although that does bring us back around to the whole breaking and entering thing.’
‘I wasn’t breaking in. I have a key.’ I jangled my keys in frontof his face as if to prove my point. That annoying head slant told me he already knew said key did not work. ‘And I didn’t realise someone had moved in already, otherwise I wouldn’t have—’
‘—wouldn’t have committed a felony by attempting the worst case of breaking and entering I’ve ever seen?’ Luca finished for me. Ergh, he was one of those men that thought it was his God-given right to interrupt a woman. See, I knew it – no guy can have cheekbones like that and not be an asshole. I glared at his stupid smile, the one making his dark-brown eyes sparkle with tiny flecks of gold. He was actually enjoying this. ‘Tell me, have you committed any other crimes recently? You know, just so I can give the police a thorough report. Theft? Carjacking? Child abduction?’
‘I’m seriously considering murder right now, if that counts?’ I forced through gritted teeth. He just laughed, his bicep flexing as he reached up to ruffle the back of his hair, which was long enough that it teased the base of his neck.
‘Well, on that note it’s been a pleasure, Jenny, but if you’ll excuse me—’
I wedged my foot in the gap between the door and the frame, preventing him from closing it.
‘Seriously?’ Luca raised a questioning eyebrow. He gave me a quick once-over, his eyes flitting from my squashed Converse to my face and back again with the speed of a seasoned pro. His expression shifted from one of amusement to that of uncertainty. Clearly my crazy bed hair and questionable outfit combo of crumpled white shirt, which I suddenly realised was buttoned up wrong, and black workout leggings was not giving out calm, mentally stable vibes.
‘I want my mug.’
