I scrunch my forehead. “I don’t know if I can get my head around it. Hooking up with randoms, maybe. But polyamorous?”
“And that’s far enough. It’s not like these are the only options. There are plenty of variations, different people view it in different ways, but, if it’s a route anyone wants to consider, it’s all about finding something that works for both of you”
He takes another sip of wine, eyes steady. “An open relationship never quite fit for us. Just sex without emotion? That felt too flat, too clinical. We didn’t want sneaky flings with strangers we’d never see again; we wanted the possibility of real friendships, even love, alongside what we already had. For us it wasn’t about avoiding boredom — it was about expanding the definition of what family could look like.”
He shrugs, almost apologetic but not ashamed. “Polyamory gave us language for what we were already craving: space for honesty, space for care, space to build something bigger than just the two of us without tearing down what we already had.”
“It sounds so romantic when you put it like that,” I say, maybe with a hint of sarcasm.
“Well, it’s also admin heavy,” Craig says, amused. “Google should sponsor us. There’s nothing sexier than a shared spreadsheet, Tom. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen two grown men negotiate a holiday schedule with colour-coded cells.”
“Stop,” I say. “I can’t believe you of all people have made me horny for Excel.”
He points at me with his fork. “Look, I know it’s different for you, being the single person here. That said, here’s the rule that helped me the most: be clear about what you can and can’t offer. Don’t promise boyfriend energy if you’ve only got Tuesday nights and one functioning emotion. Don’t pretend you’re okay with casual if you know you imprint like a duckling.”
“Which I do,” I admit.
“Which you do,” Craig confirms.
I chew, considering. “What if I don’t know what I can offer until I try? What if I get it wrong?”
“You will,” he says, cheerfully brutal. “We all do. But you’ll understand why you got it wrong and maybe it won’t be for you. It’s not a test with one right answer. It’s a language you learn by speaking it.”
Something in my chest loosens—like a tight belt unbuckling one notch.
“It’s not just sex for us,” Craig adds, softer. “People assume it is. There’s sex, sure, but there’s also care. The point is joy, intimacy, chosen family. A guy Phil’s been dating helped me build a bookcase last month. We took him to Ikea, Tom. That’s love.”
I laugh, the sound coming out surprisingly wet-eyed. “Is it weird if I say I’m jealous of how healthy you sound?”
“Not weird,” he says. “But don’t be fooled — we’ve had ugliest-cry-on-the-floor nights too. We just kept talking through them. And, crucially, neither of us used polyamory as a stick to hit the other with. If one of us is struggling, we slow down. No secret hammers.”
I nod, absorbing phrases like a sponge. Seatbelts. Information. No secret hammers.
Craig leans in, detective eyes soft. “And you, romantic muppet that you are — maybe this could be good for you. You’ve spent years thinking love equals control. Maybe a structure where consent is the sacred thing would suit you. Where feelings aren’t bargaining chips.”
There’s a pause. Guy pads into my brain like a guilty cat. Our lunchtime walks around the harbour, our easy banter about colleagues, the way he’d wrinkle his nose at a seagull like it owed him money. I miss him in a tender place I don’t often let myself look at directly.
Craig watches me, and because he’s Craig he doesn’t push. He just slides the water jug closer like hydration is a metaphor.
“I used to walk that route with Guy,” I say eventually, picking a piece of lime from the edge of my plate.
Craig nods.
“We were… close. It meant a lot to me. I’d like whatever comes next to feel that same…connection.”
Craig gives a small, understanding smile. “You deserve a genuine connection.”
I change the subject before the ache gets teeth. “Anyway. Daniel still texts.”
His expression snaps like a blind. The detective is back; the forearms tense. “Again.”
“He’s been… insistent. ‘We need to meet.’ Which I may have agreed to—”
“What?!”
“He suggested later in the week, but I can’t bring myself to say yes.” I drink, as if wine is a courage vitamin. “It’s just—his name still rings in my head like a fire alarm.”
Craig’s mouth is a line. “And he knows that. That’s why he does it. Don’t give him a corridor back into your life.”
