“Only got a grade D in my GCSE English, Cerys. So, you can talk to me about grammar, or you can put me out of my misery and tell me you love me too.”
She cupped his cheeks and pulled his lips down to hers. “Yes,” she breathed against them. “I love you too.”
Their kiss was sloppy and slightly ruined by the fact both of them grinned at each other foolishly.
“Come on,” he said, taking her hand. “Nan will send a search party out if we don’t get there soon.”
When they turned onto the street, Cerys bit out a gasp. “What did she do? And wait, that cat’s going to get run over.” A black-and-white cat who’d had one-too-many servings of cat food, sat in the middle of the road, and the outside of the terraced house was decorated in Easter-coloured bunting. Yellows, pinks, and pale turquoise. A small arrangement of balloons was stuck with Sellotape to the window.
“The cat is Boddington. He’s on life number seven. Hates humans, hates cars even more. He just sits there and stares them down. You can try and go move him if you want, but you might want to check when you last had your tetanus shot boosted. As for all this.” He gestured at the exterior decoration. “It’s a bit of a big deal for Nan, this. Not just you. But me and Matt finding some kind of peace.”
The front door was open, the sound of loud voices, the bark of a dog, and bizarrely . . .
“Is that Freddie Mercury and Montserrat Caballé?”
“Yeah. Nan fucking loves Barcelona. And Queen is Uncle Allan’s favourite band. Fancies himself as a crooner. It’ll be Queen’s Greatest Hits all afternoon.”
“Is she here yet?” a voice, from just inside the door shouted. Cerys grinned. The words were all rolled together. Ishe-ear-yet.
When she stalled from stepping inside, Jase tugged on her hand. “Waves, Cerys. Waves.” He grinned as he led her inside. “Nan,” he shouted. “Your favourite grandson has arrived.”
Groans erupted around the room.
“I always say that,” he whispered. “Pisses them all off because it’s true.”
“Where is she?” Nan bustled over and tackled Cerys into a full-on body hug. “Let me take a good look at you.”
Cerys hugged her back. It seemed the polite thing to do. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs. Palmer.”
“Nan. You’ll call me Nan. That’s what everyone else calls me.” She turned her attention to Jase and put a palm on his cheek. “She’s lovely. Just like you said, lad.”
An hour later, Cerys sat in the middle along one side of the two wobbly tables. Mismatched tablecloths were draped over them. Alex flanked his mum and was currently glaring across the table at his father, who appeared to be well on his way to finishing a bottle of whiskey. Nan had assured her it was a bargain from Aldi that she mixed with alcohol-free whiskey to stop her son-in-law from causing a scene. Ben was seated next to Chaya, animatedly talking about something she couldn’t quite hear.
“Here,” Jase said, dropping another Yorkshire pudding onto her plate. “You ate that first one so quick, you look like you could eat another.”
“Oh God. No,” she groaned. “I’m already stuffed. Your nan insisted I had another slice of beef the last walk she did around the table.”
Jase grinned. “That’s the best part of growing up here. The food. Nan’s the best cook. Her Lancashire hotpot, Manchester tart, and Eccles cakes are the best.”
“Does everything you eat in Manchester start with a place name?”
He bopped her on the nose. “Nope. Tomorrow, I’ll be introducing you to the delight of a pasty barm and rag puddings.”
“Don’t forget I went to uni here. I’ve had a rag pudding before. The beef and onion were fine, but the suet was an acquired taste.”
She leaned close to him. “I got the impression when you guys arrived in Detroit that Matt was the only one with a girlfriend. What’s the deal with Chaya and Ben? They look pretty close.”
Jase looked over at the guitarist. “Ben was a regular fucking hero. Made the news and everything when he found Chaya tied up in this warehouse. They aren’t a couple.”
“Holy shit,” Cerys whispered as she looked back at the two of them. Ben stared at Chaya, and she stared right back, the same goofy stare she got when Jase got naked. “There sure is a heck of a lot of sexual tension for a couple that isn’t dating.”
“Yeah. We’ve wondered from time to time if they crossed that line. But whenever we do gigs, if Chaya isn’t there, he hooks up with girls and shit. She’s either the most tolerant girlfriend ever, a doormat, or not sleeping with him. And given she’s a fully qualified doctor, I’m thinking it’s the latter.”
Cerys looked around the table.
So much noise.
So much music and singing.
So much food.
So much family.
It was everything she hadn’t realised she was missing.
“Holy shit,” Cerys said, the following morning. “It’s bigger than I imagined. In my head, it was much smaller.”
Jase looked up at the large hundred-year-old building that had formerly been a packing and shipping warehouse for a factory. A large mural featuring worker bees and honeycombs had been painted over the red brick wall that faced out onto a car park. “How many floors are yours?”
“The top two.” She pressed her hand to the brick. “Can you imagine how much history and graft these walls have seen? I freaking love it already, even though it’s going to be a pain in the arse to soundproof. I hate to cover this up with mass loaded vinyl or acoustic panels. Come on, I can’t wait to see it.”
Her curls were pulled up into a ponytail that bounced as she skipped up the stairs to the lobby.
A few moments of conversation with the landlord and the keys were exchanged. Cerys turned to look at him and mouthed, “Oh my God.”
Her excitement was palpable. A real thing he could almost reach out and touch. It was so contagious, he felt it. And he was happy for her. Happy that she would get to do something she was passionate about, something she was more than capable of, something she could build her career from.
And he was happy for himself. As she slipped her coat off and waved him to the lift, he was happy for the two of them. That she got to follow her dreams, with him, here in Manchester.
That they could build a relationship in the same way she was building a business. Brick by brick. He’d have made it work wherever she’d needed up, but the truth was, he was only just rebuilding his relationship with his brother, with his band, and being apart would have made it hard to maintain momentum.
He thought back to the jitters she’d had when she arrived. They were much easier to settle when they got to climb into bed together every night.
The lift had a concertina door, then a sliding door inside. Original features, big handles.
“Can you believe this is actually happening?” she asked, looking up at him.
He shook his head, wrapping his arms around her. “Was just thinking the same thing. If someone had told me during the particularly painful Christmas dinner at Nan’s house—”
“With pasting tables?”
Jase laughed. “Yeah, with pasting tables, that I’d be standing in this lift with you right now, I’d have laughed.”