God, I detest Carrie.

You'd think if you'd essentially stolen a colleague's ex for yourself, you'd at least have a dash of humility about it. But not our Little Miss Shelley. She seems to be delighting in her victory a little too much.

I deliberately ignore the email she's just sent the team, suggesting we all meet at O'Neills before the wedding. The choice of pub is irritating me too; you may remember this was the same pub I met Declan for drinks on the night he properly ended things with me. Actually, it was also the pub I met him in when he suggested the original "break" in the first place!

So I don't think I'll be revisiting O'Neills anytime soon; it's clearly not lucky for me, and Declan obviously frequents it way too often. I'm guessing it's probably him who suggested the venue, given it's less than five minutes from his flatshare.

Typical Declan.

Now that the wedding is so close, I'm starting to freak out about Ric and Declan meeting and interacting. I just can't imagine the two of them in the same room together, possibly talking. What would they even have in common? Well, apart from yours truly, of course!

I'm also panicking about how I'm going to act around Ric. After life sadly returned to banal normality in the week since our kiss-and-various-other-stuff, he'd managed to somehow make things worse by acting like a bit of a dick last night. Essentially behaving just like the guy I'd expected him to be, based on my first impressions. Although he didn't bring that girl home with him; I could be thankful for that, at least.

(Maybe he just shagged her in an alleyway before coming back to the flat? Or in the pub toilet? Wow, my brain is being so fun today.)

Based on that last interaction though, that look that passed between us as I left the pub, I don't think we're as okay as he claims we are. I know I'm certainly not all right.

I can't be just friends with him; let's face it, we were barely friends in the first place. And I have no idea how to convince him that I don't secretly want to be with Declan, which seems to be the massive stumbling block in all of this. The issue that Ric is somehow fixated on.

I'm actually starting to wonder if he's just using this as an excuse not to be with me. Maybe he thought he wanted to start something, and then he panicked again, realising he's just not that into me after all. It wouldn't be the first time that has happened to me. It probably won't be the last time either . . .

I realise I've been staring blankly at my computer screen for at least five minutes. I'm usually far more productive than this, even when I've had a boy fuck me over. It seems Ric has managed to break me even in that respect. Slow clap, Ric, slow clap.

Deciding I really need to clear my head, I have a little wander around the office, then pop to the kitchen to grab a juice from the vending machine. Hopefully a sugar fix will sort me out, albeit temporarily.

"Hey Abby!" The saccharine voice of Carrie somewhere behind me forces my teeth to grind together.  I don't have the energy to play nice today. "You didn't get back to my email about tomorrow! Do you think you're going to meet us at the pub?"

I turn to face her. Taking in the glossy extensions, perfectly made-up face, smug over-glossed lips. Those big blue eyes blink innocently at me.

I shake my head. "I think Ric and I are just going to head straight to the venue."

And I already know no one else is planning to join them in O'Neills. So it would be the most awkward double date ever if we did go.

"So, who's this Ric then?" She prods me, trying to act all pally with me. "Have you been seeing him long?"

"A few weeks," I reply, turning away from her. The lie burning a hole like acid through my heart.

"Oh good!" Carrie claps her hands together delightedly. "I'm so glad you've been able to move on finally from Declan."

I long to bop her over the head with my bottle of Irn Bru. Why hadn't I chosen a career where violence wasn't frowned upon? Like boxing? Or crime?

If I were a pettier person, I'd probably show her all the missed calls and text messages I've received from Declan over the past few weeks. Part of me would love to wipe that patronising smile from her face.

But instead, I find myself barely caring.

She's welcome to him. Good luck and all that. She'll need it.

"I moved on from Declan a good while ago," I say. My voice is flat. But I know it's true.

A part of me always knew me and Declan weren't going to last. When our relationship imploded on itself, my heart just hadn't caught up with my brain at the immediate point of detonation. Plus, obviously, the way he ended things had added to the humiliation at the time and had amplified my emotions somewhat.

However. . . Remember when I said before that I didn't cope well with break-ups? Do you recall the process I outlined for getting me out of the other end of the heartbreak tunnel? That didn't really happen this time. I didn't need it. I went through my stages of grief in pretty much record time . . . for me, anyway.

And . . . I only played the empowered section of my Single Girl Playlist. Once. The night Ric caught me dancing around the kitchen to Dua Lipa. And sure, I'd cried that night, but the rejection had still been fresh, and my pride had been wounded far more than my heart.

I'm sure Carrie is still talking, but I don't really register it as I leave the kitchen and return to my desk. I try anew to focus on the email in front of me, but the text keeps drifting in and out of focus, and I'm almost relieved to be interrupted by my desk phone ringing.

It's Shannon in reception. "You've got a visitor," she informs me bluntly before hanging up abruptly.

No further information is provided. Shannon is the boss's niece, and that is literally her only qualification for the job. I can't really blame her for her lack of professionalism though. I temped as a receptionist once years ago and loathed it. Although I like to think I still did a pretty good job of pretending it was my dream job.

Rolling my eyes, I stand again, composing myself. Hopefully, it's not a persistent client or random salesperson, but I can't really think who else it could be. I don't tend to get a lot of guests popping into my office; I'm not that popular.

Instead, when I pop out into the overly-bright reception area, I'm surprised to find Beth sprawled out on the garish pink sofa. Her face lights up when she sees me.

"Hey!" She jumps to her feet and gives me a hug. "I remembered you saying you worked here; thought I'd see if you were free for lunch?"

I think of the boring Tesco pasta salad I purchased on my way into the office this morning.  Lunch at a restaurant sounds far more appealing. Even if Beth's sudden appearance in my office makes no sense at all. "Sure," I nod. "Just let me grab my stuff."

"Brilliant. Do you fancy DiMaggio's? It shouldn't be too busy yet."

Ooh yes please! The mozzarella cubes in DiMaggio's are one of my favourite starters, and I've been thinking about deep-fried mozzarella a lot lately, ever since mentally reliving my first date with Declan. It probably says a lot that I've been thinking about cheese more than my ex.

I opt for spag bol as my main. I've not eaten much this week - the stress of my living situation has been upsetting my stomach somewhat - but I'm actually properly hungry for the first time in days so I might as well stuff my face!

Beth is on a half day, so she orders a glass of wine, along with her goats cheese starter and pepperoni pizza; I stick to a Coke since I'll unfortunately need to go back to work.

"So what brought on this lunch invite?" I ask nervously once the waiter has left us alone. Although I already suspect it has to be related to the dark-eyed lothario who has been wrecking my head and heart these last few weeks.

And I have to admit part of me is desperate for answers. Metaphorically pulling my dictaphone and notebook out of my bag like an old school reporter, ready to take notes and write a killer article on The Conundrum that is Mr Ricardo Parker. The other part of me, though, is scared I won't want to hear what she has to say. Maybe I'm better just leaving well alone.

Beth sighs. "This is a wee bit awkward," she says quietly, and my heart sinks, stomach churning as I realise my theory is about to be confirmed. "But I need to talk to you about Ric. I really think there are some things you need to know."

What the hell is she about to tell me?

It seems like Beth is about to drop some truth-bombs on Abby...

However, my holiday abroad beckons tomorrow, so chapters will be slow for the next fortnight . . . The good news is I have other completed stories, so please feel free to check those out in the meantime if you find yourself missing me at all! 😉

I will still post if and when I'm able (I have two half-written chapters so will see if inspiration strikes at any point - usually on holiday it's when I can't sleep) but can make no guarantees! And will still be making time to read, of course.