He chuckles. “I can see why that would call to you.” He hands it to me, and I automatically grab it. “It’s yours.”
I blink. “Erm, no, I don’t think so.”
“Why? Don’t you like it after all? Was all that blarney?”
“Iloveit,” I say awkwardly. “But you can’t give me things, Reuben.”
“Why not? I gave you that hat.”
“This hat is awful, and you didn’t give it to me. Just shoved it on my head and grunted something about cold ears.”
His mouth twitches. “Well, I’m giving you that picture.”
“Why?”
He shrugs awkwardly and looks down at the rack of pictures. “Because I like the idea of you having something of mine.”
I sigh. “Reuben.”
“Anyway, I don’t keep anything for long. You’re doing me a favour.”
I think about asking why but I don’t want to know the answer. Instead, I say lightly, “Well, I haven’t got a house to hang it in, so you’ll have to keep it for me a bit longer.”
He stops and stares at me. “What?”
“A house. I haven’t got one.”
“You’rehomeless?”
I snort. “Not quite as dramatic as that. I stay in hotels or short-term rental flats. I’ve just never found anywhere I want to stay permanently. Everywhere gets boring after a while. I like moving around.”
He’s silent for a few seconds. “Well—” He stops to clear his throat. “I hope you finally find your stopping place at some point.”
“Maybe I never will,” I say airily. “It’s not a bad existence, is it?”
“I’d have said that a few years ago, but not anymore.”
“Now you have this place?”
He nods. “It’s home.”
There’s a deep peace in his voice that I’ve never heard before. I stare at him for a second and then move jerkily away, pretending to look at the artwork. Now I know what bothers me about the cottage. It’s his home. It’s where he’s finally chosen to be, and it’s not with me. A pang of ridiculous grief hits me. It’s like he finally grew up and left me behind. I have no place in his life now except maybe as a small footnote when once I’d thought I’d be a main chapter. It’s the way it should be, I remind myself. It’s the way I thought I wanted it, so the grief startles me.
“Xavier.”
I startle when I realise he’s said my name a few times. “Yes?”
“Look at me.”
I turn reluctantly from my blind study of the pictures. “What?”
“There willalwaysbe a place here for you.”
“What are you talking about?”
His face is grave and still, but his eyes are turbulent. “I made a home here, but there is a place for you too. It’s always been here. It’s a gap, an empty seat at the table that will never be filled unless it’s by you. It’s just waiting for you to turn up, unpack and stay, and that will never change.”
I swallow hard. “But that’s ridiculous,” I whisper. “We were never anything that?—”
