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Possibly dramatic.
Still. She couldn’t stay here.
Paige had said to stop by during the week, and Lauren needed to say it out loud to someone before it set. She locked up and legged it across the building, glancing over her shoulder to check no one was watching before she sprinted across the tarmac and leapt into her car.
The drive passed in a blur of roundabouts and lane changes. By the time she reached the estate of smart new builds where Becky had recently bought a house—and where Paige now lived—panic had sent her down two dead ends before she recognised the right street.
Two cars sat on the drive, flanked by a strip of fresh green turf. A perfect snapshot of suburbia, until Lauren mounted the kerb with her clapped-out Volvo.
She cut the engine and dashed up the drive. Her finger hovered over the video doorbell, but the door swung open before she could press it.
Paige stood in the frame, dressing gown tied wrong, hair knotted, mop in hand.
Lauren’s heart was still hammering against her ribs, but the sight of Paige—usually immaculate, now dishevelled—stalled her spiral.
“What the hell happened to you?” Lauren asked.
“I started cleaning and couldn’t stop.”
Lauren stepped inside and gently prised the mop from Paige’s white-knuckled grip. She propped it against the wall.
“Looks like we both need an intervention.”
She opened the living room door, startling Reggie. The dog jumped up from the sofa, tail swishing, and Lauren crouched to rub the thick ruff of fur around his neck.
“Oh boy, I’ve missed you.” She pressed a kiss to his head. “Are you looking after yourself?”
Paige stood over them, watching the reunion. “He’s been missing you too.”
Lauren stood and drew Paige into a hug. They didn’t cry. Not properly. They laughed instead, snorts punctuated by sniffs and one long, collective sigh.
“Look at the state of us,” Paige said, pulling back to wipe a stray tear. “Total mess.”
“Speak for yourself. I showered and put on actual clothes before I had my mental breakdown.”
They collapsed onto the sofa. Reggie reclaimed his spot, settling into a nest of pale golden hairs.
“I’m having a rough day,” Paige said, letting her head fall back against the cushion. “If I clean the kitchen floor again, there won’t be a floor left. Being bored out of my mind doesn’t help. Too much time to think.”
“If you want something to do, run my socials. You’re amazing on Instagram. Don’t you have over ten thousand followers?”
“For burlesque. It’s easy to get followers when you take your clothes off. Are you prepared to strip for your brand?”
“The Stripping Sports Masseuse.” Lauren considered it. “Could work.”
She grinned, but Paige’s smile faltered.
“Is that why it took you so long to finish moving out?” Lauren asked, her own problems temporarily forgotten. “Were you worried about being bored?”
Paige looked away. “No. It’s Becky.”
Lauren looked up.
“Things are great,” Paige said quickly. “They are. I’m just struggling to trust it. Everything happened so fast. One minute I’m planning to have a baby on my own, the next I’m heavily pregnant and moving in with her. It’s a lot to wrap my head around. I think I’m waiting for her to change her mind.”
“She hasn’t so far. Don’t ask me why, because if I met a girl who was already pregnant, there would be a Lauren-shaped hole in the door.”
“Exactly. I’ve been a nightmare lately, and you know how she responded? She booked me a prenatal massage.” Paige pulled her phone from her dressing gown pocket and clicked through to an e-voucher, holding it up as if no one would believe her without evidence. “She’s mad.”
