I was standing with my front door gaping wide as a not-so-subtle signpost to Rowan. We were getting ready at mine – to avoid his housemates, again – and he was the only bloke I’d ever heard of who managed to turn getting ready for a night out into this much work. As I waited, I could hear the wind lapping at the outside of the building, and I began to worry about my bare calves that came with my show-stopping dress: a wraparound in white linen, dotted with blue and red flowers and the occasional dandelion wish. It struck me as a dress that would photograph well, so at least I could put that worry to bed when the Instagram and Facebook notifications started flooding in the next morning. But if I’d put a little strategic thought into my outfit, then Rowan was putting third-year-university-exam-level thought into getting ready. I’d stayed in the bedroom long enough to watch him try on his third shirt before I migrated into the living room, where I’d finished spraying my curls in place. By then he still wasn’t ready, though, and I’d resorted to standing with the front door open to let him know I was good to go. Not that it looked to have made a blind bit of difference.

‘Rowan, come on, we told people half seven.’

‘All right, Edi, Christ.’ He was still adjusting his hair, pulling pieces between thumb and fingertip on his walk towards me. ‘How do I look?’

‘Like someone who watches too many boy-band videos. Can we?’ I stepped aside.

‘I’m bloody wasted on you sometimes,’ he snapped. Oddly, he sounded a little too serious.

On the walk from home into town his mood softened, though, and I soon felt him tightening his grip around my left hand. The engagement ring pressed hard between my fingers and I bit back on readjusting his grasp. Don’t ruin the moment, I thought as I hurried along with him. He was moving at a pace – to compensate for being late and all …

When I set my hand flat against the door to push into the bar, he pulled me away from the entryway so that I was facing him instead. ‘Hey, gimme a sec?’

‘Of course. What’s happening? Are you okay?’

He looked at me hard and narrowed his eyes. My kneejerk reaction was to assume my mascara hadn’t dried properly, and the power walk here had sent splashes of it flying onto my eyelids like some kind of Insta-Pollock painting. But before I could open the lips of my bag and search for a mirror, Rowan grabbed my face. With a hand cupped around each ear, he brought me closer to him and kissed me – a soft kiss, like he really meant it.

‘Edi Parcell.’ I still felt a swell of happiness when he said my name. ‘Bloody love you.’

I kissed his nose. ‘Bloody love you.’