Free An Autumn Crush by Milly Johnson Page A

going into her bedroom to change out of her work suit.
    Shit, shit, shit, thought Floz. She knew he worked in a restaurant, but had somehow got it into her head he was a waiter who liked to bake a bit, not a professional cook. And not just a pro but
a head chef ! What a disaster! If he stayed longer than thirty seconds in her presence this time without running off, he was bound to slag off her amateur pasta dish – or worse, throw
up. Should she put some herbs in and make the flavour complex? Oh GOD, she wasn’t that confident a cook. Why did she have to open her mouth and volunteer to make dinner? They could have had
that bought-in curry, as Juliet suggested.
    The breadmaker beeped the end of its cycle. Floz peeped in with one eye expecting a sod’s law disaster, but no – the loaf was crusty and smelled divine. It just needed a brush over
with salted water, some poppy and sesame seeds sprinkled on and fifteen minutes in a hot oven. She busied herself with that whilst Juliet trilled, ‘Better get this party started,’
behind her bedroom door.
    A cuckoo sprang out of the clock on the wall and announced that it was six o’clock. Floz felt stupidly nervous. She almost dropped the bread as the entryphone buzzed to herald that the
visitors were here.
    ‘Let them in, Floz, will you?’ said Juliet, now in the loo. Floz pretended she hadn’t heard. She didn’t want to be left alone with Steve, whom she hadn’t met, and
Guy whom she had met and scared to death. The buzzer sounded again and Juliet emerged from the bathroom just as Floz was heading across the room to it.
    ‘I’ve got it, no worries,’ said Juliet and picked up the door-phone. ‘Yep, come on up,’ she said into it with easy familiarity.
    Outside, Steve wagged his finger at Guy. ‘Now remember, be nice and smiley and don’t make her feel as if you’re terrified of her.’
    Guy was trembling with anticipation. Not even the fearsome Alberto Masserati scared him in the ring, but the prospect of seeing Floz again made his knees distinctly wobbly. The door clicked open
and Steve pushed it. He didn’t let Guy know that he was feeling all hot under the collar too at the prospect of seeing the voluptuous Juliet. Even after all these years, he was still like a
jelly in her presence, though he covered it up with a brash show of bravado that she had come to misinterpret.
    Steve breezed into the flat first with his usual cocky strut. He went straight over to Juliet, one side of his top lip raising like Elvis’s.
    ‘Wotcher, Jules,’ he said. ‘How’s your bits?’
    ‘Hello, Steve,’ said Juliet with a flat tone, unimpressed by his cheeky entrance. ‘Come and meet Floz. Floz, this is Steve, Steve this is Floz.’
    ‘Oh hi, Floz,’ said Steve, holding out an enormous paw. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’
    ‘Have you?’ asked Juliet quickly.
    First mistake. Guy could have murdered him. Luckily Steve was thinking well on his feet today.
    ‘Well, I haven’t . . . er . . . obviously, but that’s what you say, isn’t it?’
    ‘ You might,’ huffed Juliet. God, he really was a jerk. Handsome, but a total jerk. He always had been. Even at primary school. He was so far up his own arse, he could have
played with his tonsils from the inside.
    Guy stepped into the room a good few paces behind Steve.
    ‘You two have already met, haven’t you?’ said Juliet. Guy nodded at Floz, all words suspended in his throat, glued to a ball of nerves that couldn’t get past his
voice-box. As a result, he was unable to let out the cheery, ‘Hi again, Floz. I didn’t recognize you with your clothes on – ha!’ witty retort that he had practised in his
flat. Instead all he managed was a glowering nod. And his Heathcliff face.
    And Floz, expecting him to have at least made a bit of an effort with a ‘Hi’ and a smile, found herself annoyed enough to merely nod in return. She had no intention of putting
herself forward for him to knock her