'I might, too.'

   ‘Oh dear,’ I say, looking up at him. My chin is resting on his chest and, from this angle, I can see that smattering of freckles on his neck, just beneath the beard. Teeny black speckles, the littlest constellations. 

   Then he tilts his face down towards me, and they disappear into his neck. ‘What is it?’ he asks. I feel his voice vibrate along my jawbone. Buzz buzz buzz. 

 A very beautiful white window set into white painted brick, on an old fashioned street in Rye. There are ornaments, hanging decorations and Scrabble tiles spelling out some kind of message in the window.

   I sigh. ‘I might just fall in love with you.’

   He exhales, closing his eyes. Then the smile spreads across his face. It can’t be kept hidden. It sneaks out. I have come to know that smile so well, in such a short space of time. Actually, I first met it many years ago, and I definitely remarked upon it then, because it’s just so huge. No exaggeration - it fills more than half of his face. 

   ‘Yeah. I might, too.’

   I shift myself slightly and press my cheek to his hoodie. Whoa, he smells good. It’s that aftershave, the one he's admitted to spending outrageous amounts of money on as it gets so many compliments - and something warm underneath it. My sickly sweet shower gel is mixed in there somewhere, too. We don’t say anything else for a while. I think we fall asleep, at one point. It’s been a tiring day of walking on cobblestone streets, pointing out houses with funny names, climbing steep stairs in search of the best views, and sitting on benches in the sun with steaming black coffees in matching Keep Cups. A tiring, magical day. 

   That’s when I realise something. I’m not scared this time.


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