I grinned as I listened to him sing in the shower, shifting to lie in the leftover warmth of his sleeping body. I inhaled his scent on the pillow and couldn’t imagine any PMS capable of breaking through my Ben-induced oxytocin.

My boyfriend emerged dripping in a towel, looking both cute and sexy. “How are you feeling about tonight?”

“It will be fine,” I sighed. The thought of the upcoming evening curdled the edges of my good mood. “It’s not like I sell out every day.”

“You’re not selling out,” Ben repeated for the twentieth time. He leaned over to kiss me, sprinkling me with drops of shower water. “Remember, Fern, some days you just need to do your job and pay the rent.” He glanced at the time on his phone to check he wasn’t late. “If this ‘author’—” he made air quotes with his fingers “—says some stupid things, then that’s on her, not you.”

“Stop being so nice to me if you’re now going to dare to leave for work when you’re so naked and brilliant,” I groaned.

He laughed into my mouth as he kissed me, and I felt positively sickened by my own happiness.

“I’ve got to go.” Ben gave me a final kiss, before straightening up, and pulling a shirt and trousers over his damp body. After he’d finished brushing his teeth, he appeared in the doorway with a breakfast bar in his hand to eat on the bus. “See you later, gorgeous. Message me when the event’s over. You’re going to smash it.” He picked up my phone, which still had the warning up. “When you look at the PMS dark side, careful you must be,” he said in a Yoda voice.

I couldn’t help my smile. “You’re ridiculous and I love you.”

“You too. Oh shit. Late. Always, always, late. Right. Gotta go.”

When the front door clicked behind him, I sank again into the glorious smell of his pillow.