A lump rises in my throat. His unexpected kindness hits me harder than I thought possible.
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.
I start crying.
My bag slips from my shoulder, landing on the floor as I wipe my eyes. It’s such a thoughtful gesture—so unlike the man I’ve known him to be. Quiet, reserved, broody. Lucas rarely cleaned anything, yet here James is, doing all of this without a word.
He steps closer. “Hey,” he says. “Please don’t cry.”
He bends down until we’re eye level, his hands moving over my shoulders in long, soothing strokes. The steady rhythm of his touch works its way through me, and slowly, the tears subside. Our gazes catch. His throat bobs as he swallows, his jaw tightening for just a second.
Up close, I take in more detail than ever before—the subtle gold and brown flecks scattered through his green eyes, like sunlight breaking through leaves. There’s a tiny scar just above his left eyebrow, so faint it’s almost invisible. His lips press into athin line as he studies me. I don’t know how long we stand there, staring at each other, before he whispers, “Hey, April.”
“Hey, James,” I whisper back.
His attention shifts from my eyes to my lips, then back again. His gaze feels gravitational, pulling me in. Instinctively, I shift closer. I’m not sure why; I just do. As if he’s magnetic. Then, abruptly, he clears his throat and steps back, as though my touch might burn him.
My cheeks heat, unsure of what that was, self-conscious that I made him uncomfortable.
My thoughts are interrupted by the rapid pitter-patter of tiny paws as Basil bounds down the stairs, making his grand appearance. I swivel towards him with a smile. “Hey, baby!” I coo, squatting to meet him.
Trotting towards me, he leans into my hand, arching his back and purring like a little engine, the sound rumbling through him. I run my fingers along his soft fur, giving him all the scratches he demands. I glance up at James. “Thank you so much for looking after him. It really means a lot to me,” I say.
He gives me a small smile. “I’m happy to. I’m glad the girls could take you away for a bit. Did you have fun?”
I huff out a laugh. “I’m not sure I’d call itfun, exactly. But it was … interesting.” I try to inject positivity into my voice. “It was nice to get out of the house, at least. We had some laughs.”
The room falls quiet, and I fidget nervously as he frowns.
“What?” I ask, unsure what to make of his reaction.
“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he says simply.
My brows knit in confusion and he adds quietly, “It’s okay if you’re not okay.”
My eyes drift to the hall table, cluttered with framed photographs—pictures of Lucas and me, snapshots of happy moments I once thought we’d carry with us forever. I’ve avoided these photos since Lucas left. I can’t bear the reminder that theyrepresent a life I thought we’d still be living. Instead, James is here, looking after Basil and cleaning my house. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
The finality of it hits me like a punch to the chest.
“I’m not okay,” I admit.
James’s expression sharpens. He watches as if he’s trying to read me, to figure out what’s going on beneath the surface.
“Do you hate me?” I ask, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
“What? Why the fuck would I hate you?”
“Because I asked him to leave. I—” I swallow hard. “I told him to go.”
James’s jaw tightens. “I think we both know he deserved it. He didn’t have to walk out that door, but he did,” he says, his voice even and firm.
I shift on my feet. “He told you everything?”
James scoffs, the sound dry, tinged with bitterness. “Mum did. But we both know he didn’t tell her the whole story. I’m sure I can fill in the blanks.”
“Oh,” I murmur, unsure what else to say.
He gives a small nod.
