“Fellside feels like somewhere I keep wanting to come back to.”
I take a breath.
“You and I talked about moving halfway.”
“We did.”
“And it made sense on paper.”
“But?”
“But you’d be farther from the station. Farther from Amanda and Nour and the kids. Farther from the life you chose. And after twelve-hour night shifts, I hate the thought of you driving any farther than you have to.”
Her eyes drop briefly.
When she looks back, there is no irritation there.
Only something vulnerable and almost disbelieving.
“You thought about all that?”
“Of course I did.”
Her fingers touch the edge of the brochure.
“I don’t want you making yourself smaller for me,” she says.
It is quiet.
Not defensive.
Just honest.
“I’m not.” I lean forward slightly. “That’s what I need you to understand. This doesn’t feel smaller. It feels like I’ve stopped mistaking movement for progress.”
She takes that in.
I let her.
“I want to buy it,” I say. “For me, because I want to be here more. Because this place has become part of my life too. But I’d like it to become ours, if that’s something you could want. Not immediately. Not with pressure. Not with me turning up here waving a brochure like some maniac with stamp duty. Just… eventually. In whatever way works for us.”
Pippa looks down at the brochure.
Then she opens it.
Her fingers move over the pictures.
“It’s pretty,” she says.
That surprises me.
I think I expected practical first. Roof, windows, commute, survey, damp. All of which matter, obviously. But she says pretty, and something inside me loosens.
“It is.”
“Small.”
“Yes.”
