I’m smiling, my internal radiator turned up to full power as I make two mugs of tea and take them back into the bedroom. Finn is still asleep, but he stirs when I put his mug down on the bedside table beside his pillow.
‘Morning,’ I say, marvelling at how dark his lashes are, how blue-green his eyes. ‘Tea?’
He groans and sits up in bed, giving me a smile that only just brings out the indents in his cheeks.
‘Thanks.’
‘Did you get much sleep?’ I ask.
‘A bit. Your bed is a darn sight more comfortable than the sofa.’
‘I still can’t believe you sleep on the sofa at your grandparents’ place. No wonder you don’t stick around for long.’
‘I might change my mind if you let me crash here.’
‘You can crash here,’ I say flippantly.
‘Really?’ He seems surprised and I experience a severe pang of anticipatory grief at the thought of him leaving.
I should be keeping things casual between us, not inviting him to sleep in my bed.
‘Are you working today?’ he asks, reaching for his mug.
‘Later. It’s the carnival, remember?’
‘I completely forgot it was this weekend. I guess I should take the boys.’
‘It’s also changeover day. I have a family due at four, but I’ll try to get organised earlier. I’m at Seaglass later for the after-party.’
‘You still like working there?’
‘Yeah, it’s fun,’ I reply, sounding a touch defensive. ‘And it’s easy. And I love working with Chas. And when I start sculpting again, it will be the perfect job because I can work all hours during the summer and sculpt when Seaglass shuts up shop for winter.’
‘So you haven’t started sculpting?’ he presses gently.
‘I haven’t really had a chance,’ I reply sheepishly. ‘Not with all the work I’ve been doing on the house.’
‘Inspiration yet to strike?’
‘I guess so.’
He gives me a sympathetic look and takes a sip of his tea, his downcast eyes creating fan shapes where his long eyelashes connect with his skin. They look as soft as butterfly wings.
‘I wondered if you’d be up for coming with me to the Barbara Hepworth Museum,’ he says, resting his mug on his chest. ‘I’ve never been.’
‘I’d love to,’ I reply, glad that we’re not still talking about the lack of direction my life has had. ‘I haven’t been in years. I used to go there all the time when I was younger. When were you thinking?’
‘Monday?’
My stomach dips. ‘Oh, I’m not sure about Monday.’
‘Have you got other plans?’
‘Only to wallow. It’s the anniversary of my parents’ deaths.’
‘Don’t spend the day on your own,’ he implores, reaching over to take my hand.
‘Shouldn’t you be hanging out with your family?’
