I’d be happy for Heath, no matter what his road looked like, but I’d be so fucking sad for us.
“I still don’t know what the hell normal means, I really don’t,” I say to Josh as I pull up my stockings, ready to get going. No pale blue hoodie for me this evening. “I’ve been thinking it through from every angle there could be, and I still have no bloody idea.” I sigh in frustration. “I just wish I had a clear head about it. A definite plan. Some common sense or inner wisdom or divine guidance from the heavens above.”
I watch Josh put his jacket on, wondering how he’s feeling on the inside. I get the tiniest glimpse of nerves in his eyes, despite his confident smile.
“We’ll work it out, all three of us,” my boyfriend says. “Three heads are better than one.”
“Are you bringing your laptop so we can draw up a PowerPoint presentation?”
He kisses my forehead.
“I’ll save that for meetup number three, if we can’t get our shit together. We can all have a go with the talking spoon on session two.”
“Get a mediator in, if it comes to it.”
“How about Vinnie Hampton, the soul mentor? He should do the trick.”
We both laugh together, tension easing.
“Fuck all the brain churning bullshit, I can’t wait to seeHeathy baby,” I say to Josh. “Vinnie Hampton is amazing, but Heath is better than amazing. He’s amazing in a whole other league.”
“And it’s time to go see Mr Amazing, luckily,” Josh replies. “Hopefully we can get someamazingideas on the table between us and get this new kind of normal started, whatever it looks like. It’s long overdue.”
Yes. It is.
I may be a big bag of jitters when the cab arrives, but my heart is soaring when we pull away from Belgravia.
One night with Heath is worth more than a million words, so a whole newnormalwith him…
That would be worth anything.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
User 1543. Male. 34.
Normal.
Whatever normal means.
Duration: All night long.
Proposal price: £10, and bring your own bottle of De Chante.
Iread Heath’s proposal in the cab again on the way down to Southampton, and it makes me smirk through the jitters. We’re off to another random hotel overlooking the docks. Hardly a Cannes adventure, but it’s ok. It’s by the sea this time, at least. Maidstone wasn’t exactly a tourist landmark.
Josh has the bottle of De Chante on the seat between us, wrapped up in purple gift paper with a big silver bow on the top of the cork. He was so proud of himself when he positioned it there.
At least it’s got a decent head on it.
Our expensive purple bowed champers cost a small fortune, but Josh insisted on abiding to the proposal to the letter. Even the fee remained the same.
Ten quid for a whole night session is hilarious, but if this is the new normal, Heath is more than welcome to it. The Agency might get pissed off at the lack of commission on his bookings, but I’m sure Orla could handle it. Especially with Vinnie Hampton coming onboard as a new client.
If Vinnie was right about the potential influx of seven figure proposals coming my way, then The Agency would stomach less of a paycheck from Heath Mason month to month. Or I hope they would.
Damn. How I hope they would.
Another bout of jitters on top of jitters. I’m getting sick of it.
