“At work.” I grin. “Relax, Zeb. You didn’t swallow the key to my chastity belt.”

“That would have been like shutting the stable door after the horse had bolted years ago.”

I start to laugh. “Anyway, you were right.”

“I was?”

“I did meet someone on a pretend-boyfriend gig.”

He looks worried. “Who?”

I shake my head. “You, of course, you idiot.”

He looks pleased, so I kiss his nose and settle back in my place on his chest. He resumes stroking my hair and a peaceful silence falls as I hug my happiness to myself.

“So?” he finally says after a while.

I sigh. “I know what you’re going to say, and the answer is no.”

“So, you don’t want to shag Jude Law?”

“Well, no. Hang on, you were not going to say that.”

Zeb laughs, the merry sound ringing in the air, and I stare at his smiling face with his eyes creased in amusement. “No, I was going to say do you think we should get out of bed today?”

“I knew it.” I lay my head back down and pat his hand to start the scalp massage again. “No. I want to stay here forever.”

“When we die from malnutrition, the next people might object to sharing the bed.”

“Will we die locked in each other’s arms? That’s so romantic.”

“Oh my God, you probably liked Romeo and Juliet.”

“The ultimate story of true love.”

“Why? They died. It was the ultimate story of teenage strops.”

“Oh my God, Zeb, you are the Grinch of love. What about Ghost?”

“It made me uneasy. Shouldn’t dead people stay dead and not zip about making vases?”

I pop my head up. “This is so enlightening. I’m trying to think of more romantic films for you to destroy. Okay, what about Notting Hill?”

“That’s not romantic, Jesse,” he scoffs. “What’s romantic about the fact that they’re far too different and when they inevitably end up divorcing, she’ll have to fork out half her money to pay for the mistake?”

I start to laugh. “Okay, what is romantic?”

He considers that, his arm flung over his head, showing the tuft of black hair that I always want to bury my face in.