“No, I’m bloody not. I run in the evenings,” she calls as I head to the bathroom, smiling. I look over my shoulder and see her plummet back to the bed. Oh no. I hurry back over before she gets too comfortable, taking her ankle and tugging her to the bottom. A pillow covers her face, so I whip it off, leveling her with a serious face.

“Yes, you are. Mornings are better.” I see her mouth engage to protest, so I quickly flip her onto her front and give her arse a swift slap. “Get ready,” I order, swooping up the bag of women’s sportswear from the chair.

“I don’t have my running kit.” Her smug face falls when I throw the bag and it lands precisely next to her. “You bought these for me?”

“I saw your trainers in your room. They’re wrecked.” She’s not a serious runner if she runs in those things, but I’ll soon change that. I can think of nothing better than starting my day off with Ava and a run. “You’ll damage your knees if you keep running in them.” She shows no signs that she’s going to indulge me, so on a huff of displeasure, I start rummaging through the bag to find something suitable. I pull out a sports bra. Inspect it. Smile and hand it over. It’s snatched from my hand on a scowl, and that scowl remains fixed as she puts it on. I pass her some shorts, hers to match my his, and finally a vest. She takes her time changing, delaying, sulking. “Sit,” I order, and she drops to the bed heavily. “I’m ignoring you.” I get her trainers on and pull her up, giving her a thorough inspection.

She looks hot as fuck.

“Come on, then, lady,” I say, pulling her out of the bedroom before I push her onto the bed. “Let’s start the day how we intend to finish it.”

“I’m not running again today,” she splutters, looking alarmed.

“That’s not what I meant,” I say over my laugh as we take the stairs.

“Oh. What did you mean?”

I can hear the hope in her voice. She knows exactly what I mean. Lucky for Ava, I’m in a giving mood today. I just hope she’s in an accepting mood. “I mean by being out of breath and sweaty.”

She straightens her shoulders. “You’re not seeing me tonight,” she says, almost smugly, like she’s won something. I’m not seeing her? We’ll see. “I need a hair tie.” She tugs her hand free and goes to her bags, and I go to the kitchen to get some cash. She’ll never make it around my route, and it would be highly unreasonable to expect her to. I’m not unreasonable. I stuff a note in the small zip pocket with my phone and fetch her.