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I put down my knife and fork. I can’t eat any more, not because the food is dry but because of the knot that’s forming in my stomach. “The whole situation is a mess. I’m so sorry. I really do feel terrible about it.”

He studies me for a while, then his gaze softens. “The past is in the past. What concerns me more is the future. I can cope with Lewis still having feelings for you—that’s not something you or I have any control over. What I want to know is if you still have feelings for him.”

I don’t reply to this straight away but take a bit of time to formulate my thoughts. “What you have to understand, Richard,” I say eventually, “is he’s not just some ex I can forget about. Long before we hooked up, he was a huge part of my life, a constant throughout my childhood and teens. When I think of a happy memory from my younger days, chances are Lewis is in it because he was always there. We went to school together, and in our free time we hung out together. To this day our families still have meals together, and Ally, Jamie, and Cat are like cousins to me—hell, I’m probably closer to them than a lot of people are to their actual cousins. It would be hard for me to feel nothing for Lewis, but . . . well, you know how things ended between us.”

Richard gives a curt nod. “I do. But I don’t want you to be with me because you’d really like to be with Lewis, but you can’t forgive him for what he did, so I’m an okay second choice. I want you to be with me because you actually want to be with me.”

These words hit me harder than they probably should. “Of course. I get that. And . . .” I take a deep breath. “I want to lay all my cards on the table—I want to be as open with you as I can. So let’s put Lewis aside and focus on you and me. You’re a great guy, Richard, but . . . I have been having some doubts lately about whether we’re a good fit.”

Pain flickers in his eyes, and I can’t help but wince. This is tough—I’ve no wish to hurt him.

“That’s not to say I want to end things,” I add. “I just . . . well, we’ve been together for almost eighteen months now, so it’s natural to be looking at the relationship and thinking, Am I happy with everything? Is this the person I want to spend the rest of my life with? I’m sure you’ve been having similar thoughts?”

He doesn’t say anything. Okay, so maybe he hasn’t been having similar thoughts.

“We have a lot in common,” I say. “We share a lot of the same values, and our life goals are pretty compatible. But there are also differences between us, as there should be—no two people are identical, and it’d be boring if they were. But I’ve been asking myself how significant those differences are, and . . .” I shrug. “For me, the big thing is I’d like a bit more excitement in my life. I’m worried we’re already getting a little too settled, a little too stuck in a routine, and I’m not ready for that. I want to be surprised, to be swept off my feet. And honestly, that includes in our sex life. It’s becoming pretty predictable, and I’m someone who needs to keep things fresh, exciting, and spontaneous. I’ve just not been feeling the passion recently—not in the bedroom, and not in other parts of our relationship either.”

Am I being too honest with him now? But no, we have to be able to talk about these things, don’t we? I no longer have that urge to tear Richard’s clothes off and jump into bed with him, probably because our sex life has become so monotonous that it’s hard to get excited about it. And he doesn’t seem to have that burning desire to touch me and make passionate love either. But . . . I want to be with someone who struggles to control themselves around me! Last night, in the Pheasant, when I spilled that water over myself and was trying my best to dry off my chest with tissues, I spotted something in Lewis’s gaze, a look I once knew well. He had to tear his eyes away and stare at the fire because he was getting turned on.

When we were seeing each other, I’d pride myself on how easily I could get Lewis going. He could be chilling, watching TV or scrolling on his phone, completely relaxed. But with a single sultry glance, or a few teasing words, I could have him shifting uncomfortably and then tugging at the front of his jeans, his dick snapping to attention like a soldier ready for duty. You know the way they talk about cars: zero to sixty in four point three seconds? I should really have grabbed a stopwatch and timed how quickly I could make Lewis hard—because it was blink-and-you-miss-it fast.

Of course, we were younger then, but based on how he reacted to me dabbing my top, I reckon I could still get him in the mood any time I wanted to—if I wanted to, which I don’t. But in any case, I don’t seem to have that same power over Richard, and he doesn’t have it over me.

Richard scratches his arm. “Well, obviously that isn’t an easy thing to hear,” he says eventually, “but I appreciate you being honest with me. We’re clearly on rocky ground at the moment, but I’m glad you’re talking openly with me about things rather than making any hasty decisions. How about, this weekend, I organise something fun and exciting for us? Let’s see if we can’t move past this. All right?”

“Aye.” I offer a tentative smile. “I’m looking forward to seeing what you come up with.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

LEWIS

Age twenty-one

There’s a knock on my bedroom door. “Lewis? Are you ready to go?”

I open it slowly, rubbing my temple with one hand. “Hi, Maw,” I mumble.

She’s in a beautiful black velvet dress, her hair styled in a chic twist. Behind her stand Jamie and Da, both looking sharp and ready for the evening ahead.

With horror, Maw takes in my white T-shirt and grey joggies. “Lewis! What are you wearing? You can’t go like that!”

The four of us are supposed to be heading to Inverness for a casino-night fundraiser at Jamie’s rugby club. Neither Ally nor I ever took a shine to the sport the way Da hoped we would, but Jamie is a mean winger. I don’t particularly like complimenting him, given how annoying he is as a wee brother, but I’ll concede that when he gets the ball, it’s an impressive sight. He’s fast and can really tear down the pitch with it. He’s hoping to go pro, and Da—who’s ridiculously proud of him—reckons he’s got it in him.

Leaning against the doorframe, I cough and clear my throat. “I don’t think I’ll make it tonight,” I say softly, as though even speaking causes me pain. “I’ve got this terrible headache.”

“Oh, my baby!” Maw draws me into a hug.

Jamie, meanwhile, laughs. “Bollocks! Developing a mysterious illness on a night Iona is home from Glasgow? C’mon, Lewis, you’re not even trying to be subtle anymore. Just admit it already: the two of you are shagging.”

“Oi! Da, are you going to let him speak like that?”

“Your brother’s right,” Da says to Jamie in that low, rumbling voice of his. “Don’t say that kind of thing when we’re in a corridor. A guest might hear you.”

“That wasn’t my objection,” I say. “My objection was Jamie saying it at all. Iona and I are just friends—and I really am ill.”

“Pfft. Aye, right.” Jamie folds his arms.

“You two go downstairs and get in the car,” Maw says to Da and Jamie. “I want to have a quick chat with my baby to see if he’s okay. He is looking a little peaky.”