the hard ground. ‘I didn’t care for the “You must be the boyfriend” remark.’
‘No?’ I sat back up, rubbing the sore spot on my head. ‘Why not? Do you not want people to think you’re my boyfriend?’
‘It’s not what he said, it’s the way he said it,’ he replied, eyes up on the darkening sky. ‘I am obviously flattered that anyone would think I am your boyfriend.’
I wove my fingers into the grass, wrapping my fingers around the long, green blades and smiled.
‘But it was the implication that I’m just your boyfriend. It’s reductive. You wouldn’t like it if I went around introducing you to people as just my girlfriend, would you?’ Patrick went on. I said absolutely nothing. Because I would love it. ‘Besides, we just started seeing each other again and I know you don’t want to go around slapping big labels on things.’
I yanked a handful of grass right out of the ground. Patrick had always had an ego but it didn’t bother me, I considered it well earned. He very much wanted people to know how clever he was, what a brilliant writer he was. I’d always assumed that if I were as clever and as successful as him, perhaps I would feel the same way.
‘I know it’s early days and things are still delicate,’ I said slowly, wiping off my hand and pressing the displaced clump of grass back into the earth. ‘But I would be perfectly happy if you wanted to put a label on this. I mean, it’s not as though we only just met, is it? And you did bring Sumi cupcakes, that’s fairly boyfriend-y behaviour. Boyfriend-ish at the very least.’
‘I can do lots of things that are boyfriend-ish,’ he grinned, sliding his hands inside my shirt and glancing over at the gate to check for passersby. ‘How quiet can you be?’
‘Not that quiet,’ I breathed, yielding to his wandering hands, my words catching in my throat. ‘You’re not really annoyed that he called you my boyfriend, are you?’
He pulled back so I could see his clear light eyes and his huge, dilated pupils.
‘Do I look annoyed?’
He didn’t. He looked handsome and horny and like someone who left his important work to come out on a Saturday night to meet me and my friends with a box full of freshly baked cupcakes.
‘Let’s go,’ he said, removing his hands from inside my shirt and leaving a chill. ‘I’ll come up with a way to work off those cakes.’
‘Sounds like a plan,’ I agreed, clambering to my feet and chasing him back to the entrance, just as an elderly man walking a stately Dalmatian placed his key in the lock on the other side of the gate.
‘Evening, sir,’ Patrick said as I rubbed at the grass stains on my backside before we both burst out laughing and ran off down the street.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
‘Now, do you think we need this many peanuts?’
I stared at my father from behind the enormous red trolley, already jam-packed with more food and drink than any assembly of humans would ever be able to consume.
‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘People love peanuts.’
With an unintelligible grunt, he wedged a jar of peanuts as big as a carry-on suitcase into the trolley.
Nothing said love like a father–daughter excursion to the cash and carry on a Sunday afternoon.
‘Your mum loves peanuts,’ Dad reasoned as he dragged the trolley onwards. ‘I want to make sure we have enough.’
My plan had been to stay in bed with Patrick until I lost the use of my legs and yet, here I was, traipsing around the Croydon Costco (not the closest Costco but Dad’s favourite Costco), buying up the entire store in preparation for their vow renewal. I’d had a panicked call from my mother first thing this morning, asking me to accompany Dad on his shopping trip while she took one for the team and went to visit my nan who had apparently been ‘causing trouble’ at the nursing home and had her phone confiscated. Again.
‘I don’t think she’s going to spend the entire day shovelling KP Dry Roasted down her throat,’ I said while he considered a family-sized tub of wasabi peas. ‘Aren’t there other things to organize first?’
‘Such as?’
‘Venue, invitations, music, flowers, decorations, favours,’ I replied, counting off on my fingers. ‘And I’m assuming you’ve got something to wear.’
‘I’m wearing my suit.’ He swapped the wasabi peas for a giant box of Bombay Mix, then pointed at the label. ‘Can you still call it that?’
‘I think