My heart did that squeezing thing that made my brain unable to brain and my lungs unable to lung. “My friends will think you’re great because I do.”

“You do?”

I could barely even whisper. “Jesus, motherfucker, you are too close, I can’t think straight.”

“Well, I would move, but…,” he said, looking down between us, and there was my traitorous hand, fisting his shirt and pulling him closer.

“Oh.”

“It’s my stop,” he said. “I have to go.”

“That’s generally what happens when it’s your stop, yeah.”

“So, um…” he chuckled. “Did you wanna let go of my shirt, or no?”

“Oh!” I said, having to consciously unpeel my fingers from the fabric. I patted it down. “Sorry about that.”

He glanced up the back, nodding to Mrs Petrovski before kissing my cheek, then he hopped off the bus, grinning with a bounce to his step.

Which was great. He had bouncy legs and I had jelly legs. I had to hang onto the railing, and a pregnant woman offered me her seat. I didn’t take it, of course. But I seriously considered it, not gonna lie.

I held my nerves together pretty well, considering. But as five o’clock drew near on Thursday, I was starting to get that giddy, filterless brain-mouth thing and having trouble standing still.

Then my phone beeped with a message.

I fumbled with my phone when I saw Hennessy’s name. Jesus. He was going to cancel.

I won’t be on the bus.

“Oh God, he’s going to cancel,” I mumbled.

I’m not cancelling.

“Oh.”

Work is crazy and I’ll meet you at the restaurant. Is that okay?

“Yeah, of course,” I said stupidly before I realised I actually needed to text my reply not say it.

Sure. I’m sure I’ll survive the bus ride home, alone. All by myself. By my lonesome. Without you.

LOL The Soup Crew will assist, I’m sure. No taking seats from pregnant ladies.

I won’t need to if you’re not there, I replied. Then mumbled, “Cheeky motherfucker,” only to realise there was a lady at the counter, watching me, hearing me swear. And not just any woman, but the one with the feline buttholitis. “Oh, sweet mother of God,” I said, horrified at the way her lips pursed together like that… and that damn coral-coloured lipstick. What was she thinking? I was fairly certain that hadn’t been on the open market since Avon sold it in 1985.

Merry appeared from nowhere, springing up like the Hobbit she was. She shoved me out of the way. “Hello, Mrs Peterson,” Merry said brightly.

God, Mrs Cat Bum Face had an actual name that wasn’t directly related to feline buttholitis?

“Jordan’s been called out the back and I’ll be helping you today,” Merry said. “Did you find what you were after?”