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I haven’t made a decision for several weeks. Since before…

Stop. Please.

I stared at him while I drowned.

“How you want to decorate your room?” he clarified.

I shook my head, unable to answer him, then mumbled as an afterthought popped into my head, “Not white.”

He laughed, his expression lightening, his relief mixed with humor. His laughter broke the stranglehold on my emotions, disarming me, and for the first time in a long time, I laughed too.

“Let’s see what we can find online.” He placed his jacket back over the chair.

In his study, Dylan pored over his computer. “I think we should gird our loins and go to IKEA. We can buy all the furniture we need and bring it home today, or have it delivered. We won’t have to wait weeks for it. And you can decide what color you’d like to paint the walls. We’ll go to B&Q for that.”

I nodded. It seemed the polite thing to do.

Dylan stood up from his desk and offered me his chair. “Here, you navigate, find what you like. You’ll need a bed, a chest of drawers, a wardrobe, bedside cabinets. Um, a dressing table and a desk. Chairs. Shelves. Whatever. Let’s get the lot. Just click on what you want and add it to the cart. We can use that as a shopping list. And I can check if it’s in stock at Wembley. While you find what you want, I’ll make some tea. Do you want breakfast?”

Oh no.

“Toast,” I muttered to appease him, though I didn’t think I could swallow a single bite past the lump in my throat.

Dylan narrowed his eyes. “One slice, right?”

I nodded and turned back to his iMac.

“Oh, Emily? Please don’t worry about the cost. This is for your birthday. Get whatever you want. IKEA is not expensive.”

I frowned at his back as he left the room, knowing I needed to talk to him about money. How would it work between us? But I didn’t know where to begin with that conversation.

Returning my attention to the IKEA website, I clicked through to the bedroom furniture pages. At random, I chose a pink upholstered bed and began choosing furniture. Soon, I was totally absorbed in the IKEA website. I chose some white furniture knowing I would paint the bedroom walls a shade of pink to match the bed. Maybe rose, maybe one wall a bright pink. And I could decorate it with flowers or maybe vines… My mind went into overtime, and I had a vision of what the room would look like once it was finished—a pink, gilded haven from the white sterility of Dylan’s home.

Once my task was complete, I wandered to the kitchen. “All the furniture’s in the shopping trolley, if you want to view it.”

Dylan seemed impressed. “That was quick.”

Was it?

I shrugged and noticed that the post he’d left on the table containing my birthday cards had disappeared.

“Here, tea and toast. I’ll have a look to see if Wembley has it in stock.”

“It is. In stock.”

“Okay. I’ll print out the list of items.”

I sat down and took a sip of tea.

The doorbell rang again. My belongings had arrived.

My belongings. From home!

Do I want to see them?

Can I handle this after the shock of this morning?

Out of curiosity—to see if I’d have a meltdown—I ambled into the hallway. Two burly removal men heaved my four packing cases and my cello inside and took them upstairs. Then, after much huffing and puffing, they hefted my father’s black upright piano into the hall. Under Dylan’s direction, they pushed it up against the far wall, where it fit with ease. One of the men placed my father’s piano stool beneath it.