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him. The memory of vomit down his shirt helped. I pointed to a plastic bag he was holding. ‘What’s that?’
    His eyes lit up and with difficulty I straightened my arms so they couldn’t gently wrap themselves around his neck. It had only been three days but I’d missed his tender hugs and the way he massaged my neck after a stressful day. I missed curling up on the sofa with him at his flat, us in our little world, away from expectations, targets and strains, his limbs intertwining with mine – his confident touch making me feel like a desirable sex siren.
    ‘Food. I was hoping to cook you something special for dinner – hoping we could chat.’
    ‘You aren’t going to throw it up afterwards, like on Sunday night, are you?’
    He gazed at the floor. ‘Guess I deserve that.’
    I sighed, heartbeat finally slowing. ‘Isn’t your plan a bit risky? I could have been out – or already eaten…’
    Dave gave a sheepish smile and shrugged.
    ‘Just do what you like,’ I said and walked into the bedroom to freshen up. I had nothing to say to him. Not yet. I was still reeling after the way he’d unromantically suggested we spend the rest of our lives together.
    You think me harsh? Guess I am. But… my eyes tingled… if you’d witnessed your mum being downtrodden, never being made to feel unique and wonderful by the person who mattered most, then perhaps you’d feel the same.
    I set my lips in a firm line. Got undressed. Headed for the shower. Half an hour later, I returned to the lounge, in my PJs. My heart lurched, secretly pleased that he hadn’t gone home after my cold welcome.
    ‘Well, you weren’t expecting me to dress up, were you?’ I said as Dave looked me up and down.
    His face kind of crumpled. ‘No. I was just thinking how you look Goddamn hot in anything, from super-smart to casual.’
    I bit my lip, so as not to react, and he turned back to the hob. My chest pinched but I held strong. Dave had let me down. It was best that we hadn’t got engaged, although my insides relaxed as the garlicky smell of bolognese wafted throughout the flat. He had set the breakfast bar with… goodness, a heart-shaped candle holder. Where had he got that? The yellow candle burned brightly, an exotic, sweet aroma wafting towards me.
    ‘Nice fragrance,’ I muttered and my nose twitched.
    Without turning around, Dave replied. ‘It’s jasmine. I bought it from that new gift shop next to the chemist’s.’
    My namesake? And look at those cornflower blue napkins. My favourite colour. Dave had really put some thought in.
    My nose twitched again and I gave a small sneeze. On the television was some show about birdlife in Cumbria. With a vacant stare, I focused on the screen, suddenly interrupted by a swear word. I turned around. Dave was shaking his head.
    ‘The hob won’t work. The Quorn is only half cooked and I haven’t started on the spaghetti.’
    I went over and fiddled with the buttons, just centimetres away from him. My insides fizzed. ‘This happened a couple of months ago. Mikey knows exactly what the problem is and how to fix it – it’s something to do with a loose fitting. We’ll have to wait until he’s back. And if it’s anything like last time…’ I switched on the oven. Nothing. ‘The whole thing is kaput until Mikey works his magic.’
    Dave’s shoulders sagged. ‘That’s dinner ruined.’
    ‘Seeing as you’re here, you may as well eat,’ I said, his disappointment tangible. ‘How about chicken sandwiches.’ I got up, headed for the cutlery drawer and pulled it open. Dave came over. I felt his breath on my neck and turned around.
    Gently, he took the knife from my hand and placed it on the granite work surface. His arms slid around my hips. On automatic, my fingers curled around his solid waist, his warmth migrating into my arm. With one hand, he gently lifted my chin and ran a thumb across my cheek.
    ‘Oh, Jasmine… forgive me for being such a prat. Can’t we forget that Sunday