“I don’t remember smiling at my phone like that when my estate agent text. But you do you, bro.” He replies. The man knows me far too well. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Noah adds and fist bumps me before leaving the locker room.
I sit there, staring at my phone, heart hammering like I’ve just finished a match. Because what I wanted to say to Freya was:
You don’t owe me anything. I would fix your entire house if you asked. I would stand in that kitchen all night just to hear you laugh again. I would re-build an entire house from scratch if you asked me to. Instead, I am going to fix a tap. And pretend that my hands won’t shake when she stands too close. This is fine. Completely fine. Absolutely no part of me is combusting.
Chapter twenty- two
Rory
I should not have agreed to this. That thought has been circling my head since Freya texted me about the tap, and it has only grown louder the closer I get to her house.
It’s a school day. No kids. No buffer. Just her.
I tell myself this is fine. It’s just plumbing, just a tap. It’s not a candlelit dinner or a declaration of undying anything. I’m doing a favour for a friend. That is all. Except it’s Freya. And nothing with Freya has ever been simple.
I knock. Not the old double-tap. A normal, adult knock.Shit. How am I overthinking a door knock? I’m fucked.The door opens. And I genuinely forget why I’m here.
She’s wearing leggings and one of those oversized knit jumpers that hang slightly off one shoulder like it wasn’t designed to be sexy but somehow is anyway. Her hair is down, loose, softer than usual, like she’s not bothered to tame it into anything presentable for the world. No heavy makeup. Just her. Christ.
“Hey,” she says, stepping back to let me in. “Thanks for coming.”
“Yeah,” I manage, because apparently my vocabulary has reduced to caveman levels. “I err.. I’m here”
I’m here. Brilliant, Bennett. Smooth.
“So,” she says, leading me toward the kitchen, “it’s under the sink. It’s been dripping for weeks and it’s driving me mad.”
“Right,” I nod, crouching down already, grateful for the distraction of pipework and cupboards and anything that doesn’t involve eye contact.
It’s awkward at first. Not hostile. Just… careful. Like we’re both aware of each other.
I open the cupboard doors and peer inside, trying very hard not to think about how domestic this looks. Me in her kitchen. Midday light. No noise but the hum of the fridge and her shifting her weight behind me.
“You look…” I say before I can stop myself.
Shit. Shut up Bennett.
I sit back slightly on my heels and glance up at her. “You look nice.”
Understatement of the year. Her mouth twitches. “I’m in leggings.”
“Yeah,” I say, because apparently today I’ve chosen honesty over self-preservation. “I noticed.”
Her eyes flicker and her lips curl into a slight smile as her cheeks flush.
Focus Bennett. Tap. Plumbing. Metal things.
I reach further into the cupboard, tighten the fitting that’s clearly loose, and try not to be hyper-aware of her standing close enough that I can feel the warmth of her legs near my shoulder. Then I notice something else. She’s quiet. Not her usual quick-witted, dry-commentary self. There’s a weight to her that wasn’t there in the supermarket, or the school playground.
“You okay?” I ask, still half under the sink.
She hesitates. “Yeah,” she says automatically. Then softer, “Just… Christmas.”
I pause. “What about it?”
She exhales through her nose and folds her arms loosely. “It’s Theo’s dad’s year this year. Christmas Day. So I won’t have him.”
I sit back properly now, wiping my hands on a cloth and looking at her fully. There’s no dramatics in her face. No tears. Just that steady ache of someone who has already accepted something hard but hasn’t quite figured out how to make it hurt less. “Oh,” I say, and for once the word carries weight. “Right.”
