We sit in silence for a while. Not long, but long enough for the stare to get too intense. I break first.

‘The burritos are probably cold and gross now, sorry.’

‘I love burritos in all their forms and temperatures. Thank you for bringing them over.’ He sits back against the sofa. ‘I feel like you’ve been avoiding me. That maybe that night with me and all my work colleagues scarred you.’ He has no idea. He touches my knee and I look up. I’m normally quite awkward with physical interaction. I never know what to do when someone touches me, but Peter’s hand feels comforting. ‘You really OK? You almost seem a little sad.’

‘I’m good, really. It’s nice to see you.’ Despite his attempts to make me feel comfortable, I still feel a little exposed and unsure of myself.

‘You too. I have to say, you look quite fetching in eighties gear.’

I hide my face in shame.

He pulls my hands away and uncovers my face. He gently tucks my hair behind my ear and smiles his slightly crooked smile. It makes me happy. I realize seeing him smile is one of my favourite things.

I came here to tell him the truth. Oh God, this is the moment I should be telling him I fancy him. But I can’t because I don’t fancy him.

I love him.

I don’t know why it’s taken me so long to realize. I love his stupid hair and I love the way he smiles. I love his terrible sense of humour and his too-loud laugh. I even love the way he dances. I love his attempts at cooking, although I feel safer when he orders in. I love how my apartment feels when he’s in it. I love how he looks out for me no matter the situation. I love how he can follow my thoughts, and I love how he translates things for me so I can understand them. I love how he makes me feel that I’m OK just as I am.

But I will understand if he doesn’t love me back. I don’t particularly love me right now. I have to know if there’s a chance.

But instead of saying all of that, I kiss him. It seems less scary.

He kisses me back, and for a moment everything is perfect. But then he gently pushes me away.

‘Bea.’

I can’t read what his eyes are saying, but I can’t face rejection. Not tonight. Not from Peter.

‘Please, just kiss me.’

And he does.

CHAPTER 36

Oh. Shit.

I’m in Peter’s bed. What the fuck happened last night?

I stay very still, staring at the ceiling until I can be sure that he isn’t asleep next to me. Where is he?

Why did I drink tequila?

Oh God. I kissed him. I know I kissed him. I remember that. That was nice. Oh God, that was stupid.

Why am I so stupid?

Oh my God. I was getting naked. I remember getting naked. Oh my God. We had sex. I am in his bed and we had sex in his bed. Shit. Fuck. Tits. I wish I could remember it.