Can't Live Without by Joanne Phillips Page A

this week, sorting out stuff for the house, sharing a pizza after work a few times, and I don’t think I’d be exaggerating to say we’re getting closer. Closer than just-good-friends.
    No, I don’t think I’d be exaggerating at all.
    A few nights ago, Joshua called to ask me out again and I agreed to meet him for a drink, just for something to do, really. But the strangest thing happened. All I could think about all evening was Paul. Paul, my boss. Paul, my best friend. He filled my head so much that I called Joshua “Paul” twice.
    Now, I think I know what is going on here, and it isn’t necessarily that I’ve lost my marbles. Since the fire I’ve been feeling rootless and cast adrift in a possession-free world. I go on a couple of dates with Joshua and, even though he so isn’t the one for me, I begin to imagine what it would be like to be with a man again. Really with a man. What it would be like to be in love . Maybe deep down I feel that I kind of need a little bit of rescuing …
    Impressed by my amateur psychology? Well, don’t be. It’s Bonnie’s theory, not mine. But it struck a chord with me, and I was intrigued to think that all this could be going on without my knowledge. I have hidden depths. I’ve always suspected as much.
    Anyway, once these secret desires were reawakened (Bonnie again), they were free to attach themselves to their true target.
    And that target is by my side right now, unaware and unknowing.
    I lower myself into a matching deckchair, aware for the first time today that I’m not wearing any make-up and haven’t washed my hair for two days. Surreptitiously, I undo the top button on my shirt as though this will make me suddenly irresistible. Ha!
    Paul moves his chair nearer to mine and all my nerves tingle. There is a look on his face that I have seen somewhere before, in another lifetime.
    Might Paul feel the same way about me as I think I’ve started to feel about him?
    The house is silent except for the beating of my heart. I watch his face as he considers me for a moment and then begins to speak.
    ‘Stella. There’s something I want to talk to you about.’
    This is it. Declarations of undying love surely to follow. I hope so, I really, really hope so. If only because it will spare me the ordeal of having to be the one to bring it up. (Very romantic, Stella!)
    ‘Yes?’ I say breathily. ‘What is it?’
    ‘I want to talk to you about Billy.’
    ‘Billy?’
    ‘Yes, Billy. You know – your brother.’
    ‘I know who he is.’ Inwardly I seethe. Bloody Billy getting in the way again: perfect timing as usual. ‘What about him?’ I ask casually.
    Paul leans forward and takes my hand. Oh-ho, maybe it’s not so bad after all.
    ‘He’s really sorry about the way he left, you know. He feels dreadful about it. And he’d like a chance to make it up to you.’ Paul smiles and my heart jumps. How could I have worked right next to the man for all this time and ignored how gorgeous his smile is?
    ‘OK,’ is all I can think of to say.
    Paul gets off his garden chair and comes to kneel by my feet, the traditional position of proposal. Suddenly I can see it all: the wedding, my dress, Paul looking devastating in his morning suit, all our family and friends smiling indulgently, paper confetti in rainbow hues …
    ‘Stella?’ And back to reality.
    ‘Stella, I know you’ve been through a really bad time lately, and I really admire how you’ve been coping. But the thing is …’
    I drift off again as Paul carries on talking, his face sincere and thoughtful. He’s saying something about Billy and my father but I’m not listening. I’m just looking at him. Looking at his mouth. His full, strong, mobile mouth. And before I even know what I’m about to do I lean forward and lay my own lips against it.
    For a beautiful ten seconds our lips blend together in perfect harmony. My head tilts to one side to get a better angle and my hand begins to creep up his arm, feeling the