The door slams shut behind him, and I stand there bewildered for a second. I’ve never had to be the one to break up a relationship before. In the past, they’ve come to a mutual end, and I’ve stayed friends with most of my exes. There’s always been this vague worry when the relationships ended that I was making a mistake. I’ve never actually experienced trying to break up with someone who was reinforcing that desire with every syllable he uttered.

I huff and grab my jacket. I’m going for a walk along the seafront to clear my head.

Misha finds me half an hour later sitting on the beach looking out to sea. It’s wild tonight, frothing and roiling onto the shingle, as if it’s cross that it can’t take the beach over.

“You’re fucking nuts,” Misha observes baldly, his long legs folding under him so he can sit next to me.

“And you came to that observation how?”

“It’s fucking freezing out here, and you’re sitting in just a thin jacket. Not to mention the fact that you’re sitting on fucking pebbles.”

“It’s fine,” I say, shifting position and only now registering my arse’s displeasure.

He throws something over my shoulders. It’s a very soft violet-coloured blanket.

“Where did this come from?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Pinched it from the hotel patio. They’ve got heaters there and these blankets.” He shoots me a jaundiced stare. “And virgin Irish coffees with loads of whipped cream. But then why would you want that when it’s so pleasant sitting on damp rocks?”

“Misha, you really are a baby,” I say peaceably. “They’re pebbles, not boulders, and it’s not that cold.”

“Of course not, and you’re pulling that throw around you like it’s Jason Momoa simply because it’s got a nice thread count?”

“Don’t taunt me with Jason,” I say solemnly. “It’s cruel.”

Misha laughs and looks at me closely. I’m not sure what he sees in the dim light, but he immediately throws his arm around me and hugs me.

“I’m not saying anything about Harry,” he says, and I huff out a laugh. “I’m not,” he says indignantly. “I’m just positing a hypothesis that if he behaves like an arsehole this weekend, I will punch his lights out. Ah no,” he says as I open my mouth to object. “No commenting on my hypothesis.”

I almost tell him what happened with Harry earlier but change my mind. There would be drama, and that’s not fair at Jamie’s birthday celebrations. “Saying the word hypothesis constantly doesn’t make you brainy,” I say solemnly.

He laughs. Then his smile dies. “I’m also saying that whatever happens, I am here for you, and that will never change.”

“Never?”

“Never,” he says firmly, and I nestle into his warmth.