The Wake-Up Call

by Beth O'Leary

She grins at me, and there it is—a traitorous flicker of sensation in my gut. This happens sometimes. Ninety-nine per cent of the time, I think Izzy is the most annoying woman I have ever met, but very occasionally I can’t help noticing how beautiful she is.

Izzy is “cute,” that’s what men would say—she’s petite, with round cheeks and a button nose. Cute, not sexy. Until you meet her eyes, and then you change your mind.

Very suddenly, I see the problem. I don’t hate Izzy Jenkins at all.

(Why is it that when men sweat, it’s sexy, but when I sweat, I look like I’ve been crossbred with a tomato?)

it’s easy to believe someone would laugh at you. Easier than believing they’d love you back.