March 2018

ZOE

I'm counting down the minutes. Clock-watching isn't something I normally do at work—unless it's because time is going too fast and I need the day to last longer—but when I walk out of those revolving doors in twenty minutes' time, I'll be walking home to a weekend with Mark. A weekend away. Our first holiday together. Not that he knows it yet, but hopefully he'll like the surprise.

Who am I kidding? He hates surprises. Loathes them with every fibre of his existence. But we need to do something romantic as a couple, and I want to show how much he means to me.

I've covered all bases, including a clandestine phone call with Ed who told me which hoops I'd need to jump through to get Mark to relax away from work. He already has the weekend booked off, but I've chosen somewhere that's only an hour away. It will have good reception, and I've banned myself from getting annoyed if he keeps checking his phone. That's a compromise I have to make. And it's fine.

First, though, I have to sit through our end-of-week catch-up with the department heads. It was my idea to schedule these in as a reflection on the week just passed so we can form action points for the week ahead. I stand by that, even if I do resent Past Zoe a little right now for delaying my weekend.

"Carmen." I click the end of my pen as I look over at her. "And Deanna. Have the new marketing efforts helped with events enquiries?"

"No," Carmen replies, with a half-guilty glance across at our head of marketing. "We're still on a downward trajectory. I really do think we should explore weddings more. Our restaurant is consistently in the top rankings, and we have that gorgeous roof terrace. Why not take those two strengths and package them together? Convenient in-house catering, a stunning backdrop, and somewhere for guests to stay overnight."

"The Three Palms is killing it with their weddings," Jarrod chirps up. "There's definitely a need in the market."

It's a longer-term project, one that probably won't come to fruition until after my contract is up, but that's not the reason for my hesitance. I lack the experience to drive this. We weren't licensed for weddings at The Portman, and I've spent my whole career there. In the back of my head, I can hear Mark's logical reasoning: that's why you have heads of departments who are experienced. But that's not the point. As Manager, I need to know what I'm doing.

"They have an open day next weekend," Carmen continues. "Someone should go undercover and scope it out."

"I can't do it," Jarrod says. "I know a couple of their wedding planners. It'll be too suspect."

"Who do you know?" Carmen frowns.

Jarrod drums his fingers against the edge of the table. Behind his head, the clock continues to tick towards my weekend.

"Can't remember their names, but I'd know their faces, and so they'd probably know mine."

"Oh." Carmen's lip curls. "Yes, well, going to be a bit weird if you pretend to be engaged, then, isn't it?"

"Exactly." Jarrod flicks his wrist at me. "Zoe should do it. She's a new face around here. Nobody will recognise her yet."

All eyes turn onto me. The professional businesswoman in me is pleased this conversation hasn't descended into a discussion on Jarrod's sex life, but I'm still not thrilled at the other direction it's taken.

"Okay," I concede, because that's the sensible response and because I've been encouraging everyone else to be open-minded, so I need to show the same. "It'll be a good opportunity to research the competition and understand what the market wants."

"Great!" Carmen beams.

"It's not going to be an overnight solution, though," I say. "We still need to get more event footfall in the meantime."

It kickstarts a debate on intimate music gigs, which apparently are trendy right now. By making the venue so small, it drives up the price of tickets and offers a unique experience to fans. There's a balance to be had between unknown artists who need the exposure and A-listers who probably would be spoilt for choice.

I don't mention that I know one, but I store it away to quiz Ed on later.

*

When I arrive home, Mark is on the phone by the balcony door. He's not saying much, just a 'hm' here and a 'yes' there, and I shut myself away in the bedroom to give him privacy while I freshen up. This is what the weekend will be. I have to be cool about it. I have to accept it. Even on his days off, he'll still have a foot in work.

I shower then wriggle into some sexy underwear and a low-cut dress. It's not that I want this weekend to be just about sex, but I suspect I'll need something to distract him from the bombshell that I've arranged a surprise getaway.

By the time I've worked up the courage to break the news, he's off the phone and sat on the sofa, forearms braced on his thighs, gaze clouded over as he stares out of the window.

"Everything okay?" I ask.

His eyes snap onto me. "Fine. How was work?"

"Fine." I wring my hands together in front of me. "I've got to go undercover next week at a wedding open day."

"Carmen still keen on that idea?"

Some of my nerves dissolve into warmth that flows through me when he asks that. He listens. Cares. Every obstacle seems tiny when I think about how well we know each other.

"Yeah." I plop down next to him on the sofa and smooth out my dress that's ridden up my thighs. "I'm asking them to be open-minded and need to lead by example."

"That's good management. Are you going alone?"

I huff out a laugh. "Unless you want to come, I will be."

He's not interested in marriage. At least he wasn't whenever we'd spoken about it in the past. After the Richard saga, I'm not mad about the prospect of another engagement either. Even if I were, it's not the right time when we're living in different countries with jobs that consume us.

"I don't mind coming," he says. "I'll be a sounding board."

I perk up. "Really?"

"Yes. I know it's been stressing you out. While I'm here, I want to do what I can to support."

Setting my palm on top of his massive hand, I squeeze my gratitude.

"Anything else bothering you?" he asks, and there is something in his tone—the faux nonchalance—that prickles the hairs on the back of my neck.

He knows.

Was that what the phone call was about? Has Ed ratted me out?

The little shit.

"I've booked us a couple of nights away, just an hour down the road. You'll still be within driving distance of Ed if you need to be, but I wanted to take advantage of your weekend off and give us our first real getaway together."

He definitely knows, because his sternly handsome face doesn't even flicker.

Instead, he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and murmurs, "That sounds perfect, Zo."

"Did it sound perfect when you were given the heads up earlier, or have you since had time to come to terms with it?"

The corner of his mouth lifts. "My team works with a code of transparency. No secrets. But, also, they know me well and understand I'd want reassurances. Just like you know me well enough to put those reassurances in place."

"Did Ed tell you?"

"No. Jeremy did. My second."

At least the transparency extends to me. Still, this avoids the awkward reaction I was dreading, so I'll accept it.

"Great, well, we leave this evening so pack a bag."

His fingers brush over my lips. "I'm already packed."

*

It's a small guest house in Long Beach. I deliberately avoided hotels—far too easy to fall into the habit of comparing every tiny detail—and this is private while not being too secluded. There's just one bedroom with a high ceiling and light, airy decor, plus a yard with hot tub and seating area. The yard isn't overlooked, and it's where we settle down for the evening after dumping our bags.

"This is great, Zo." Mark stretches his long legs beneath the cast iron table.

Traffic hums in the distance, almost drowned out by the crickets. It's peaceful. Serene. I'm a city girl through and through, despite where I grew up, and while this can hardly classify as countryside, it's removed enough from the daily hustle and bustle.

"Can I put my cards on the table?"

My head bobs up at his question. I'm still not used to this new Mark, the one who openly communicates. Who volunteersto communicate.

And yet unease stirs through me. Is it over already? No. He wouldn't have agreed to come here if he was breaking up with me.

"I'd love you to." I crack a smile in the hope that will fool my brain into believing there's nothing to worry about.

"These last couple of months have been tough for me," he says. "I've missed you. I've lived alone for seven years, but those weeks we spent together before you moved out here brought it all back."

He pauses to clear his throat and take a sip of water. I'm not entirely sure where he's going with this, and neither is my jack-hammering heart.

"I know we only have half of each other," he continues, "but I just wanted you to know what you mean to me. Even when we're apart."

Tears burn my eyes, until his figure blurs into a fuzzy assortment of shapes and monochrome.

"Don't cry." He sweeps a gentle thumb under my eye. "Otherwise I'll be tempted to avoid communicating again."

I sob out a laugh and swipe the back of my hand across my cheek.

"Sorry." I sniffle. "It's just that my past relationships have always gone tits up when distance is involved."

"My feelings on your past relationships are well-documented."

It's a paraphrase of something I once said to him while he was criticising JJ. It just makes the tears fall harder, because this is the Mark I've been waiting for. He's open. Communicative. Not afraid to poke fun at himself. It's like the dark cloud that used to hover over him has lifted.

He's not different. Not really. But he's a happier, more relaxed version of himself.

And now we're separated not by fear, but by distance. 

***

Thank you for reading :) xx

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