Page 118 of Something Borrowed

“Thank you so much for helping.” I grimace and step back. “You’re rather sticky.”

“That’s what happens when you move twenty packing cases. Not that you’d know. The heaviest lifting you’ve probably done today is a glass of champagne.”

“It was ice cold, and I did think of you.”

“Did you?”

“Not really.”

He breaks into laughter, and then his face turns serious. “This is a lovely house, Raff. You’re going to be very happy here.”

“Is this the part where you warn me about treating Stan right?”

“Nah. You’ve been doing that for the last twenty years, and I can’t see it ever changing.”

I stare at the man who’s been the real father in my life all these years. If fatherhood is counted by time, advice, love and laughter, then he has the job. “Thank you,” I say quietly.

He comes closer and puts his hand on my shoulder. “Love each other and hold tight because this world has ways of tugging you apart. Don’t go to sleep on an argument and always,alwayslet Stan make the emotional decisions in your life.”

He breaks into laughter as I shove him, and we smile at each other.

I have so many things I could say to him, but I’ve already said them all, and as he looks at me with twinkling eyes, I’m sure he knows anyway.

“Pizza?” I say quietly instead.

“Perfect,” he replies, and we make our way into the house.

He walks up the stairs, and I pause in the living room doorway. It’s a big room with a bay window and a scratched wooden floor, but I hardly notice it as my whole attention is on the man standing in the window. He’s bathed in early evening sunlight and covered in muck and a fine sheen of sweat. His curls are wild, and he hasn’t shaved today, so the stubble is heavy on his square chin. He makes me smile every time I see him, and I can’t envision that ever changing.

Hump gives a short bark, gambolling over to me, and I scratch his head.

“Alright, love?” I say.

Stan grins at me. “Welcome home, babe.”

I shake my head. “I’ve been home for a long while, Stan, and it’s never been a house.”

He doesn’t get a chance to reply as family and friends swarm into the room demanding food in exchange for labour, but I see the smile on his face, and that’s enough.

The next couple of hours are spent eating greasy slices of pizza and drinking warm wine from plastic cups amidst loud talking and even louder laughter, but in the end, Stan’s dad gets to his feet. “Let’s leave these two here for their first evening in their new house.” He strokes Stan’s curls back. “We’ll be back in the morning to help again.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Stan says, getting up and hugging him.

The others trickle out in a wave of goodbyes and hugs while I stand at our new doorway with my arm wrapped around Stan’s waist and Hump a warm weight on my foot.

Joe’s the last, holding hands with his husband, Lachlan. “Good luck in your new home,” he says, kissing Stan and then turning to me. “A new start,” he says happily. “Ilovethose.”

Lachlan grimaces at me. “Just know that if you ever need shelves built again, I have changed my phone number and moved to the Seychelles.”

“True friendship knows no limits,” I tell him.

“Lose my number,” he replies. He offers me a rakish smile, and then they’re gone, and we’re finally alone.

After shutting the door, we wander into the living room, a frown of concentration on Stan’s face as he works out the contours and angles of the room. Finally, we settle down on the old wooden floorboards.

“Tomorrow, we get the new sofas,” I say, resting my head on his lap while he leans against the wall by the fireplace. “I’ll be able to help.”

“Oh dear, were you hoping for another wedding?” he enquires, a wry look on his face.

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