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It's been months since I last stepped foot on British soil, and I've been hankering for a taste of home for a while. As much as I've loved living in New York, it's felt a bit like an extended holiday.
A black cab drives past, its wheels hitting a puddle. I jump back, narrowly avoiding getting splashed, then have to hide my smile when I realise Callum wasn't quite so fast.
“You've got a little something on your trousers,” I tell him, gesturing at the inky black stains running the length of his jeans. He glances down, rolling his eyes, then reaches for me, trying to manoeuvre me into the puddle.
“Hey! Not fair!” When I try to move back his hold is too strong, but instead of dragging me into the dirty water, he pulls me close, looking down at me with a smile curling his lips.
“What?” I ask, trying to work out his expression.
“You're beautiful,” he says, his voice low. “Extremely annoying, but beautiful.”
“I'm not annoying.” I pout. “It's not my fault you have the reflexes of an old man.”
“I don't remember you calling me an old man last night when my face was between your thighs.”
Reddening, I look around to see if anybody heard him. “Hush.”
He presses his lips to my ear, his voice taking on a high tone as he attempts to mimic mine. “Oh Callum, right there, oh God,” he whispers. “Don't stop, please don't stop.”
“Shush!” I say it louder, my cheeks burning. “Somebody might hear.”
“That's what I told you last night, babe, but it didn't seem to worry you then.”
We climb into a cab, Callum loading our cases into the boot, and I lean forward, to give the driver Mum's address. We talked about booking a hotel instead—something impossibly expensive and boutique-like, knowing Callum—but in the end we decided to keep the peace by staying in Plaistow. The taxi pulls out, into the right hand lane, and we begin our slow journey across the city.
It's almost lunchtime when we arrive and I'm feeling sluggish and achy from the overnight journey. Without having to say anything, Callum tenderly massages my back, trying to loosen the stiffness that eight hours of travel has formed.
“You doing okay, babe?”
I give him an exhausted smile. “I'm fine.”
“Let's just get you home and I'll take you straight to bed.” He winks and I widen my eyes, trying to look affronted.
“Mum says we can't share a room because we're not married,” I tell him. “You're in Alex's old room.”
The look of horror on his face makes me giggle.
“What the hell? I'm not sleeping in a separate bloody room. We live together for God's sake, that's pretty much the same as being married.”
I bite my lip, holding back a laugh. “Tell that to my mum.”
She couldn't give a damn whether or not we share a bed, but I'm enjoying this too much to stop. “You won't get lonely, though, because the cats love Alex's bedroom.” I grin, glancing at the driver to make sure he's not listening. “You'll be surrounded by pussies.”
Callum chokes, and I can't hold the laughter in any more. I start to snigger even louder when the look of realisation washes over his face, and he frowns. “Amy,” he warns. “Don't mess with me, you might not like the result.”
On the contrary, I think. I love it when he gets all mad and alpha. Callum in a mood sends shivers down my spine.
“Try me,” I whisper, and his eyes darken, before he leans forward and kisses me hard.
* * *
A little later we're perched on the sofa at Mum's house, being crawled over by three cats and my nephew. Mum's keeping up a constant stream of conversation while we drink our tea. She tells us about Andie's trip to Australia, surprising me when she says that my big sister finally has a boyfriend, then lowers her voice to inform us that Lara is pregnant again.
I've absolutely no idea why she's whispering; at his tender years I don't think Max understands a word. Still, it's fantastic news and I can't help but grin when I think about having another nephew or niece.
That's the reason we're here, really. When Alex called to tell us they'd brought forward their renewal of vows, I didn't bother to ask why, but now I'm guessing it's so Lara can walk up the aisle, rather than waddle. They've decided to go the whole hog, with stag and hen parties tonight, and the ceremony tomorrow.
“Have you heard from your dad?” Mum asks. Though her tone is airy, her interested expression gives her away. I suspect she'll always hold a little torch for him—and he for her—even though there's been no repeat of the lounge incident.
