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The next morning, I awoke feeling alert and was out of bed in an instant. Weirdly, in spite of my dreams, I felt refreshed. After a quick shower, I pulled on my jeans and a black T-shirt and headed downstairs. Dylan and Lulu were having breakfast at the dining table.

“Morning,” I muttered.

They exchanged a quick anxious glance, which I pretended not to notice. Lulu was wearing Dylan’s shirt. She looked disheveled—not her usual slick, glamorous self. My face warmed thinking she’d spent the night with him.

For heaven’s sake, they’re consenting adults.

So why does this make me blush?

“I’m starving,” I murmured more to myself than them, because it was a revelation.

Dylan stood immediately and nearly knocked his barstool over. “Would you like me to make you something to eat?”

“I’m perfectly capable, Dylan.” I failed to keep the edge out of my voice.

It was the first time I could remember using his name. He reddened and took his seat once more. As I opened the fridge and retrieved some eggs and bacon, I sensed their eyes on me.

“Please, I’m hungry, that’s all,” I said to reassure them.

They both had the grace to look embarrassed. After a quick, bewildered glance at Lulu, Dylan went back to reading on his iPad and Lulu sipped her coffee and picked up her phone.

“Want some?” I asked, and they both shook their heads.

I enjoyed cooking, even if it was just scrambled eggs and fried bacon. It gave me purpose and didn’t allow much room for rambling thoughts. I made toast and a cup of tea, and when it was all ready, I loaded up my plate, pulled up a barstool next to Lulu, and began to eat.

Delicious.

Dylan was poring over The Guardian on his tablet. Lulu was doomscrolling through her phone.

There was a comfortable silence.

And for the first time, I thought, I can do this.

I caught each of them taking a sideways look at my breakfast as I consumed it, and I made a concerted effort not to roll my eyes.

We heard the rattle of the letterbox and the letters falling to the floor. Dylan, who had gotten up to make more coffee, hurried out of the kitchen. Returning a moment later, he placed the envelope with my GCSE results on the countertop in front of me. They’d been forwarded from Kent.

Dylan gripped the edges of the countertop and regarded me with solemn concern. I stared at the address on the envelope:

Emily Beauchamp

The Little Dell

Bekesbourne

Kent

CT4 5XD

My heart rate quickened, as butterflies swirled through my stomach and threatened to squeeze past my tightening throat and into my mouth. My appetite vanished. I pushed my plate away. I stared up at Dylan, and Lulu glanced between the two of us.

“Do you want me to open it?” he asked.

I nodded.

This is it! Two years of hard work.

Has it paid off?