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“Yeah, but, it’s only me getting hurt then!”

Alfie growled, sounding like a very put-out cat, and I snorted. “For fuck’s sake, Milo, you getting hurt isn’t a good thing! And you don’t know it’s only you getting hurt. Rupert could feel exactly the same way.”

“Then why hasn’t he said anything?”

“For exactly the same reason you haven’t,” Alfie said. It felt like there was a “dipshit” or “you wanker” missing from the end of his sentence, but I decided not to bring it up.

“So why do I have to do it?” I whined, pouting and wishing I’d never asked Alfie for help. Even if he was right.

“If you don’t want to, then don’t,” Alfie said firmly, sipping his tea. “But if neither of you does, then I can tell you right now what’ll happen.”

“What? It’ll all end in tears?”

“Pretty much, yeah. One of you is going to have to stand up and say how you feel, even if you don’t like it. And since you’re here asking me for my opinion, worried about what might be going on with Rupert, then I’m pretty sure it’ll have to be you.” He paused for a second, then tried to smile. “Whatever happens, I promise I’ll be here for you. And if it all goes wrong, I’ll ask Jonathan to make us another lasagne.”

“Deal,” I said, forcing a grin onto my face as I tried not to think about what I’d agreed to. At least I’d get lasagne out of my suffering. “Please ask him to make a big one, I’ll need it.”

“Of course,” Alfie said. “And you can keep all the leftovers.”

I whooped and did a fist pump, trying to ignore the way my heart was racing.

Why the fuck was the idea of talking to Rupert so hard? We talked all the time. All I had to do was say a few extra things.

Things that could get me hurt… that could remind me of what a problem I was and always had been… that could end the best thing that’d happened to me in years.

Fuck!

Jonathan better make me the biggest fucking lasagne in the world. With extra cheese and sauce.

Because there was no way this was going to end well.

Chapter Eighteen

Rupert

If there was an award for the person most likely to metaphorically impersonate an ostrich by sticking their head in the sand to avoid their feelings, I would be this year’s winner by a mile.

Despite the fact I had both talked to Norman and cried on his shoulder while promising to be better, I hadn’t made changes. Nor did I plan to.

I wanted to talk to Milo. Desperately. But my brain had decided it wasn’t an option, and every time I opened my mouth to tell him how I felt, something else came out.

It was horrifically frustrating and I was at my wits’ end with myself, but nothing I did made a difference. I’d even tried writing it out one night, with Lizzie draped across my shoulders, but when I’d read over it the following morning, I’d immediately torn it up and shoved the scraps of paper in the recycling bin. It had sounded whiney and needy, embarrassingly so. The sort of thing that would send most people running for the hills while blocking me on every app they owned.

I knew my ADHD could make me difficult at times. I could be anxious, clingy, sharp, and both under and over explain myself on the same topic. And I was so scared of getting hurt that most of the time I pushed people away before they decided to leave on their own accord.

Although, I wasn’t sure if that was the ADHD or my personality.

It was hard to unpick them sometimes. Often, I didn’t know where one ended and the other began. Perhaps I shouldn’t even be trying to separate them.

But whatever the reason, the fact didn’t change that it was almost December and I still hadn’t said anything to Milo.

“What’re you doing after work on Friday?” Milo asked as he walked into my flat, toeing off his shoes and stacking them neatly next to mine. I’d given him my spare set of keys because it was easier than traipsing up and down the stairs every time he came over. Which was most days.

“Not much, why?” I replied from my seat on the sofa, where Lizzie and I had been casually doomscrolling through my phone. She was curled around my neck, her head lifted enough to see the screen. I almost thought she was watching.

“They’re doing a Christmas lights switch on up at the Castle, and they’re opening up the festive trail through the gardens. Didn’t know if you fancied going? There’s going to be a little market too, I think. At least, there should be food. Might just be, like, burgers and chips and mince pies, but if you’re not up for that we could always grab something afterwards,” he said, padding through into the living room and leaning over the side of the sofa to kiss the top of my head, lightly stroking the top of Lizzie’s head.

My brain froze and I stared at him, pushing my glasses up my nose to give my fingers something to do. “Together?”