“Relax, the least I could do is see you home.”

We sit in his car, making out the forlorn crimson door coat of my residence, through the fogging windows.

I swallow.

The party we’ve attended was a social work’s function. His work. Come as you are, he said. His plus one.

I’ll meet you there, I eventually reply.

Arriving out of breath from my shift, I’m fractionally late. The dress code is cripplingly sharp suits with razor stares. Worse I’m set upon by two Samaritans in the ladies. Despite my flimsy protests, two against one, I’m no match. In a whirlwind they remove my well-loved coat, uncurling the scarf, stripping away the fingerless gloves, the one with the hole in, teasing my hair out of its bun and applying mascara and eyeliner. I stare in the mirror at three strangers. And all I know is their names.

Entering foreign territory, Jamie’s head swivels in my direction, his glass mid-air, smile widening, eyes crinkling, holding my gaze. I fold into the seat next to him, heart drumming, then take a sip of water, before he insistently pulls me onto the dance floor in the frivolous heels the women pushed my feet into, clucking while they did so.

I met him at the restaurant weeks ago. He had an addiction for dessert he said. He laughed at my jokes, even helped me lock up one night. My second job.

My sister begged me to accept his invite.

Now in my sister’s kitchen I find two glasses, clean and unchipped. A noise behind makes me start, red liquid sloshing over the balloons.

Turning, I address the four-year-old, “Can’t sleep Milo?”

His eyes narrow, the head of the furred rabbit, lolling over his arm. “Who’s he?”

Instead of leaving, Jamie squats, “I’m Jamie. I’ve bought your Mum home from a work’s meal.”

“She’s not my Mum.” Milo’s brow deeply furrows, large enough for one of his toy tractors to drive the row.

My cheeks heat.

On the sofa Milo sponges up the tale, between us. I turn another page, his eyelids hooded before closing. When his head finally rests against my arm, Jamie carefully scoops him up.

I expected him to leave.

“Where am I going?” He mouths, rotating in the doorway. He follows me up the stairs, settling Milo in the box room bed, pulling the door too.

My sister is sleeping, the comforting low beeping mechanical pulse as confirmation.

I expect him to leave.

Back on the sofa and he slips his hand into mine. I stare at the heels I’m still wearing, twisting a foot to admire a red sole. “Do you know how to find Mia and Hayley? They were generous enough to lend me these.”

Jamie chuckles. “My sisters won’t miss them.” His face goes solemn. “What’s wrong with yours?”

Then he confides in me, his wife died. Twelve months later he found the restaurant.

He kisses me by the front door, my arms going up, hands around his neck.

The following morning, I wake with him still in my bed.