Page 48 of Date Knight (Roll for Romance #2)

Phil

I t took ages, but the fabric I needed for Amy’s dress finally arrived.

I couldn’t take full credit– it was Morgan’s illustrations that had helped the idea come to life– but now that I could work on it properly, I knew Amy would love it.

The deep violet of the satin, which almost perfectly matched the dress she’d worn on our first date, would bring out her emerald eyes, and the tiny stars already embroidered on the dusky purple tulle were even better in person.

Once I added more stars in gold in her favourite constellations, it would be perfect.

I didn’t even need to look at the illustration to picture her in it; I knew she’d look downright ethereal.

I even had my eye on a celestial halo headband that would look perfect with it.

Unfortunately, as perfect as it was, it was also expensive as hell.

By the time I caved and ordered the headband, I’d spent as much on materials for the dress as I had on my tickets and accommodation for the fantasy festival.

It was worth it, but I had to pick up a few extra data entry jobs to cover it, which was hard since I was also having to hide it away from Amy.

I was mostly staying up late to work on it once Ethel had gone to bed, or taking advantage of the increasingly rare days when Amy wasn’t at mine.

I even put Ethel to work one day; her fine motor skills had worsened over time, but her draping skills were still far superior to mine.

Amy constantly tried to sneak a peek in my craft room, but I’d started keeping it locked, telling her I didn’t want Ethel to pick up scissors or a needle without me knowing. I was pretty sure she knew I was up to something, but thankfully she didn’t push it.

It was as tiring as it always was, trying to juggle everything.

I was just about keeping my head above water, mostly because of Amy, but I knew eventually something would have to give.

Especially when I noticed that, despite the injection she’d gotten, which should have eased the pain for months, Ethel was still compensating for the arthritis in her back, leaning to the side when she was sitting down and using the walls and furniture for support when she walked.

I didn’t deal well with that, spending a solid hour after she went to bed one night pacing the lounge in front of Amy, wondering what I was missing or doing wrong, and blaming myself and everything I had going on for distracting me.

I didn’t think I ever implied that Amy was counted among the things distracting me, as much as she might have been; at least I tried not to insinuate that.

But she seemed to go there herself, always offering to be there more or less, or whatever I needed, and I had to reassure her more than once that I wanted as much of her as I could have.

Maybe I needed to take a break from the crafts and the baking, or maybe look at a meal delivery service.

But all that cost money. And not to mention, I was already only making dinner maybe three days a week, relying more and more on frozen ready meals and leftovers, and I hated it.

Every time I took a bite of something I hadn’t prepared myself, no matter how good it was, I felt a sense of disappointment.

I was failing to be and do everything I needed to be and do, and every cut corner I noticed or ball I dropped just made my deficiency more evident.

* * *

We arrived at the Evanses’ house one Sunday for dinner, about an hour before the meal as usual, so I could help Patricia cook.

Amy asked Ethel if she wanted to go see the cows again, and I wasn’t convinced she remembered what Amy was talking about, but she seemed enthusiastic enough.

So whilst I went inside, off they went to the farm.

I’d lost risotto stirring privileges years ago for forgetting to stir for approximately thirty seconds– five years ago, actually; I’d been distracted by a certain leggy blonde, if I remembered correctly– so Patricia put me on chopping duty for the salad.

Alan came in at one point and asked me a few questions.

We’d always struggled because I didn’t watch football or listen to death metal, and he didn’t watch The Great British Sewing Bee or listen to podcasts about dementia research, but he always made time for a conversation, and he always asked after Ethel.

Now we talked about Amy too, apparently, as he bragged about how well she’d done with the big pitch.

“She worked really hard on that,” I said, knowing she’d hate me saying that, but it was true. “I think she’s really chuffed it paid off.”

“Yeah, I know the feeling,” he said, just as Amy and Ethel walked in through the back door.

“What feeling?” Amy asked, skipping over to kiss me on the cheek. That was new to our real relationship, too: PDA in front of her family.

“Being proud of you, essentially,” Patricia said from the hob where she stood stirring, probably knowing Alan would never admit to it.

Amy frowned, then started wiping at my face. “I take that kiss back. You weren’t really talking about me, were you?”

I shrugged as I sliced through a pepper. “You’ll never know, will you?”

Amy unhooked a tea towel from the cabinet pull and wound it up before whipping at my legs with it. Luckily, she missed by a hair.

“Watch it!” I yelled. “Sharp knife here!”

“Not in the kitchen!” Patricia shouted. “Alan, take over the chopping so Phil and Amy can spend time together.”

Alan huffed his disapproval but ultimately complied. “As if they don’t spend enough time together,” he said, taking the knife and pointing it at me. “I knew you were trouble.”

I thought about insisting he let me continue for my own safety, but Amy was already pulling me out the door.

“Did you two get to see the cows?” I asked as Ethel followed us. Amy let go of me and rushed to her side to help her over the threshold, which jutted up slightly.

“No, we got distracted by the ducks at Jack’s. Wanna go now?”

“Dinner in twenty!” Patricia called as we left through the back gate, and I gave her a thumbs-up through the open window.

We walked up towards Amy’s Uncle John’s land where the cows were, but I suddenly understood why she and Ethel hadn’t made it there earlier; Ethel was so slow that we barely made it up the hill halfway to Jack’s before needing to turn around again.

I was sure the walking was good for her, but I could tell with every step she took how badly her back was hurting.

I thought I might need to get her using her walker more at this rate.

Jack, Morgan, and Pablo caught up with us a couple hundred metres from the house and walked the rest of the way with us.

Amy helped Ethel steady herself so she could bend down to pet Pablo, and I felt a surge of affection for how well she looked after her.

She was so attentive to what Ethel needed, and I noticed that she was correcting her posture the way we’d been taught by the physiotherapist.

“Whatcha looking at?” Jack asked, nudging me in the side, and I looked up to see him and Morgan staring at me, dopey grins on their faces.

“Shut up,” I muttered, then motioned for all of us to keep moving. The last thing I needed was Patricia having a go at me for the risotto going cold.

Maybe I was in a sentimental mood, because I couldn’t take my eyes off Amy all through lunch, even when she was ribbing me about the quality of the salad.

I insisted she should take it up with her dad, who jokingly warned me not to be insolent.

Even Ethel joined in, holding up a rather large chunk of cucumber to Alan, saying “What the hell am I supposed to do with that?”

Just as we were finishing our food– which had been delicious as always, unevenly chopped veg notwithstanding– Alan cleared his throat and looked at Patricia, who took his hand on top of the table.

“We have an announcement,” Alan said matter-of-factly.

“What’s going on?” Amy asked. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

This elicited an eye roll from Patricia and a guffaw from Alan.

“No, Amelia Celeste, I am not pregnant.”

Amy sat back, thoroughly chastised. She hated having her full name used, and I took a mental note of that for later.

“Ooh, I know,” Morgan said. “I’ve been here before. They’re selling the house to go travelling.” Morgan’s own mum had bowed out of regular society to live in a van in the US a few years back.

“Warmer,” Patricia said encouragingly, and Morgan’s eyes went wide.

“I was joking!”

“Yeah, where am I supposed to live?” Amy asked, and despite what I’d said to Amy in the confines of my bed, I glared at Jack when he looked straight at me. Ethel seemed to be sharing a brain cell with him, though, and she had far less of a filter.

“Well, you already spend enough time with us,” she said, “so as soon as Phil finishes that big project, we can clear out his craft room for you.”

Everybody else at the table cracked up at the idea that Amy would move into my craft room, whilst Morgan and I exchanged a panicked look that Ethel had nearly given up the game on Amy’s dress.

“Calm down,” Alan said, holding up his free hand. “We’re not moving. You’re all so dramatic.”

“Get on with it then,” Ethel said. “I’m not getting any younger.”

“Right,” Alan said, nodding at Patricia to take over.

“Your father and I have been thinking,” she said, “we’d like to go on holiday. All of us, as a family.”

“Sick!” Jack said, up for anything as always. “Where to?”

“We were thinking a cruise to the Norwegian Fjords.”

Jack and Morgan exchanged an excited look. “I’m definitely up for that,” Morgan said.

“Yeah, amazing,” Amy said. “When?”

“Well, that depends,” Patricia said. “The trip would be about a week and a half, maybe two weeks, but when we go depends on what works for everyone involved.”

Then everyone turned to look at me, the only person who hadn’t responded. Well, besides Ethel, but she was looking at me, too. Thanks a lot, Nan.