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“So maybe you’ve never actually been completely straight,” he said, like he’d understood every confused thought in my brain. “Maybe you were just…”

“In the closet?” If my cheeks could flame any more, I’d be on fire.

“We had sex. You and me. Last night.”

Yes. Like I’d forgotten.

“I don’t think you’re straight.”

I spluttered out an embarrassed laugh as he shuffled around, talking with his hands. That was new. I liked it.

“I don’t think I am either. But that’s really not important here. You drank because it was easier. Because it masked all those other things you were struggling to deal with. And then you found your son.”

“I did. And I still drank. It took a few years to get my head around the fact that I couldn’t sit there and down pints and watch as my son ruined his life—whilst I ruined mine.”

“Good.”

“Yes. It was good to realise that.”

“And now we are sat here with empty cups and my PA sleeping upstairs because I can’t even manage the weekend without her, and what am I supposed to do with you?”

He said it in kindness. It made me smile.

“Maybe you can…give me a hug?”

“Oh, Stewart,” he said, and then he crawled into my arms. He still smelled terrible, but he smiled gently against my neck and let me hold him. Let me slowly settle down, my heart beating against his.

“Can I stay?” I begged. I hadn’t meant to, but it seemed I couldn’t control my words anymore. My wants. My needs.

“I was hoping you would. The sheets downstairs are still clean.”

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“Sorry about today. I just got wound up, didn’t know if I was still wanted, you know, with your family back and all that.”

“You’re wanted,” I said. God, he was. Wanted and needed, far more than I could put into words.

“You are too.”

His voice. I loved his voice. The way he felt against me.

Safe. I was safe. And funnily enough, I thought that maybe I was exactly where I was meant to be.

20. Dylan

Iwasn’t sure who started kissing who first, but that was where we suddenly found ourselves, dancing gently across the floor while I tugged at his shirt, desperate to get my hands on his bare chest. To comb my fingers through all that soft hair. Touch those dark nipples.

I had no idea why I found them attractive, but I did. I found the curves of his chest fascinating. The strong linesdown his arms.

Strong. He might have been an older guy, but he was strong. Built. Handsome as anything. I agreed with Jean.

Silver fox.

More than that, I loved how gentle he was with me, and again, Jean had it right. He treated me like I was…precious. Every little kiss down my neck, my shoulders. His hands on my hips, softly holding me in place against the kitchen worktop…

I wanted. Needed. And I was once again thinking about Jean, which made me burst out giggling.

“Jean will be coming down for a glass of water any minute now.”