Sketching Sophie

"Soph?" I breathed after a moment.

"Just... waiting for my brain to return from wherever you sent it to..."

"Was it nice?"

"Oh God. Kay, if I could write down in actual words just how nice that was I could retire off the profits..."

"Mm. I'd read it."

"Tell you what. Tell you what. You paint me. I'll write you. When I've recovered."

I smiled, and she lifted her face to mine for the kiss she knew I wanted.

Then I wriggled my arm under her head, and rolled onto my back. Sophie crept in closer to me, and dragged my blankets up and over us.

"I brought spare undies," she whispered, mischievously. "We can sleep in and scandalise your housemate."

"Woman after my own heart."

"Yes. I am," she said softly, matter of fact.

And then she said no more, dozing softly in the warm muggy heat of her afterglow. I lay, still and quiet.

My heart, however, was singing.

Sophie comes over, more romping. Kay realises that she cannot imagine being apart from Sophie. Sophie has brought a bag with spare clothes, and spends the night - less ... more loving.

-

Sophie and I had slept in, and had faced a high-stress panic commute to be on time. A hurried kiss goodbye at my office, a secret squeeze and smile from her, and then she'd been off into the crowd, trying to make her morning curfew.

The email arrived as I was drinking my second coffee of the morning.

I read it. Stared at the photos. Panicked ever so slightly.

The house had been sitting on their books for a month or two. A mid-terrace repossession that was not within easy walking distance of a station and so had escaped the usual buy-to-let nonsense. Their agent said that it had been viewed several times, but not recently. Was I interested?

It needed a lot of love.

But I had a lot of love to give it, and I knew my Dad would want to help.

And it had huge bay windows on both floors. I could have a studio, Soph could have a study.

I scrabbled up my phone, dialled him, waited, heart in my throat.

Ring.

Ring.

Click.

"Kay love, what's up?"

"Dad, I've... I've found a house."

"Have you now?"

"Yes. It's a mid-terrace down south, near Purley. Needs a lot of work, a lot of sprucing up, but it's available. And almost in budget. Can... can I send you the details?"

"Yeah, forward it on, love, and we'll take a look. If it looks like a possibility Mum and I can always hop in the car and come take a look with you two."

"That... that would be amazing, dad. Dad, I've got to go, busy day here, I just... wanted to tell you you're awesome and I love you."

He laughed. "Send the details over, princess. Love you too, talk later."

"Love to mum please."

"Will do, princess. Bye now."

I broke the connection, then sat back in my chair, an icy-cold nervousness filling me.

I had to tell her, and I was terrified.

-

"Rough day?"

"Yeah," I breathed as I stepped into her arms. "Too long by half. Glad it's home-time. Glad it's home-time with you," I added, struggling to meet her concerned gaze.

"Mm. Flatterer."

"You're the best part of my day. It's not flattery."

She tucked her arm through mine. "So, definitely home then? Not keen for a drink at all?" she added, with a smile.

"We've still got wine at mine," I said softly. "A bottle or two. I feel like I need both of them. No gin though."

"Thank god," she laughed. "I'm totally off it now. Wine sounds nice. I'll cook, and then... movie?"

"Movie," I agreed. "Movie sounds good to me."

We fought our way down into Bank station, and caught a train. Sophie leaned quietly against me, arm around my waist. She smiled up at me once or twice, but seemed content to simply be with me as we rocked and jolted with our fellow commuters.

And every second, I fretted.

Clapham came at last, and we climbed out to street level. She took my hand in hers. "Can see you're in your own head," she said softly. "Lets go get out of the cold."

"Great idea" I agreed. "Fluffy blanket night."

"I prefer you as my hot water bottle," she grinned. "But fluffy blanket too, I suspect. What do you feel like eating?"

"Got some bacon that we need to cook. Could always put it in a sauce on pasta?"

"Yeah, that could work. I know a recipe."

We fell back into silence, and I felt ashamed as I avoided looking her way, scared she'd see my secret before I could summon the courage.

I opened my door, followed her in, then took her coat and scarf and hung them with mine behind the door. She made for the kitchen, and poured us both a glass.

"You going to tell me what's going on?" she asked, matter of fact.

I froze.

"I can see something's bugging you. You're an open book to me, Kay."

This was it. No time left.

I took a deep, deliberate breath to calm myself, retrieved the folder from my bag, and set it down on the kitchen table.

"Soph?"

"Uh huh."

"Could... could you come over here a minute?"

"What is it?" Sophie put down her wine glass, and joined me at the table.

"I... have to confess to something. Something really... important... that I never told you. I know we've just met and I get that this is insane and you're totally going to say no," I babbled on, "but... but... I have the chance to do this and I know it's really sudden and... but..."

"Never told me... what?" she said, guarded.

I swallowed again, breathed. "I had... have... some money from when my Gran passed on. I went and saw an estate agent. I asked them to find me something. To find... us... something. I thought it would take much longer... but they had something on their books. They found us this."

I opened the folder, slid the printed pages over in front of her.

"What is this?" she said, after a moment.

"A house... for us."

"A... house?"

She looked down at the pages, knuckles going white on the back of the chair.

"It's south facing. End of terrace. Far from any station... but I'm not scared of walking. It has bay windows, Sophie, on both floors. We could build you the study you wanted, the studio I wanted. My dad's already said he'd help with the deposit and the DIY... It... it would be really hard at first, but we could make it work..."

I watched her as she slowly picked a page up.

"Sophie?" I quavered.

"Kay... we can't afford this..."

"We... I'd sell paintings. I'm due a raise. We... we could do it. We could try. You and me. Sophie? Oh god, Sophie," I added, horrified, "Please don't cry, please don't cry! Please talk to me!"

She stood suddenly, scattering the pages.

"Oh God, Sophie, please..." I breathed, mortified at how badly I'd misread this, misread her.

She stared down at me, heedless of tears tracking down the curves of her cheeks. Then, suddenly, she threw her leg over me, sat on my lap, and pulled herself hard against me, body trembling with quiet, gulping sobs.

I wrapped my arms around her, tucked her against me, held her to me, hating myself for making her cry.

"Sophie?" I breathed after some time.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Yes?"

"Yes, Kay. Yes."