“Easy can be epic,” he says.
“Tell that to all the world’s scriptwriters,” I say, rolling my eyes. “But you know, therearegreat stories about the love that was there all along. In almost every makeover movie, the girl gets all dressed up and realizes she loves the person who was always there.”
“What about inMoonstruck?” he says, and I smile.
“That makeover was always about Cher opening herself up to romantic love. It was never about winning over Nicolas Cage,” I say, shrugging. “She had him all along.”
He pulls his hand back and looks at me intensely, his eyes narrowing in a way that makes my stomach flip.
“Not that I think I have you,” I say quickly.
“And yet,” he says, staring deeply into my eyes, his face still and serious, “you do.”
The last line hangs in the air for a moment, and I swallow a large mouthful of beer. Ash looks at the beer and then at me and then stands up. He picks up my gym bag and with his free hand he grabs mine and pulls me toward the door.
“What’s going on?”
“Come,” he says.
He pulls me by the hand out of the pub and up onto the promenade, and I let him lead me home. As we near the house, he pulls me closer so we are walking with his arm draped around my shoulders. He tugs me in for a squeeze.
Ash puts the keys in the bowl by the door, and as he flicks on a lamp, I catch my breath. The room is immaculate, the painting finished, all the mess cleared away. The kitchen bench is gleaming from a fresh sanding and oiling.
“Wow. It looks so beautiful,” I say, turning back to him. “You finished it?”
“Me and the boys,” he says, looking hard into my eyes. “Are you still with me?”
“Yes,” I say, nodding.
“Thank the stars,” he says, moving toward me, his strong arms outstretched, reaching around me to pull me close.
His first kiss is soft and gentle, and then he stops and smiles at me. He’s checking to see I’m certain. The second is deeper and more longing, and a moan escapes my lips. He pulls back again, putting his forehead on mine.
“I think we should...” He pauses, and I want to tell him not to worry. That I won’t waver. That I’m here.
“You want to take it slowly?” I say, finishing his thought for him as I pull back and look him in his eyes.
“You’re not going anywhere, are you?”
“No,” I say. “Right now, I just want to be on that sofa, with a film. With you.”
“Well, okay then,” he says, pushing my fringe back from my eyes with a gentle finger. And then he smiles and reaches down and picks me up in his arms, swiftly and easily. He kisses me again on the mouth and then throws me playfully on the sofa.
“Let me go and get my pick boxes so we can choose a film,” I say, about to pull myself up.
“You stay right there,” he says. Then he heads into his bedroom, and he comes back out with something behind his back. “I made this before we went up north. And then I never got a chance to share it with you.”
“What is it?” I say, my eyes narrowing.
He comes across to the sofa, and when he gets close to me, he gets down on one knee.
“Ash, what the hell?”
He cackles, producing a small box from behind his back. And so I grab a pillow and smash him over the head with it.
“You bastard,” I say, snatching the little box from his hand and opening it up.
“It’s only got seven films in so far, but they are ones you said you hadn’t seen, and a couple I haven’t seen.”
