‘It’s not what he said, it’s the way he said it,’ he replied, eyes up on the darkening sky. ‘I am obviously flattered that anyone would think I am your boyfriend.’

I wove my fingers into the grass, wrapping my fingers around the long, green blades and smiled.

‘But it was the implication that I’m just your boyfriend. It’s reductive. You wouldn’t like it if I went around introducing you to people as just my girlfriend, would you?’ Patrick went on. I said absolutely nothing. Because I would love it. ‘Besides, we just started seeing each other again and I know you don’t want to go around slapping big labels on things.’

I yanked a handful of grass right out of the ground. Patrick had always had an ego but it didn’t bother me, I considered it well earned. He very much wanted people to know how clever he was, what a brilliant writer he was. I’d always assumed that if I were as clever and as successful as him, perhaps I would feel the same way.

‘I know it’s early days and things are still delicate,’ I said slowly, wiping off my hand and pressing the displaced clump of grass back into the earth. ‘But I would be perfectly happy if you wanted to put a label on this. I mean, it’s not as though we only just met, is it? And you did bring Sumi cupcakes, that’s fairly boyfriend-y behaviour. Boyfriend-ish at the very least.’

‘I can do lots of things that are boyfriend-ish,’ he grinned, sliding his hands inside my shirt and glancing over at the gate to check for passersby. ‘How quiet can you be?’

‘Not that quiet,’ I breathed, yielding to his wandering hands, my words catching in my throat. ‘You’re not really annoyed that he called you my boyfriend, are you?’

He pulled back so I could see his clear light eyes and his huge, dilated pupils.

‘Do I look annoyed?’

He didn’t. He looked handsome and horny and like someone who left his important work to come out on a Saturday night to meet me and my friends with a box full of freshly baked cupcakes.

‘Let’s go,’ he said, removing his hands from inside my shirt and leaving a chill. ‘I’ll come up with a way to work off those cakes.’

‘Sounds like a plan,’ I agreed, clambering to my feet and chasing him back to the entrance, just as an elderly man walking a stately Dalmatian placed his key in the lock on the other side of the gate.

‘Evening, sir,’ Patrick said as I rubbed at the grass stains on my backside before we both burst out laughing and ran off down the street.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

‘Now, do you think we need this many peanuts?’