68

‘GOSH, whatever happened to your brand new trousers?’ Rhiannon asked as soon as Georgie came in later that night.

Georgie looked down at the brown stain on the front of her white cotton drawstring trousers, a funny sensation passing deep and low through her belly at the thought of how it had got there. ‘Um … I spilt my coffee.’

Rhiannon’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘Who’d you have coffee with?’

Georgie avoided her friend’s piercing gaze by making a show of emptying her gym bag. ‘It wasn’t a date so stop looking at me like that,’ she said.

‘So who was it? Someone from the gym?’ ‘It was my boss.’

‘That’s all right, then,’ Rhiannon said, folding her arms. ‘He doesn’t count.’

Georgie turned to look at her. ‘What do you mean, he doesn’t count?’ ‘He’s not your soul mate.’

This time is was Georgie who narrowed her eyes. ‘Have you been talking to Madame Celestia about me again?’

Rhiannon gave her a sheepish look. ‘I happened to run into her buying a book on anger management at Bondi