“Babygirl, you did it. Fuck yeah, I’m so proud of you.” He brings his lips down to mine and kisses me in the middle of the street like he needs my oxygen for his survival.
Someone walks past and says, “Oh my god, it’s Harry Ellis,” but Harry ignores them.
“Did you get them?” I ask, pulling away to look him in the eye. His cheeks are all pink. Jesus, he’s so adorable.
“Yep.” Harry holds out his palm and shows me two sets of shiny silver keys. “Pi and Eggo are already there.”
Together we walk ten minutes through the streets of Bath to number thirty-seven Darcy Street, right across the road from Harry’s current, and soon to be former, flat.
The door isn’t a classy black like his old building—it’s what I’d call nacho-cheese, that sort of midpoint between yellow and orange—and there aren’t cute little bay trees flanking it like the place across the road, but it’s our home.
Our new home together.
The flat is in the basement, and we have a different entrance from the three apartments above us. We also have a big back garden with bifold double doors leading from the kitchen onto the patio, and two-point-five bedrooms. Harry had already said we could convert the point-five bedroom into my closet.
His teammates Pi and Eggo are here, lending their off-season rugby muscles to help us move. On Sunday, we’ll hire a van to collect a few things from Hooke Manor. Mostly my bed, my TV, my desk, and all my clothes, shoes, and perfumes. Only my private perfume collection, though. I gave away all the others. Who needs to keep those false reminders of my self-worth when I have Harry nearby complimenting me, kissing me, showing me in hundreds of ways how much he thinks about me?
“I’m going to put so many plants here in our little front garden,” I say as we jog down the steps to our patio.
“Wait, wait,” Harry says, reaching the bottom step. The door is already open. No doubt Pi and Eggo are lurking somewhere beyond. “I should carry you over the threshold.”
“That’s for married couples,” I reply.
Harry lunges at me, literally sweeping me off my feet and holding me in his arms like a lifeguard rescuing someone from a treacherous undercurrent. Of course I scream-giggle.
“I’ll marry you one day.” He says it like a throwaway comment. My heart slams itself into my ribcage, and I want to kiss him and go down on him and make him a cup of tea all at once to show him just how much I love him.
I don’t get to do any of those things, though, as the moment we step foot onto our beautiful herringbone floor there’s a skittering sound and a dog that’s made of legs comes tearing towards us.
“Trekkie!” Harry yells, setting me down and then dropping to his knees for the creature. He’s on his back in our new hallway less than a second after that.
The dog is due to be our housemate for a few weeks while his owner travels to his home country for the off season. I’ve never had a pet before, and I don’t know the slightest thing about them, but Harry is beside himself with joy over the little fella. And if there’s anything that fills my heart more than seeing Harry smile, I’m yet to find it.
“How ya going, Abs? Lan?” Pi says, joining us a moment later in the hall. His cheeks are ruddy, and he seems disproportionately out of breath for a professional athlete carrying a few boxes across the street.
In the kitchen, Eggo looks equally displaced. His hair is ruffled, his eyes wide, and . . . his fucking T-shirt is on inside out. Surely there’s only one explanation for this.
I’m pointedly glancing at Harry and clamping my lips together in case I shout something out, but Harry is completely oblivious.
“Oi oi, thanks for helping with this,” he says to Eggo, who’s definitely shooting Pi some meaningful, and dare I say, concerned looks. I want to grab a cup of coffee, find a free counter to lean against, and simply observe whatever the heck is going on.
“Abs! Orlando!” Eggo chimes in. “How’d it go?”
“I got the job,” I say.
“Bloody ripper.” Pi high-fives me and almost snaps my wrist.
“Where do you want all these boxes?” Eggo asks, pointing around the room.
“You can leave them there,” Harry says, before I have even half a second to suggest moving them elsewhere or unpacking them. “Thanks. This is such a big help.”
“No problem, mate. Thank you for watching Trekkie for a few weeks,” Pi says. “Let me just explain a few things about feeding him and stuff.” Pi pulls a piece of paper from his pocket that bears the handwritten heading of TREKKIE SHIT.
“While you guys are running through that bollocks, I’m gonna take a wizz,” Eggo says, leaving the room.
“Change of plan. I’m not going to Australia,” Pi whispers the second his teammate has shut the bathroom door.
“What? Why not?” Harry whispers back. His gaze immediately falls on Trekkie, and I see the panic flash over his face.
