Page 6 of One Day at a Time

She’d nodded, eyes focused on the road. ‘Completely. You’d be far better staying here, working on building sites for crap wages for the rest of your life, while rain drips off your boots. It’s every man’s dream.’

His face had melted into a slow, easy smile. ‘You’re right. I’m living my best life here. Be crazy to leave.’

‘Then there’s the extortionate rent for a flat that sounds likeit’s permanently groaning because the dodgy boiler makes weird noises.’

‘Another thing that’ll be hard to say goodbye to,’ he’d agreed solemnly.

‘And not to mention your Saturday night curries with your grieving flatmate, who is also your emotionally unstable oldest friend and prone to bursting into tears whenever something reminds her of her dead mother. Another treat you’ll be leaving behind.’

He’d put his cowboy boots up on the dashboard of his van. ‘I actually will miss that bit.’

‘You will?’

She’d been touched by that until he’d added, ‘Of course. The curries are great.’

She’d kept the van steady with one hand while she’d playfully punched him with the other.

Much as she was thrilled for him, there was no denying that the timing sucked. Now, with his suitcases packed in the hall, it still did. They’d paid their rent two months in advance, so she had one more month left in this flat and then she was going to have to find somewhere that she could afford on her own. It was the first thing she planned to do after she dropped him at the airport tomorrow morning. Actually, the third. First, wave him goodbye with a big smile on her face. Second, have a pathetic but hopefully brief sob into the sleeve of her hoodie. Then go to work in the salon and start searching for a new home in her break.

‘Oh. Hi. The flat was so quiet I thought you were out,’ she said, as she reached the kitchen and saw him sitting at the table, head down, writing something on a page of the notepad he used for scribbling down ideas for songs.

At the sound of her voice, Dylan’s head snapped up and heimmediately covered up the page with his arm. ‘Hey. I didn’t hear you come in. Are you okay?’

‘I actually feel so much better after that walk back here. Jessie sent me home. Told me to take the rest of the day off, so here I am. And Alyssa sent food.’ She held up the paper bag, then plonked it on the table, noticing that he was still covering up the pad. Strange. He usually loved to share his lyrics as he was working them out, playing with words and phrasing until it all felt right. ‘Okay, Secret Squirrel, what’s happening here then? Let me hear it.’

‘Och, it’s nothing.’ Still covering the page.

Maddie took the soup cartons from the bag, and put one in front of him, and the other on her side of the table. She grabbed a plate and a bread knife for the sourdough, and the butter from the fridge, then sat down opposite him. She’d come to love their sessions at the kitchen table. Being here with him for the last four months had been so completely different from her old life in Edinburgh, but it had felt safe. Secure. Like a comfortable, warm breathing space while she decided what to do with her future. They’d known each other for so long that there was no awkwardness or tension, just the best kind of easy friendship.

‘Oh no,’ she said, eyeing his expression and immediately jumping to the obvious conclusion. ‘You’ve changed your mind. You’ve got cold feet. Or cold cowboy boots.’

She’d be lying if she denied that the thought of him staying made her spirits rise because despite the dodgy plumbing, she loved this flat and she’d been so happy to spend time with him again. He was kind. He was cool. And sure, there was a twinge of regret that she hadn’t realised all that when they were sixteen and snatched him up then. He’d often popped in to see her mum over the years, and the whole time Maddie had been away, her mother had sung his praises. In fact, telling Maddie that Dylanand his wife, Rachel, were divorcing last year had come right in the middle of her mum’s chemo and it had been delivered with the widest smile Maddie had seen in months. Her mum would be delighted if she could see them now.

Dylan reached for the knife and cut a couple of slices off the bread, then handed one over to her. ‘Thanks for this and, no, I haven’t changed my mind.’

‘So why the sad face?’ If it wasn’t cold feet about going, then maybe it was sadness about saying goodbye to his life here. During one of their long, late-night chats when she’d first moved in, he’d told her about finding out that Rachel was shagging her boss, about their divorce, about how tough it had been to close that chapter. But he’d also told her how he was grateful now, because it had given him the freedom to go chase the kind of life he’d only imagined when he had a Luke Combs album blaring on the sound system of his van.

He shrugged. ‘Maybe I just don’t like goodbyes.’

‘Me either. But, you know, I’m pretty sure they’ll hate you there and you’ll be back in three months and begging me to let you sleep on my couch in my inevitably slummy but affordable new pad,’ she teased him, dipping her bread in her soup. The queasiness from earlier had gone now, and she felt the stirrings of her appetite returning. The fresh air of the walk home and Alyssa’s homemade soup were truly the stuff of miracles. She nodded to his pad. ‘Are you going to let me see your latest work of creative genius then?’

He swallowed a chunk of bread before he answered. ‘It’s a work in progress.’

‘A bit like my life.’ The roll of her eyes made him laugh, which rapidly turned into a choking situation. She jumped to her feet. ‘Oh Jesus, I’ve always hoped I’d never need to do thatHeimlich thing. I’ve only ever done it on a dummy that couldn’t sue me.’

Before she attempted to get her arms around his impeccably carved pecs, he put his hand up to stop her and somehow managed to clear his throat. After a few more coughs, he regained his power of speech. ‘It’s okay, but thanks. I think I’ll live.’

Maddie wasn’t listening, because the whole debacle had forced him to lift his arm from the notepad and she saw that he wasn’t writing a song at all. It was a letter. And it began, ‘Dear Maddie…’

When he saw that she’d clocked the title, he sighed as she sat back down, gently pulled it towards her and continued reading.

Is it wrong that the last four months have been some of the happiest of my life? Especially when you’ve been through so much. I guess that’s just the way you make me feel. I don’t have regrets about anything. Okay, so maybe the suit I wore to our high-school leavers’ night wasn’t the best, but crushed velvet was a vibe back then. But I’ve been thinking lately that maybe, way back then, when we were young and I was clearly stupid, I should have asked you out. Maybe I still will, because you make me feel a type of way that I love. Like there could be something more between us. When I get back from the States, if you’re looking for an unemployed joiner who can carry a tune and who will probably be busking in Buchanan Street to make money for rent, then I’m your man. In the meantime, take care. Be happy. And if you fancy a holiday in Nashville, I know a guy there…

When she finished and raised her eyes, they locked on his, but he spoke before she found her words.

‘I wasn’t going to give it to you. At least, I don’t think I was.’

‘I make you feel a type of way?’