Chapter fifty-five
Rory
Sneaking out of Freya’s house at night feels slightly ridiculous for a man in his thirties.
But also… weirdly thrilling. I pull her front door closed as quietly as possible and pause for a second on the doorstep, listening.
The cul-de-sac is silent except for the distant hum of a car somewhere on the main road.
Good. No witnesses. No curious neighbours.
No Oakwood mums watching from behind their curtains ready to start a group chat investigation.
I walk across to my house with what I hope is a casual level of normality, but my brain is still buzzing.
Freya Collins is my girlfriend. My girlfriend.
I actually grin like an idiot halfway up the path.
It’s ridiculous how happy that sentence makes me.
I push the front door open quietly and step inside.
The house is dim except for the soft glow coming from the living room. And immediately I know I’m in trouble.
“Mum,” I say slowly.
She’s sitting on the sofa with a cup of tea, glasses perched halfway down her nose as she looks up from whatever she was reading.
“Evening,” she says calmly.
I glance at the clock. Ten thirty.
“Why are you still awake?”
She raises an eyebrow. “Why are you sneaking into your own house?”
“I wasn’t sneaking.”
“You absolutely were.”
I shrug, toeing my trainers off by the door. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Mm.”
That mm carries about thirty years of maternal suspicion. She gestures toward the armchair. “Come in here a minute.”
Right. This is happening. I walk into the living room and drop into the chair opposite her. “What have I done? Aren’t we passed you telling me off for coming in late?” I laugh awkwardly, trying to act as nonchalant as possible.
She studies me over the rim of her mug. “Nothing.” She smiles slightly. “I just wanted to ask how Freya is.”
I freeze. “…Freya?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know I was with Freya?”
She gives me a look. “Rory.”
“What?”
“You’ve been smiling at your phone like a teenager for three days.”
Fair.
“And,” she continues, “I’m not an idiot.”
I sigh. “You always know everything.”
“Yes,” she says calmly. “Mums always do.”
I rub a hand over the back of my neck.
“So…”
“So.”
Her smile widens slightly. “It’s about time you two got together.”
I blink. “What?”
“Oh please.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
She leans back slightly, looking deeply satisfied with herself. “You’ve been close to it for years.”
“We have not.”
“You absolutely have.”
I consider arguing. But honestly… she’s not wrong. “Well,” I mutter.
“Well,” she repeats.
“So you approve?”
“Of course I approve.”
That simple answer makes me happier than ever.
“She’s lovely.”
“She is.”
“And Theo is a sweetheart.”
I nod. “He is.”
She watches me carefully for a moment. “You’re worried about the children.”
Not a question. A statement.
“Yeah,” I admit quietly.
She nods thoughtfully. “That part matters.”
“It does.”
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees.
“I’m… head over heels in love with her.”
The words come out before I can overthink them. My mum smiles softly. “I can see that.”
“But,” I continue, “if it goes wrong…”
“You’re afraid it’ll hurt the children.”
“Exactly.”
She sets her mug down. “Rory.”
“Yeah?”
“All relationships are a risk.”
“I know.”
“But the important thing,” she says gently, “is that you do it properly.”
I frown slightly.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you protect the children, but you also nurture the relationship.”
“How?”
She gestures vaguely. “Time together. Talking. Not letting everything revolve around school runs and packed lunches.”
“That sounds difficult.”
“It is.”
She smiles. “But that’s how you keep the spark alive.”
I laugh quietly. “Spark definitely isn’t the problem.”
“Oh I’m sure it isn’t.”
I rub my face. “I just… really want this to work.”
“Then make it work.”
Simple as that. I nod slowly. “I’m not letting fear mess this up.”
“Good.”
She reaches over and squeezes my arm. “Because that girl deserves someone who’s all in.”
“I am.”
“I know.”
Tuesday morning I wake up in a stupidly good mood. Which Isla immediately notices.
“You’re smiling like a silly sausage again,” she says suspiciously across the breakfast table.
“I smile all the time.”
“No you don’t.”
I shrug. “Maybe I’m just happy.”
She narrows her eyes like a tiny detective. “Why?”
“Eat your cereal.”
By ten thirty I’ve already checked my phone about twelve times. Finally I give in.
Rory: Fancy sneaking out for lunch?
Three dots appear almost instantly.
Freya: Ummm how? You know you’re famous right?
Rory: Next town over.
Freya: Still famous there.
Rory: People might recognise me. But they won’t know who you are.
A pause.
Freya: Charming.
I grin.
Rory: I’ll wear a hat.
Freya: You’re ridiculous.
Rory: I could wear a balaclava.
Freya: Please don’t.
Rory: Meet me outside yours at twelve.
Freya: You’re very bossy.
Rory: You love it.
There’s a longer pause.
Freya: I do. And I love you
At twelve I race out to my car and wait for Freya, baseball cap firmly on. Like a criminal mastermind. Freya appears a minute later. And immediately ducks into the passenger seat like we’re escaping a bank robbery. I laugh.
“You know this makes it more suspicious.”
“Drive,” she hisses.
“Yes ma’am.”
I pull away from the kerb. “Relax.”
“I am relaxed.”
“You just threw yourself into my car like a spy.”
“I did not.”
Her phone buzzes. She glances down then groans.
“What?”
“Clara.”
She reads the message aloud.
“Smooth. You’re not very good at this sneaking thing are you? Where are you two love birds off to?”
I burst out laughing. “You got spotted?”
“Apparently.”
She types quickly.
“We’re official. Not telling anyone yet.”
“Secret relationship already failing,” I say.
“Shut up.”
The bistro in the next town is small and warm and smells like coffee and fresh bread, the kind of place that feels tucked away enough to pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Perfect.
We sit by the window, sunlight catching in Freya’s hair, making it look softer somehow. She’s smiling at me again, like she still can’t quite believe this is happening. And honestly… Same. I’m the luckiest guy in the world.
“What?” I ask, leaning back slightly in my chair.
“You in a hat.”
“It’s a disguise.”
“You just look like a famous rugby player trying and failing to hide from paparazzi.”
“I am a rugby player but I’m hiding from gossiping mums.”
She laughs, and fuck, I feel that laugh somewhere deep within me. God, I love that sound.
A waitress comes over and takes our order. Freya goes for something light, a panini and a coffee. I order whatever looks easiest to eat without drawing attention to myself. But somehow, I am drawing attention to myself by keeping the hat on inside. Like an idiot.
Freya notices. “You’re not taking that off, are you?”
“Nope.”
“You look ridiculous.”
“I look discreet.”
“You look like you’re about to rob the place.”
I grin. “Always good to keep people guessing.”
She shakes her head, smiling, then reaches across the table and takes my hand like we’ve done this a hundred times.
“This is fun,” I say, lacing my fingers through hers.
“It really is,” she agrees, her thumb brushing lightly over my knuckles. “But it feels like you’ve taken the reins so far.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. So how about you let me take you on a secret date Saturday?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Freya Collins… are you asking me out?”
“I am indeed.”
“I would be honoured…” And then it hits me. “…Oh.”
She frowns immediately. “What?”
“Crap. I’m sorry, I actually can’t.”
Her face drops slightly.
“I’ve got that charity ball this weekend,” I say, already annoyed about it. “In the city. My agent’s been on at me about it for weeks. Apparently it’s ‘good publicity’.”
She nods slowly. “In the city?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.”
I hate the way her expression softens.
“I know,” I say quietly. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she says quickly. “Of course it is.”
“I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too,” she says softly.
Then she smiles.
“But I can’t wait to see the photos.”
“Photos?” I repeat.
“Of you in a suit.”
I groan. “Oh God.”
“Jesus, Rory.”
“What?”
“Rory Bennett in a suit.”
She fans herself dramatically and I laugh.
“That might actually kill me.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Am I wrong?”
“No.”
She grins. “Exactly.”
Our food arrives then, and for a while everything just… settles. We talk about nothing and everything. School, the kids, stupid stories from years ago that somehow feel different now we’re sitting here like this, like we’re building something. Then…
“Sorry… are you Rory Bennett?”
I freeze. Freya’s eyes flick up immediately and she stops chewing, mid-bite. And there it is. The one thing I was trying to avoid. A woman stands beside our table, mid-thirties maybe, phone already in her hand like she’s gearing up for proof that she met me.
I force a polite smile. “Yeah,” I say.
“Sorry, I don’t want to bother you,” she says, clearly very much bothering me. “My husband is a huge fan. Could I just…”
She gestures vaguely toward her phone. Freya’s hand tightens slightly around mine under the table. I glance at her. Then back at the woman.
“Yeah, quickly,” I say.
I stand, pulling my hat down slightly like that’s going to do anything now. We take the photo. She thanks me about four times before leaving.
I sit back down and Freya raises an eyebrow.
“Well.”
“Well,” I echo.
“Very discreet.”
“I told you the hat was working.”
She laughs. “That was painfully awkward.”
“I hate that bit,” I admit.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want this…” I gesture between us “…to feel like that.”
She softens immediately. “It doesn’t.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
She squeezes my hand. “That was just part of your life. This…” she glances between us “…this is separate.”
My mind settles with that thought. “Good,” I murmur.
“Also,” she adds, smiling slightly, “she definitely thought I was just… some girl.”
I frown. “You’re not just some girl. You’re my girl.”
Freya giggles and her cheeks flush slightly. I love how I can make her blush like this.
“I know I’m yours, but she doesn’t.”
I lean forward slightly. “I don’t care what she thinks.”
Her eyes meet mine and just like that, the rest of the room fades again. We finish lunch slowly after that, dragging it out longer than we probably should. Because neither of us wants to leave. Neither of us wants to go back to normal life just yet. But eventually we have to.
We walk back to the car, still laughing, still stealing small touches like we can’t quite help ourselves.
And as I start the engine, glancing over at her in the passenger seat, her hair slightly windswept, her smile still lingering.
I realise something properly. My mum was right.
Freya deserves someone who’s all in. And for the first time in my life… I actually want to be that person.