Margaret clears her throat, reminding us where we are. Though heat floods my cheeks, I'm relieved to see she's smiling, looking at us both with a fond expression.
“Sorry, Mum.” Callum's grin is far from regretful. “I can't help it, she's always leading me astray.”
Margaret shakes her head, “Callum Ferguson, it's one thing kissing a girl in front of your mother, another thing to be disrespectful about it. Now tell her you're sorry.”
It's my turn to smirk. Callum frowns at my glee, rolling his eyes. “I'm very sorry for disrespecting you, Amy.”
“I forgive you,” I reply, my tone echoing his. “But I'm expecting a cup of coffee on my desk every single morning to make up for it.
“Babe, I'll buy you the bloody coffee shop if you like.”
He gives me a quick kiss on the tip of my nose, then mouths “I love you.”
I mouth it right back.
* * *
When we leave London City Airport and clamber into a black cab, a sense of sadness comes over me. The flight home was uneventful and sleepy, but as a consequence it passed way too quickly. As the weekend comes to a close, I can’t help but think of work tomorrow.
I bury my head against Callum's chest, trying to block out the dark thoughts. But even his warm protection isn't enough to reassure me.
“I don't want this to end,” I whisper into the wool of his sweater. His arms tighten around me, and I feel his lips press against the top of my head.
“It's not over,” he says. “We're only just beginning, babe.”
“But everything's so complicated. I'm going to have to walk past you in the corridor and pretend I don't want to wrap myself around you. I don't think I can do it.”
There’s a smile in his voice. “I'm confident you can restrain yourself. It's only a few months, then you'll finish your placement, get your degree and we can come out into the open.”
He makes it sound so easy. Maybe it is to him, but all I can see ahead is darkness and difficulties. I can't even sit in a cab without wanting to hold him, how am I going to get through a day without touching or being touched? He's a drug and a comfort blanket combined, and I find myself craving his proximity.
“It's not me I'm worried about,” I say in an attempt to lighten the situation. “I'm pretty sure you're the one who can't keep his hands to himself.”
“Is that a fact?” He proves my point by pulling me closer, running his lips across my forehead, my eyelids, my cheeks. “You think I'll cave first?”
“I know you will.” My heart flutters as his lips press at the corner of my mouth. “You haven't got an ounce of self-control.”
“Not around you, sweetheart,” he agrees readily. Then all words are silence as he kisses the hell out of me.
Twenty minutes later, we pull up outside my mum's house in Plaistow.
“Am I coming in?” he asks, putting my suitcase down on the pavement. His question isn't demanding or petulant, it's just a few words in a throwaway tone, but they still send me into a panic.
“Tonight?” I ask, wide-eyed. “Um, I don't know. Do you want to?”
“Don't panic,” he whispers. “I won't come in if you're not ready. We've got all the time in the world.” His lack of offense calms my anxiety.
“I want to introduce you to them,” I tell him. “But not until I've prepared them all. I've only really told Lara—my sister-in-law—about you. I want them to treat you properly when you finally meet.”
“Okay.”
“Come over for lunch next Sunday, you can face the whole bunch. It will be like a swift sharp shock.”
“You make them sound delightful.”
“They're one of a kind. Noisy, opinionated, and they won't stop asking you questions. As long as you're prepared for that.”
He cups my face with his hands, pressing a soft kiss to my mouth. “Babe, it’ll be fine. I want to meet them.”