Chapter 48
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
MURPHY
Estate agents are full of shit.
I know that the second we walk into the third ‘bright and airy’ flat of the morning and get slapped in the face by the stench of old carpet and fried onions. The ceilings are low, the windows foggy, and the radiator in the living room wheezes as if it’s got a smoking habit.
Sophie looks at me with one arched brow and that dry, amused smirk that says you dragged me out of bed for this?
I shrug. “At least it’s got character.”
“It’s got mildew, Murphy.”
“Character and mildew,” I say, offering my hand as though I’m presenting her a kingdom. She smacks it away and steps gingerly over a suspicious dark patch on the floor.
We don’t even make it through the kitchen before we’re back on the street, laughing in that half-mad way people do when they’ve spent too much time scrolling property listings.
The next place is better. Still not perfect, but the hallway doesn’t smell like mould and the light actually filters through clean windows. There’s a balcony, small but functional, and Sophie steps out onto it as if she’s testing the weight of the sky.
I watch her. She’s got her hair half up, sunglasses perched on her head despite the clouds. Her hands are tucked into the sleeves of her jumper and her lips are slightly parted as if she’s waiting for something to feel right.
I step up beside her, close but not touching. “Well?”
“It’s not bad,” she says. “Could see us here. Maybe.”
It’s not much, but it’s the most hopeful thing she’s said all day.
We wander through the rest of the flat slowly, like we’re trying it on. The bedroom’s small, but the closet space is decent. Kitchen’s outdated, but Sophie runs a hand over the countertop and says, “We could paint the cupboards. Make it ours.”
My heart does something stupid in my chest.
We thank the agent and leave with a polite nod, but I can tell from the bounce in Sophie’s step that this one’s stuck with her.
Back on the pavement, I give it a beat. “You like it?”
She hesitates, chewing the inside of her cheek. “Yeah. I do. But...”
“But?”
“I think we can do better,” I say carefully. “Something with a bit more space. Maybe a second bedroom for when your mum visits. Or if we ever get a dog.”
She nods slowly, then says, “I want to be able to hold my own, Murph. Financially. I don’t want to move into somewhere you can afford but I can’t. I want to contribute fully, not just live in a place that feels like yours with a toothbrush and a pair of slippers.”
I take her hand. “I get it. I do. We’ll find somewhere that feels right. For both of us. A place that’s ours.”
She searches my face for a second, then nods. “Okay. Let’s keep looking.”
And we do.
That’s how we end up standing in a fourth flat by early afternoon.
A converted mews with clean lines, big windows, two actual bedrooms, and a kitchen that doesn’t look like it’s been cryogenically frozen since the 90s.
There’s even an underground garage, which makes me unreasonably smug about the future of my car.
Sophie walks slowly through the space, her fingers brushing along doorframes, her eyes scanning every corner. I trail behind her, letting her take the lead.
“It ticks every box,” she says eventually. “And the rent’s doable. We’d split it and still have room for takeaway Fridays and saving for a weekend away.”
I lean against the doorframe and watch her turn a slow circle in the middle of the living room. The sun pours through the big corner windows and lands on her hair like gold.
“You’d be happy here?”
She turns to me. “Would you be happy here?”
“If you’re here, I’m good.”
She rolls her eyes, but her smile betrays her. “Cheesy git.”
We stand there a while longer, just taking it in. I can already see where the sofa will go. Where she’ll nag me to hang up my hoodie. Where I’ll kiss her good morning and burn toast because I forgot to watch it.
I step behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist. She leans back into me, content and steady.
“Let’s tell them we’ll take it,” I whisper against her temple.
She nods. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”
I drop her back at hers with a kiss and a soft, “Call me if you start doubting again. I’ll remind you how good we are at cohabiting.”
“You mean I’ll remind you,” she says, poking my chest. “You’ve left toothpaste in my sink every day this week.”
“You love it.”
“I love you.”
That’s all I need.
I drive home whistling, already phoning the agent back.
Let’s do this.
Later that night, Sophie shows up at mine with a bottle of cheap prosecco and a bag of frozen chips.
“We’re celebrating,” she says, breezing past me like she owns the place, which, technically, she kind of half does already. “And I want oven carbs. Don’t judge me.”
I raise my hands. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Kitchen’s yours.”
While the chips bake, we curl up on the sofa, both of us barefoot and in old hoodies. My telly’s on, muted, playing some wildlife documentary neither of us are watching. Her legs are tangled over mine, and I’ve got one hand resting on her thigh like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“I can’t believe we actually found it,” she murmurs after a while.
“The place?”
She nods. “I thought we’d have to settle. I didn’t think we’d find something that worked for both of us. With all our weird little wish list items.”
“Hey, underground parking is a valid dream.”
She smirks. “So’s a kitchen that doesn’t smell like deep-fried failure.”
We fall into a comfortable silence. Her head rests on my shoulder, and I can feel the slow rhythm of her breathing, steady and calm. It’s stupid how much peace that gives me.
“I was scared, you know,” she says suddenly.
“Of moving in together?”
“Of wanting to.” She lifts her head to look at me. “It’s a big thing. And part of me kept thinking I’d mess it up. Or we’d get in each other’s way. That maybe the thing we have only works because it’s got space around it.”
I tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Soph. If I had to pick one person to share a fridge with for the rest of my life, it’d be you.”
She blinks. “That might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said.”
“Give it time. Wait till I label my leftovers.”
She laughs, bright and warm, and it fills the whole room.
“I want this,” she says softly, settling back against me. “All of it. With you.”
“Good,” I say, kissing the top of her head. “Because I already changed my address on FIFA.”