I can’t believe it, really. Quentin’s arranged for the most romantic lunch date in the most fantastic surroundings a girl could wish for; he’s spent an amount of money I can’t even bear to think about, I’m sitting here flabbergasted and he thinks he’s done something wrong, poor soul. He’s looking out the window, biting his lip, as if his life depends upon it.

I stretch out a hand and cover his with it. Quentin whips his head around and looks at me, an almost startled look on his face. Immediately, that warm, sensuous glow begins to course through me, and I can see from his expression that he feels it too. He grabs hold of my hand and gives it a squeeze, then throws me a glance that says he would make love to me right here, right now, if I’d let him. I feel my body respond and my heart rate speeds up. ‘Quent,’ I rasp, and clear my throat, ‘I love being here with you, don’t worry, it’s not too much. It’s great. It’s really sweet of you, making such an effort, it’s really romantic, I mean, how did you do this on such short notice…? Christ…’

His thumb is softly rubbing the back of my hand. I feel it everywhere.

‘Mh, just made a few phone calls, wasn’t too much of a hassle…’ he mutters, going from lustful to insecure again so fast it makes my head spin.

But then, I can see Quentin giving himself a mental shake. He takes a deep breath, and looks like he’s gearing up to make an important statement. He gives my hand another squeeze, swallows, looks me straight in the eye and begins: ‘Tazzie. I need to get this out, so please, just let me plod on, even if I stick my foot in it, OK?’

I nod.

‘Righto. Well. I’m a fuckin’ wreck without you, that’s what it boils down to, basically. I can’t function. Can’t sleep, can’t think - well I think about you all the time, but for the rest I’m just an incoherent blithering idiot – all I’m doin’ is just rackin’ my brain how the fuck I’m gonna get you back. I’ll say it again, at the risk of sounding like the bloody record got stuck: I promised to give you the space you need and I do not intend to go back on that promise. But, Jesus, Taz…’ he shakes his head and involuntarily pulls my hand in closer to his heart.

I end up with my arm stretched all the way across the table to accommodate him, but no way am I going to reclaim my hand.

‘….those weeks when I was up in Sydney waitin’ for the test results to come in, those must have been the darkest days of my life. You know? I thought I hit a low when it all went south between Bree and me, but that was nothin’… nothing… compared to how I felt when I was waiting for the bloody paternity test, all on my lonely, and I thought I had lost you for good. Taz, I’m deeply sorry for being such a stupid, unthinking, bloody cold-hearted idiot… I never should have left ya, I should’ve told Bree to go fuck herself, I should’ve….’ He sighs and blinks, looking away from me.

I open my mouth to say something, but Quent squeezes my hand and gives me a look like he’s not completely done yet.

‘I wanna… hm. I reckon I just need to… Fuck, Tazzie, you’re so composed! I just can’t make out how you feel about this, about us… about, uh… me…? I know I shouldn’t put the pressure on but… bloody hell…’ He pinches his lips, hangs his head and sighs again, right from the bottom of his soul. He wistfully adds, in that little voice of his: ‘…Tazzie-luv,’ and plants a big smacker of a kiss on my hand, rubbing his chin over my knuckles.

And suddenly I see him again, my Quent, the one I fell in love with at Nana. He’s been there all along, really, it’s just that I got so overwhelmed with the surroundings, and his effort to impress me. I need to open up as well, I need to tell him what I feel, right now, this very minute. He needs to know. ‘Quent, I… I love you, I really do. With all my heart. I don’t think I can live without you...’

He looks up. ‘...but…?’ he softly voices what he believes hangs in the air. He steels himself for my answer; I can see the emotions play out on his expressive face.

‘There is no but, actually... That’s how I feel,’ I say quietly. ‘You wanted to know, didn’t you? Well, that’s it, really. I love you and I can’t live without you.’ I can’t help smiling as his eyes light up and grow wider. ‘You’ve been on my mind constantly, and I really do believe we’ve got a lot to think about, and talk about, and in all honesty, we’ve started this whole thing the wrong way ‘round, but… Quent, I’m only half alive without you. So I really do hope we’ll manage to sort ourselves out, you know, build our mutual trust, and take the time to learn how to be together, because that’s what I want.’ I let go of his hand and stroke his cheek, then tuck a lock of his hair behind his ear.

For an instant, his eyes fall shut and he nudges my hand with the side of his head. He really is like a big cat sometimes.

‘Oh and you know, I may look composed on the outside, but I don’t feel like that at all, Quent, love; in all honesty I feel like a bloody emotional train wreck. But being here with you now, you know, makes it all better...’

‘It does?’ He smiles at me again, a brilliant, dazzling smile full of twinkles and crinkles, and he turns his head to kiss my wrist. ‘It does, doesn’t it?’ He looks immensely relieved, and just a tiny bit of his usual cockiness returns. ‘Now just wait until you’ve tasted what I’ve ordered for us, you’re gonna feel better so fast you won’t believe it!’

‘I believe it, I believe it already,’ I laugh, and then it’s time to be amazed again as he dings a little table bell, and an impeccable waiter appears out of nowhere. He asks if we’re ready for the first course, and after we nod, he disappears again, to start a culinary parade that consists primarily of sea food, prepared in every imaginable way. It’s all delicious. Every single course. We almost forget to talk soon as a new course is served, we’re so preoccupied with all these marvellous tastes.

‘My Mum said fish would be best for you,’ Quent chats in between courses, and he proceeds to pour me another two fingers of red wine. ‘And I always thought you had to drink white with your fish… but apparently I was wrong. I got fuckin’ laughed at on the phone, when I talked over the menu, shows you what I know, hey? Bloody drongo, me. Apparently it depends on the wine. Did you know that?’

‘No I didn’t; hey, you want to get me drunk or something, what do you have in mind, Mr. Finch?’

‘Nothing, honest… Well I could think of something, of course, but I would be breakin’ a promise to a sheila, a promise that means a lot to me, and a sheila that means even more to me… oi!’

I pelt him with bread crumbs.

‘Taz, this probably isn’t the ideal spot for a food fight but if you don’t lay off… OI!’

I hit him full on the nose with a particularly big lump.

‘IF you don’t lay off, Taz… TAZ!’

I throw the whole bun, which lands on his empty plate with a clunk.

‘…I will forgo all intentions of behaving like a posh fucker and hit you on the head with your swordfish stake, Taryn! Bloody hell! You’re not getting’ any more wine.’

I grin, I’m so happy to have fun with him again. We’ve been so troubled for so many weeks. ‘I don’t care what you do, sweetness, I’ll be quite safe as long as they don’t give you the sword.’

‘What sword? What the fuck are you on about now?’ he laughs, brushing breadcrumbs off his shirt.

‘The swordfish’s sword of course, what else?’ I giggle, frisbeeing a slice of cucumber across. It lands on Quent’s fork, and he quickly plops it into his mouth, grins, chews and swallows.

‘You should eat your veg,’ I say, and prepare another flying cucumber disk for launch.

‘NO! Stop it, you crazy sheila, just… can’t you behave? I can’t take you anywhere, can I?’ He gets up grinning, takes a couple of big leaps around the table and grabs my wrist before I can throw the slice, dropping to his knees next to my chair.

‘Ow,’ he groans as his knees hit the ground.

‘That can’t possibly hurt, this carpet is about a foot thick,’ I grin into his face, but then I see the waiter come into the dining room with the next course. He sees us, takes in the scene – Quentin on his knees next to my chair, his face lifted up to me – and he promptly turns on his heel. I burst into a fit of the giggles.

‘What… what?’ Quent asks confused.

‘No, it’s just that the waiter came in, and he saw us like this, he probably thought you were on the verge of proposing or something, and he just turned around and left again. Oh Christ, poor man, hee hee…’

Quent opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but suddenly, he audibly snaps it shut again and looks to the side, a thinking frown on his forehead. He takes a deep breath, then looks at me again, then opens his mouth once more. Out comes a raspy: ‘Taz... will you ma…’ but before he can continue, I shove the forgotten cucumber slice into his mouth.

His eyebrows hit the ceiling, but he dutifully chews and swallows. He then looks at me expectantly, his hands side by side on the arm rest of my chair. I look back at him. We stare at each other for an eternity, neither of us quite knowing how to move forward, both knowing what just almost happened. ‘’s Just a test run,’ he finally mutters ruefully, looking at his hands.

‘Oh,’ I say. ‘In that case: yes.’ And I lean in and kiss his nose.

He gives me a sloppy half-lick of a kiss in return and we laugh shakily against each other’s lips. Another sloppy kiss, and a more heartfelt giggle. I wrap my arms around his neck and fiddle with his hair, and he grabs me and pulls me as close as possible. We drown in each other’s eyes.

‘I want ya Taz,’ he growls softly, and I shiver against his hands. I stroke his cheek, run my hand through his hair, scratch softly behind his ear and he breathes out on a delicious low rumble deep in his throat as his eyes fall shut.

‘You’re such an animal,’ I whisper to him.

‘Only with you,’ he whispers in return, and sort of relaxes against me as much as his kneeling position will allow.

We stay like that for an instant; I’m softly stroking his hair, cradling his head. I feel incredibly close to him.

But then he shifts, and gives a little moan. ‘Uh... sorry luvvie, my knees are killing me...’ he mutters, and he clambers back up, leaning heavily on my chair. ‘Shit, I’m gettin’ old... My knees got fucked during that film where I was doin’ the pilot... They put me in this tiny cockpit for days on end, and I was really too big, only it was an authentic plane, and you know, it had to look real... They had to get me out of there with a bloody can opener every time...’ He stalks back to his seat, shaking out his legs.

‘You’ve got such a dangerous job,’ I smile.

‘Yeah, well, it looks like I’ve got a job again, hey, if Ade and I can work this out. Will be a ton of hassle getting the finances behind it, without the help of a big production company, but I think we may be able to get it to work... I need to thank you for that too, Tazzie-luv; if it weren’t for you, I’d still be shufflin’ my feet and drownin’ in self pity about losing my US work permit...’

I smile at him. He smiles back. And then the waiter decides that it’s safe to give it another go with the final course.  He approaches the table, smiles broadly, and says: ‘I believe congratulations are in order?’ as he serves us.

Both Quent and I give him an identical startled stare, and I can’t suppress another nervous giggle, seeing that. The waiter then looks at my hands that are alarmingly bare, and I see the colour rise in his cheeks. He begins to apologize, but Quent cuts in: ‘No worries, mate, it was an, uh, spur of the moment thing and I... haven’t had time to shop for, uh, rings yet... I’d appreciate it if you’d, you know...’ He zips up his lips at the waiter, who nods and smiles, relieved. ‘Your secret is safe with me, Mr. Finch. You can absolutely rely upon my discretion.’

‘Cheers, mate,’ Quent smiles at him, and he makes himself scarce.

Quentin blows at a lock of hair in an exaggerated “phew” gesture and hides his hands under the table. I attack my food; it actually is swordfish steak, albeit so delicately arranged that hitting me over the head with it would not do any noticeable damage, unless you’d include the plate. It’s delicious. Quentin, however, is not eating, and he has a pained look upon his face.

‘Quent, what is it?’ I ask worriedly, around a mouthful of marvellous fish.

‘Dammit, the fucker’s stuck,’ he growls, but then whatever was stuck comes free and he bangs the table leg with it, which elicits a string of colourful, though appropriately subdued, curses from him.

‘What are you doing, are you OK?’

‘Yeah, yeah, here, Tazzie, come on, here, put this on,’ he mutters, his hand reaching across the table. In it is the small golden signet ring that he usually wears on his pinkie. He’s told me once it belonged to his grandfather.

I take the ring and look at him questioningly, while he rubs his knuckles.

‘Go on, put it on, luvvie, just in case anyone asks, or stares at your finger again like that bloke just did... you know?’

I hesitate.

‘Taz, please.’ Quentin says, and then he reaches across to grab my hand. He takes the ring and puts it on my ring finger, where it sits awkwardly, only slightly too big.

I swallow. So does he. For some reason it suddenly feels really official, and I look at my hand in silence. Something inside me wants to sing loudly, but at the same time I’m thinking: ...see? I’ll never manage to sort anything out once we’re together; we’re like a bloody runaway train, the two of us. And I haven’t even included the lust factor. But on the other hand: I can’t bear being away from him, just look at him, he’s adorable...

I feel his eyes on me and I look up. ‘Just a test run, right?’ he says quietly, ‘if you feel pressurized, you just take it off. Look, Tazzie, I didn’t plan on this to happen, but, um... I’d like it if you’d wear my ring. I’d really like it.’

I nod. ‘Quent,’ I whisper, feeling the ring with the pad of my thumb, and fighting hard to keep from crying and ruining my make-up. I desperately need a change of subject, and suddenly I remember Rafiq, The Sun, the mobile photo. ‘Oh, shit, Quent, you know you’ve been spotted?’

‘What? How do you mean?’

‘Leaving my flat, yesterday. Someone saw you, and took a pic with their mobile... it was in the tabloids this morning. When I left home to come here, I had to get past a bunch of journalists lurking outside, and one of them recognized me... I’m sure if they check they’ll be able to find out I went to Australia; it’s on my website and everything... They’ll put two and two together and figure out it was me you came to see... Shit... I’m sorry...’

‘Fuck!’ Quent grunts, loud and heartfelt.

‘Sorry,’ I mutter again, but he interrupts: ‘It’s not your fault, luv, I just hate it I can’t even manage to stay off their bloody radar for a couple of days. Did they hassle you, the paps?’

‘Well, I thought it was bloody awful, but I think compared to what you’re used to, I got off fairly lightly... they didn’t touch me or anything, they didn’t say anything nasty... Well, one of them asked me out for a drink,’ here I grin, as I see Quentin’s eyes widen, ‘ but I ignored him of course... they let me get in a taxi and that was that. I just hope they’ll have given up by now and I’ll be able to get back in normally...’

‘I’m taking you home, Taz,’ Quent states. ‘I’ve got a car and a driver, and I’m seein’ you home safely.’ He brooks no disagreement, and I don’t argue.

~*~

And so, after we finish our last course, drink a cup of coffee and say our goodbyes to the maitre d’, I find myself inside a rather plush car, zooming through London, Quentin’s arm around my shoulders and his ring on my finger. I can’t help fingering it from time to time; it’s hard to believe it’s real. If I was looking for signs of commitment on his part, I’d say it won’t get any clearer than this. But still, I silently argue, what we need is time. Trust is built over time. Love grows over time. I turn my head to look at him, and immediately he focuses on me, his eyes brimming with warmth and a smile playing on his mouth. It feels like we’re in this dreamy bubble together, closed off from the real world, safe in our feelings for one another. Quentin turns to me and nuzzles my temple, his breath ghosting over my face. I feel him deep inside, I can feel how much he wants me.

‘I could tell the driver to keep goin’ for another hour or so... we could, you know, um...’ he mutters in my ear.

‘Quent!’ I say, pretending to be shocked, putting a hand on his chest and pushing him away lightly.

He grins and gives me a quick kiss. ‘But I won’t! I’m givin’ you space. Here, you see?’ He scoots over just a tiny bit, but leaves his arm around my shoulder. Our bodies are a couple of inches apart, but I grab his hand on my shoulder and pull it around me, crawling back up against his side. He tightens his hold on me with a satisfied hum in his throat and tucks my head in the hollow of his neck with his other hand, softly stroking the skin beneath my ear with his thumb. I feel wonderfully sheltered, wonderfully safe.

The ride doesn’t last long enough and when we enter my neighbourhood, Quent softly says: ‘Listen, Tazzie; I’ll ring you tonight, hopefully I’ll have a new mobile by then... I’m going to give you all my numbers, so you’ll be able to get in touch with me whenever you feel like it, OK? I’ll be working with Ade for the next couple of days, but then he’s got to go and do some preparations for another project he’s on, and I’m not sure yet what I’ll do then. Maybe I’ll stick around here for a bit longer, maybe I’ll go back to Oz, maybe I’ll make the rounds and talk to some possible investors for our project. I need to have a bit of a think on that. I’m new in the production business; I’ll have a chat with some folk, see what they say. But whatever I do, I want you to have complete access to me at all times. Right?’

I nod. He sounds so businesslike; it’s a little frightening. Complete access to him, that has some sort of an ominous ring to it, and I suddenly realize I’ve never seen him at work. At Nana he was always, well, I guess for him it was like he was on holiday. Normal people go away for their hols; Quentin’s used to having to go to so many different places to do his job that being at home, undisturbed, is like a holiday to him.

‘Righto,’ he continues. ‘I’m gonna get in touch with my security guy and my press lady, and hopefully they’ll be able to do some damage control. And if you get hassled again, I’ll make sure that you’ll be protected. You, and our little...’ He falters, suddenly losing his business tone and looking very insecure again.

I nod once more, and smile at him encouragingly. ‘We’ll work something out, Quent... I need to get used to this, to the magnitude of this... but, you know, we’ll have to be able to build some sort of life together outside of Nana, otherwise we’ll just never...’

‘Yeah,’ he says, smiling back at me, understanding what I’m trying to say without it actually being said.

And then I’m home. I peer out of the tinted car window and see a couple of guys loitering in the general area of my building, but I can’t really make out if they’re journalists or not. It looks pretty safe. We cuddle up one last time and I kiss him goodbye, and he kisses me back, and we linger, but right before our kissing could tip over that dangerous edge and turn into something else, I feel his iron constraint take over and he lets go of me, whispering: ‘I’ll ring you tonight, luv, now go, go on then... I’ll wait here until you’re safe inside.’

I get out the car, cross the street and head for my door. All seems well. I turn around to look at Quent, but I can’t see him through the tinted glass of the car. I wave at him all the same; I know he can see me. But then when I turn back, all of a sudden – oh my God, they are everywhere! I don’t know where they came from, but there are so many of them! Guys with cameras, a couple with television cameras even, crowding me, blocking my way to my front door.

‘Miss Archer, Taryn, Taryn, what’s your relationship with Quentin Finch? Were you staying at his ranch in Australia? On your message board people are asking if you and Finch are dating, is that true? Is he still seeing Brianna Roberts? Was that him in the car just now?’

I’m being barraged with questions; I can’t even make them all out. Flashes go off. Now I can’t help myself, my hands go up to shield my face, and I hear a small moan. I suddenly realize it’s me, moaning. I’m scared, really scared, and they don’t let me pass this time, they crowd me even more, and someone grabs me by the shoulder and tries to spin me around. ‘Don’t TOUCH me!’ I shriek, shaking off their hands, but I’m walled in by bodies, pushing me, jostling me, alien, hostile bodies that I don’t know, can’t trust, and where is my door, I’m panicking, I can’t even see my own front door any more, and I trip, and nearly fall, in an endless moment of prolonged anguish...

...but then... then there is a pair of hands that grab me just in time, a pair of arms around me that I know, a smell that is as familiar to me as if it were my own.

‘LAY THE FUCK OFF YOU BLOODY BASTARDS!’ Quentin bellows full force over my head, pinning me to his solid body with one arm and using the other to shove someone out of the way. I dimly hear more questions being shouted and feel Quent’s body tighten up like a coil right before he punches someone hard in the chest, making his way over to my front door. ‘Keys, Taz,’ he grunts, and I fumble around in my pocket, shaking, unable to get my hand to function properly.

But the door opens, all by itself. It’s Rafiq, and he quickly and calmly ushers us inside, banging the door shut into the screaming faces of the journalists in the street. I’m crying and shaking and clinging to Quentin and he’s breathing hard, like he’s been running. ‘Who are you?’ he growls at Rafiq.

‘He’s Rafiq, my... neighbour,’ I haltingly say, clutching at Quentin’s shirt. ‘He’s a friend... Rafe, this is Quent...’

Quent extends his left hand, since he’s holding me with his right, and gives Rafe an awkward shake. ‘Cheers, mate, for lettin’ us in,’ he grunts.

‘Not a problem. Happy to help. Taryn, are you OK?’ Rafiq asks of me.

I nod, and feel my necklace. ‘Your piece is unharmed, here... I reach behind my head with shaking hands, leaning against Quentin, ‘let me give it back to you before it gets damaged...’

‘It’s more important that you aren’t damaged, girlfriend,’ Rafiq says very seriously, and he pockets the necklace. ‘Come on, out of this hallway, into your flat.’

He leads the way up to my floor and opens the door with his spare set of keys. I feel Quentin stiffen, and I turn to him as we enter, saying: ‘Rafe and I, we swapped keys, you know, we look after each other’s flats when we go abroad...’

‘Which reminds me,’ Rafiq chimes in, ‘I still have a shitload of mail for you, Taryn... I had no idea you get so many letters. Listen,’ he then turns to Quentin, ‘Taryn’s just a friend, OK? I’m of the other, erm, persuasion?’

‘Yes, I can see that,’ Quentin grumbles, still in battle mode. ‘I’m not upset with you, uh, Rafiq, I just need to wind down. Bloody hell...’ He breathes deeply a couple of times, running his hand up and down my back, then pulling me into his embrace for a long hug. I sigh and relax against him, still shivering.

‘Right. I’ll put the kettle on,’ says Rafiq, and he disappears into the kitchen.

‘I’m sorry... I’m so sorry,’ Quentin mutters incoherently into my hair, over and over again. ‘I should have seen it coming, the fuck I should’ve seen it comin’, you need protection, fuck, Tazzie, I’m sorry...’

‘You couldn’t have known...’ I look into his eyes and see they’re full of worry. ‘It all happened so fast; stop blaming yourself, Quent...’

‘Yeah but I know about this sort of stuff, I’ve been through it before. I should have called my people sooner; bloody hell, I should have told them the minute I left Sydney... can’t believe how stupid I’ve been, putting you in danger like that, putting the both of you in danger...’

Rafiq stands in the doorway and he overhears that last bit. He immediately cottons on to what’s being implied and his eyes open so wide they nearly fall out his face. ‘Taryn,’ he shrieks, ‘are you... pregnant?’

I nod.

And all of a sudden he’s no longer gay, fashionista or anything else, he’s just a Pakistani guy from a huge family who values that family above all else, and he’s kissing me on both cheeks and pumping Quentin’s hand. ‘Congratulations, how wonderful is that, you’re going to be parents, oh my God, congratulations!’ He stops in mid-shake and looks Quentin in the eye, asking him sternly: ‘you will do the right thing, won’t you?’

‘Rafe!’ I say, in shock, ‘you’re not my dad or anything!’

‘We got engaged over lunch,’ Quent quietly replies, lifting my hand with his ring on it for Rafiq to see. I look back at Quent and he shrugs so subtly that it’s almost invisible, a wisp of a smile on his lips. Rafiq returns to the kitchen grinning broadly.

And a couple of minutes later, we’re in the living room sipping our teas. Quent is right next to me, his arm protectively around me, Rafe is across, beaming at the both of us. Fancying Quent seems the farthest thing from his mind; he behaves like a doting auntie now that he knows about the pregnancy and the engagement.

‘Please don’t tell anyone, Rafe,’ I say, ‘it’s still very early days, and...’

‘Mum’s the word, Taryn, not a peep out of me.’

We sit, and chat a bit, and take time to relax a little. Rafe tells us how he heard the noise outside and looked out the window just in time to see Quent sprint from the car and throw himself into the fray, and then he ran down the stairs to open the door for us. He also tells Quent of how he and I prepared for the lunch date, how he did my make-up and hair, and helped me pick out my clothes.

Quent smiles at him. ‘You did a great job, mate, she looked good enough to eat when I first clapped eyes on her... but you know, Tazzie always looks good to me, she’s just got that inner glow,’ and he strokes my hair and pulls me close.

Teas finished, Rafiq declares it’s time he leaves us love birds alone, and he makes me promise to give him a shout if we need his help with anything. I get up and kiss him on the cheek for being such a good mate, and then it’s just Quent and me.

‘You’re stuck with me, luvvie,’ he sighs, one eye out the window where there’s now half an army of press camping out in the street. ‘I’ll never get past them. Maybe I should just wait it out; with a bit of luck they’ll go home at some point in the night and I can get back to the hotel unnoticed. Or, barely unnoticed. I can deal with a couple of them, but this is too much even for me, and on my day off too. Bloody hell.’ He sighs again.

I disappear into the kitchen to see what I have in the fridge and I return with some of my guilty purchases from yesterday. ‘Well, we’d better make the best of it, come on, let’s veg out.’ I sag on the settee and switch on the telly.

Quent plops himself down next to me, grabs a bag of crisps and the remote and eases himself down until he’s practically sitting on his shoulder blades, limbs sprawling in all directions. ‘Got a beer, luv?’ he asks, and I can’t help but grin as I suddenly see the all Aussie male emerge again. I love him like that. I know it’s strange, and I imagine most women would want him to be sophisticated, suave... but I like him best when he’s like this. I just think it’s sexy as fuck. So, I get up again to get him a beer and softly hum to myself as I dig around in my fridge. I’m still very shaky, but also inordinately happy. When I turn around I find he’s right behind me, an apologetic look upon his face.

‘I’ve got no right to ask you to fetch and carry for me, not in your condition...’ he softly says.

‘Quent, I’m not an invalid. I’m a couple of weeks pregnant, that’s all. Here,’ I give him his beer, ‘now come sit down with me?’

He grins, grabs his beer, takes me by the hand and we both get comfy in front of the telly. It might be a long wait before he can leave here, and I intend to enjoy every minute of his company.

Chapter Nineteen

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