“Just this once, Daisy? I know it goes against your ‘independent woman striking out on her own’ vibe but this is a special occasion.”
I roll my eyes, considering it before conceding with a nod. Well, mainly conceding. My stubbornness doesn’t quite allow me to sit there and be paid for, so I pull out my purse and tug out a few coins. “Just for the tip,” I explain as Eric begins to complain.
He lets it go with a slight shake of his head. We may not be living together yet but he certainly knows me well enough to pick his battles.
We leave the restaurant sometime after ten. The snow has stopped but the chill outside bites at any exposed skin, quickly and efficiently chasing away any warmth still lingering from our time inside. To add insult to injury, there’s not even any proper snow on the ground. Just a slushy, slippery mess from hundreds of feet trampling through it.
“So...wanna bunk up at mine?” Eric asks, as he’s buttoning up his coat, eyes squinting slightly against the wind.
It’s tempting, but I find myself shaking my head. “Probably shouldn’t. If I’ve got to tell Violet that I’m moving out, it probably shouldn’t be right after a night at yours.” Eric smiles with a slightly knowing smile, which I’m grateful for. Violet Tucker is my best friend and current flatmate. My unofficial sister, that’s what everyone says. And I wouldn’t disagree with that. It took Eric a grand total of three dates to work out that she was as ingrained in my life as salt is in the sea, and another few dates to accept that fact. Two years down the line and it seems he also understands that this new living arrangement will take delicate explaining.
“Fair enough, thought I’d give it a try.” He rubs his hands together, blowing on them in an attempt to warm them up before he pulls his gloves on. “You busing it?”
I nod, shivering. The gray blazer I’m wearing over my dress really isn’t doing me much good, even when paired with a scarf. “Are you cabbing it?” Eric lives in the opposite direction to me, by the river in one of these glass-and-metal creations where successful and, let’s face it, smug city slickers live. On the other hand, the lowly marketing assistant here has to settle with a basement mold-farm of a flat. And a bus rather than a cab.
Eric already has his phone out, opening up the appropriate app and searching for a ride. As he’s doing this, he nods. “Cabbing it,” he confirms, tapping the screen a moment later with a triumphant smile. “You going to be all right?”
As usual, my instinctive reaction to his concern is to roll my eyes. I can’t help it. I’ve survived on my own for years after all, even if most of those years haven’t been in the “big city.” Somehow, having a boyfriend seems to mean I lose all those skills. Maybe a little harsh, so I soften my response with a smile and a squeeze of his arm. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got my polar bear Taser and I’m sure the bus driver will have a spare sled.”
Eric grins, leaning in to kiss me. When he pulls away, he gives me a jaunty wink, eyes all twinkly with excitement. “See you soon then—roomie.”
It’s such a cliché that we both have to laugh. “You dork. See you soon.”
With one final wave, we part ways. I glance back as I make my way toward the bus stop, watch him duck into a car. Even from a little distance away, I can see a lingering smile on his face. Happiness and triumph emanates from him, unhampered by the cold. That brings a smile of my own to my face as I step onto the just-arriving bus. Who would have thought that Eric Broad, the golden boy of Bennington & Moore Insurance, would be so pleased by giving little old me a key?
* * *
The journey home isn’t too long, but I spend it trying to get some sort of plan of delivery straight in my head. After eighteen years of friendship, since day one of primary school, I know Violet’s ways pretty well by now—and big news has to be shared with great care.
By the time I get home, it’s almost midnight. Despite this, Violet is still stretched out on our slightly threadbare sofa, swathed in the fleece blanket I got her for Christmas. I don’t blame her; our flat either does freezing cold or boiling hot. Judging by the way my breath still crystallizes in front of me, I’d say it’s currently the former.
She doesn’t turn around from her phone but does deign to wave a hand vaguely in my direction. Standard Violet behavior. “One of these days it’s not going to be me coming through that door but some burglar. Then you’ll be embarrassed,” I comment, as I kick the door shut, wedging it into the slightly warped door frame with a grunt.
Violet sniggers, plopping her phone down on the coffee table, narrowly avoiding knocking over the ridiculous New York snow globe my mum bought us as a flat-warming gift. Once she’s satisfied it’s safe, Violet twists around to look at me. “Yeah, ’cause embarrassment is going to be my biggest concern. So, how was dinner? Did he pop the question?” she asks, resting her chin on the back of the sofa as she surveys me with eager curiosity.
“No, he didn’t. I promise you if that ever happens, I will call you up literally as he’s doing it, so there’s really no need to keep asking.” Moving to sit beside her, I kick off my heels and let out a sigh of relief at the feeling of having my toes free once more.
“Wuss,” Violet teases, prodding me with one finger. “I danced in higher heels than that for six hours today.”
“The difference being that you got paid for it.”
“If you can call those wages getting paid.” She mutters this with a huff, though there’s a grin lurking in the corners of her mouth anyway. Violet might complain about the pay but this is her biggest professional dancing job since we moved to London together, three years ago. She can’t quite hide her pride, even if she’s got bruised and battered feet.
I don’t reply and perhaps that’s how she knows there’s something on my mind. That’s the trouble with having a friend like Violet; she knows me better than I know myself sometimes. She can predict when I need to say something before I’ve even got the words together. “So, he didn’t pop the question, but something else happened?”
I nod, automatically worming my finger into the large hole on the arm of the sofa. As if I might find the answer in there. “He asked me to move in with him.” The words slip out after a moment of silence, in which I realize that there’s no easy way to tell her the news.
The sofa creaks slightly as Violet shifts, so she’s facing me a little more directly. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch her chasing away a small frown. By the time I’m looking at her properly, though, she’s smiling. “Wow, Dee. That’s amazing.” She obviously spots my concern, because she prods me with her finger again. “Oi, don’t get all droopy on me. I’ll be fine. You know I only put up with you in this flat for your tea.”