A Love Like Ours

Chapter 42

"No," I'd said, knowing it was the right thing to do. Knowing that I trusted her with my whole heart. "You should go."

Mads had paused for a breath. "I really don't have to."

"I trust you, Mads," I said, verbalizing it for the first time since everything we'd been through a year ago. A full year ago, I'd realized before going on, "And weirdly, I trust him, too. I'm sure everything'll be fine."

"Harry," she said, blowing out a breath. "Are you just saying that? Because the last thing I want is for you to pretend this is okay when it's really not. If this will hurt you, please say so."

"Go, Mads," I'd said, thinking of their friendship. Reminding myself that it was an important friendship—that it had gotten her through everything. "I may be just a bit a jealous that he gets to see you before I do, but I'll get over it."

Mads had giggled a little. "Okay. If you're sure."

"I'm sure," I'd said. "Let me know how it goes."

"Is that code for, 'Make sure you're home by a reasonable hour and you better tell me every detail?'"

I'd chuckled. "Yes. Absolutely."

The smile in her tone then had my heart aching. "Alright. Will do."

Now, as I flicked on the lights in my kitchen and opened the fridge, I was still waiting eagerly to hear every detail. She'd texted to say they were meeting for coffee—not lunch or dinner—after she finished filling out some paperwork at school. He'd be meeting her somewhere nearby.

But I hadn't heard anything since. And if it was just after nine p.m. my time, that meant it was after four her time.

She should be getting home soon.

I'd eaten with the band already—we'd been rehearsing for upcoming television and radio performances all week—but boredom (or maybe nerves) had me pulling biscuits out of the cabinet. I stuck one in my mouth as I turned on the kettle.

That's when my phone dinged.

My heart leaped as I slid it out of my back pocket, as the water in the kettle began to make a soft whirring noise.

Are you home?

Mads.

I didn't even bother answering, just dialed her number.

"Hey," she said, already smiling.

"Hey yourself," I said, asking "How was your day?" before taking another bite of biscuit.

Mads giggled softly, and I hated myself a little for how eager I was to know how things had gone. "It was good," she said. "How was rehearsal?"

"It went well," I said, impatience urging me on. "Same old, really."

I could picture the crooked tilt of her lips as she asked, "Have we officially adopted Mitch yet?"

It disarmed me enough to chuckle. Mads hadn't even officially met Mitch, but between hearing about him from me and seeing photos of the two of us together, Mads had decided she wouldn't mind adopting him into our relationship. Whatever that meant.

"He's resisting for some reason," I joked. "Something about being a grown man."

Mads clicked her tongue. "But he's such a little love."

From the very first time I'd told her about him—how serious he was, how cerebral he was, how gentle a soul he was—she'd decided she loved him and always would.