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I raise my glass to my lips, needing to moisten my dry mouth.

“And then you strolled down the street towards me that day. I still can’t believe that. I’d given up hearing from you at that point. I was just head down trying to get stuck into the renovations. It’s odd, right, that the building Gran left for me was just down the road from where you work and live. How big is the world? Why do you think that happened?”

I jolt when I realise he is expecting an answer; that it’s not a rhetorical question.

“It is a strange coincidence. Especially when The Juniper has been a weird obsession of mine.”

“Why do you think that is?” He shifts to the edge of his seat, like the tether between us is tightening so neither of us can stay too far from the other.

“I think I was sad that it was all boarded up; it looked almost lonely. It wasn’t living up to its full potential. I could see how beautifully built it was. It just needed some love.” I smile wistfully. “And it has this strange air of mystery about it. No-one seemed to know what it had been, who was responsible for it. That drew me in.”

He takes a swig of his whisky and then sets it down on the side table beside the chairs, out of the way. “You like mysteries?”

“I like things that are different. I hadn’t seen many buildings like that before. I imagined myself looking out at the world from that top circular tower. It was fanciful.” I try to shrug it off.

“Where do you see yourself in the future?” The question comes out of nowhere, and I realise he has the same knack as his mother for pulling on threads and diving deeper into the heart of things.

“I want to be happy. I’d be happy working for Tom at the bar, spending time with friends, having fun. Maybe get a bigger placeeventually. Travel some more.” And that probably is everything I would have said a few months ago. But as I reel off that list now, it doesn’t feel complete.

“And you don’t want to do that with anyone at your side, supporting and encouraging you?”

“I don’t need that,” I tell him, even though it doesn’t quite ring true.

“I know you’re independent and strong, and you don’t need anyone. But don’t you want it, even if you don’t need it? Don’t you get lonely sometimes?” He pauses, assessing me with his gaze.

Lonely? Is that what’s been weighing me down since my mum left, and while I’ve been busy avoiding him?

He continues, “Before Gran died, I think I would have said a similar answer to you. I’d be happy with my work, and my friends and having fun. But she turned all that on its head with the last words she said to me.” I tip further forward, unable to look away.

“What did she say?” I whisper the question.

“She said ‘a life without love is no life at all’. It’s a Leonardo da Vinci quote. I looked it up after…” His eyes grow stormy, and he quietens for a moment. “I thought she meant it was about Grandpa and her family, and she was telling me to settle down. Then I saw that damn letter and it didn’t make sense. But I loved my work, so I decided to throw myself into that.

It keeps repeating itself over and over in my head every time I’m with you. When we get to the end of our time together and I don’t want you to leave. Every day I wake up and you aren’t beside me, there’s something missing.” He heaves a sigh, leaning back in his chair and the loss of his proximity is sudden. We’d been sharing the same air, and now there’s a gulf between us.

“I don’t think I know how to love someone properly,” I tell him, wanting to offer him something that keeps him in thisconversation I hadn’t been certain I wanted to have. “It’s not something that I’ve ever done. I didn’t have any good role models for it, either. Not until recently.” His eyes flare and I’m glad he realises I’m talking about him as well as my friends.

“I don’t think there is a proper way to love someone, Pixie.” When I finally shared my real name with him, it was special to hear him say it. But now, that nickname tugs at my chest. “We just have to find our own way. We have to give it our all, give the person we love our whole heart and all our hopes and dreams, and demand the same in return. I don’t care who you fuck. I hope that you’ll be interested in playing with others together, but we can figure that out. What I want is your heart, and I want to serve mine to you on a platter. I want you to gorge yourself on the love I want to give you. I want you to feel loved and valued and worthy.”

He pauses. I’m finding it hard to breathe, and I can’t tear my eyes away.

“I don’t want to lose you. I want to find our own version of love. Would you do that with me?” It feels like such an ordinary question—like what I want to order for dinner—and yet, my whole body trembles withsomething.

“I don’t know.” It comes out fast, like a gasp of surprise. “I need a moment. I can’t think.” I place a hand on my chest, my heart beating frantically. I stare at the rug on the floor, not really seeing the patterns but needing to focus on something other than Cam. He’s like the sun—I want to orbit myself around him. I want to belong to him. Shock tries to engulf me, but there’s a sliver of hope in my heart, threatening to crack my carefully constructed shell of protection wide open and have love pouring out.

Do I want this?

I think so.

But I’m so scared I’m going to fuck it up.

I pause in my uncertainty for too long. He’s standing up. Fuck, he’s leaving. I wasn’t fast enough. My eyes close, and I curse my cowardice for not embracing him with both arms. With my whole body.

And then something nudges my knee. My eyes open, and I find him standing tall above me. He takes my hand, lifting my drink from my other hand and placing it on the side table. Then he eases me out of the chair, drawing me into his arms.

“Please don’t panic, my love. I don’t want to rush you if you’re not ready. You can have as long as you want.”

It could be panic, but I don’t think it is. I think it’s a dawning realisation. It would be easy to claim that time, that space, to lessen this pressure on me. But I won’t be cowardly. That’s not who I am, nor who I want to be.