I pushed open the door and found Mick sitting on the pavement outside with his knees pulled up to his chin. I came and sat next to him.
"Are you throwing a strop now?" I said, half teasing. He didn't even turn and look at me. "You want to go back and get your stuff?"
"That's where I was going, but I forgot where it is," he pouted, but he was now trying not to laugh. He turned and looked at me and I burst out laughing. He looked a bit hurt for a second, but then he started giggling too.
"Fuck you," he said between laughs. I put my head on his shoulder, gasping for breath.
"Why-why are we laughing?" he spluttered.
"I don't fucking know, I just love you so much," I said without thinking. I hadn't meant it like that, but there was no way he was meant to know that. He stopped laughing and I did too after I realised what I'd said. He turned and looked at me, the same stare he'd given me at the train station when we'd first met.
"Sorry," I said, looking at the floor. He gently lifted my chin up so I was looking at him. Him and those fucking eyes that I couldn't look away from. And he just smiled at me. This proper gorgeous smile that just radiated warmth and happiness and I just didn't know what to say.
"You love me?" he said gently, a grin forming at the corner of his mouth. For a minute I'd forgotten we were sitting on the pavement outside the pub, and people were probably staring at us, but I didn't care. I wanted to tell him that I'd meant it in a friendly way; after all, I really had, but I found my throat going dry and my head told me that what did it matter?
"Yes," I said, not looking away this time.
"I knew it."
