I slide one hand into the dark strands and brush away the little patch of dust from the wood he’s been sanding. It’s only a few grains and it disappears easily enough, but running my fingers through his hair feels surprisingly nice. Even when the wood dust is long gone and I should stop, I keep doing it. He’s cradling the mug of tea on his lap and he lifts it for another sip and his piercing clinks against the china, and if my fingers tighten in his hair, it’s a completely involuntary reaction. His eyes drift shut and he breathes out slowly, putting the mug down on the bench beside him. One hand drifts across until the back of his knuckles is resting on my thigh, and I take it as a sign that he doesn’t want me to stop yet.

I stroke his hair a bit harder, making it obvious that I’m stroking it rather than brushing out wood dust that was gone at least five minutes ago, and he sinks down against the bench and lets out the most ridiculously sexy moan that sends a tingle right the way through me.

‘What are you doing to me?’ he mumbles under his breath, his voice sounding ragged. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I keep losing myself around you, and it’s so unlike me, but I don’t want it to stop.’

I know exactly what he means. Everything is so easy with him, just being with him, spending time with him … When I’m close to him like this, when his walls aren’t up and he lets himself go a little bit, it is easy to get lost in the moment, to believe that whatever this is … it’s something that could be more.

His palm is facing up, open and inviting, and I let the index finger of the hand that’s not in his hair trail across it. His fingers close around it, entwining with mine. It makes me smile, and when I risk a glance at his relaxed face, the same smile has crept across his mouth too.

I realise I’m sitting here smiling at him for no reason, which is probably weirder than having one hand tangled in his hair and the other held in his fingers, and no matter how much I try to tell myself how weird it is, I can’t stop myself letting my fingers drift through his hair and shifting nearer to him every time he leans a bit heavier against me.

‘We should get together and watch Gremlins sometime.’ His voice sounds distant, like an ethereal whisper.

‘You could always come over one evening. Bring Gizmo and some of those pumpkin spice popcorn kernels you’ve been selling at the market. I haven’t seen it for a few years now and Gizmo makes me want to watch it again.’