“No,” I say quickly. “Well. Not straight away. I was thinking more… try it. See how many jobs I can get. See if it’s even a thing.”
“Testing the waters,” she says.
“Dipping a toe,” I agree. “Possibly a foot. No full-body plunge.”
Ivy snorts. “You realise people will be annoying.”
“I deal with annoying daily.”
“That’s fair.”
I glance back at the app, at the neat lists, the boundaries spelled out in black and white. “I could choose,” I say. “That’s the bit I like. Say yes to what I’m good at. Say no to the rest.”
She goes quiet for a moment. Thoughtful quiet, not judgemental quiet.
“You’d be brilliant,” she says finally. “Annoyingly brilliant. People would love you.”
I smile, small and private. “You think.”
“I know. Also,” she adds, “‘task-goblin’ is the most on-brand thing you’ve ever said.”
I laugh. The tension I hadn’t noticed loosens a notch.
“I’m not doing anything yet,” I say. “I’m just… looking.”
“Uh-huh,” Ivy says. “Famouslast words.”
I hang up and set the phone down for a second, staring at the bright television screen where the film has long since moved on without me.
The soup is cold. I don’t care.
I pick the phone back up.
Just to look.
There’s a knock at the door.
Not the aggressivethis is a delivery you forgot aboutknock. A tentative one. Two taps, pause, then one more, like whoever it is might apologise if I don’t answer.
I slide off the sofa and pad across, checking the peephole out of habit.
Geoff.
I open the door a crack. “Are you lost?”
He looks down at what he’s holding. Two tubs. Branded. Condensation beading on the sides.
“I come bearing sugar offerings,” he says. “And dairy.”
I open the door all the way.
“Strawberries and cream,” I say, immediately suspicious. “Where did you get those?”
“Went to three shops,” he replies. “Turns out limited edition means people get feral.”
Something warm flickers in my chest. I ignore it aggressively.
“You realise,” I say, stepping aside to let him in, “that this sets a dangerous precedent.”
