It was a rare day that I could leave La Petite before the stroke of seven pm but when I managed to get all the paperwork completed at six fifty-three, I was quick to get out of the office. Grabbing some menus to take home for me to scan through, I shove the binder into my works bag, turn off the lamp and set all the alarms before locking the doors and shutters for the night. 

Home wasn't far from La Petite and I could usually make it there in fifteen minutes but after the manic day I've had, I think the Tube would be a better option. Having missed rush hour, I scan my Oyster card and make my way down the steps to the platform. There were a few people around but not too many so any jostling to get on the underground before the doors closed could be avoided. 

Knowing that I wouldn't be on the Tube for long, I chose to stand and do some people watching. The woman with the crying baby caught my attention and I couldn't stop the frown that appeared on my face as I watched how the mother tried to calm the screaming infant. I had to question why anyone would bring a baby onto the tube in the first place; not only is it the worst place to pick up unwanted, disgusting germs, but the amount of judgemental glares you would receive is enough to put anyone off. 

Thankfully, we approached my stop and minutes later I was bounding up the steps back onto the noisy London streets. I felt the chill in my bones and pulled my burgundy coat tighter around me, ducking my head as I weaved through the busier parts of Mayfair and turned onto my quiet little street. 

My flat wasn't massive; a two bedroom abode on the first floor with a terrace that looked out over the communal garden, it was a decent enough set up for a singleton living in the city, although for the past eight weeks or so, I've had a houseguest outstay their welcome. 

"Charlotte, is that you?" My squatter shouts from deep inside the house. 

Shaking my head at the stupid question, I take my coat off and hang it in the closet near the door. "No, it's Cleopatra," I sarcastically answer. Kicking my boots off, I push them to hide under the sideboard before I walk barefooted through the house. Bypassing the kitchen, I head to the corner of the drawing room that I use as a home office and place my bag on one of the seats. "Where are you?"

"Kitchen!"

"I hope you're not cooking," I grumbled, making my way to the gallery kitchen that was hardly ever in use. Or it wasn't until recently. Walking in, I spot Sam Whitaker expertly moving around the space, opening cupboards to find ingredients for whatever concoction he was creating tonight. "Sam, is there something burning?"

The air turned blue with expletives as Sam rushed to the oven, pulling the door open and allowing the smoke to fill the room. Knowing what was undoubtedly going to happen, I walk to the middle of the kitchen, jump up onto the counter by the sink and reach for the fire detector on the ceiling, pulling it open and disconnecting the battery temporarily. In the building, we all had a direct link to the nearest fire services wherein, if any of the alarms in the three apartments went off, a fire engine would be dispatched immediately. Having had the embarrassment of them turning up to sort out Sam's cooking twice within weeks of Sam coming to stay, I did everything possible to stop me from being involved in another awkward conversation with the fire chief. 

"Ah, fuck it," Sam says nonchalantly. The burnt dinner was now sizzling on the heat mat, charred beyond recognition. "It was supposed to be roast vegetable and cod, but your defective oven just had to ruin another masterpiece. Shall we order Chinese or Thai?"

Sam Whitaker was a pain in the backside. After his engagement ended, he came to stay with me while Jasmine Gough packed up her things and found a new place to stay. Bearing in mind that this was back in November, I had hoped that Sam would be back in his own home within days, especially after Jasmine moved out, but alas, I'm still stuck with Sam. 

He liked the company, he would tell me whenever I asked when he was going back to his place. I liked my own living space, I would counter. That said, I didn't mind having Sam stay here, just so long as he would stay out of the kitchen. The room wasn't designed to be utilised but that was never more true than when the 'chef' was inexperienced. 

Settling on ordering a Chinese, Sam went over to the bar that he kept well stocked and poured out two glasses of wine, handing one to me. I thanked him and placed the glass on the coffee table before me. 

"Still not drinking?" Sam asked. Every night, if the two of us were home together, we'd have a glass of wine each and fill each other in on what had happened during the day but since New Year's Day, I've avoided alcohol. "Char, honestly."

"What? I make poor life choices when I drink," I grumble. Wanting to avoid the inevitable conversation about my one night stand with Isaac, I switch the topic to something more palatable. "How was your day?"

"Good," Sam answers with a little shrug of his shoulder. "Uni this morning and then the gallery this afternoon. Lunch with Evie in the middle. Same old, same old, really. I uh... I have a date on Friday."

"With Jasmine?" I ask, although I already knew the answer. Sam nods. Despite the end of their engagement, Sam and Jasmine had taken to dating to see if their relationship could be sustained. Every week, Sam would treat Jasmine to a date but as of yet, I'm not sure if their relationship was back on track. This new thread of conversation, however, opened a fitting segue into questioning Sam about his future living situation. "So, does this mean that you'll be moving back to your own house soon?"

Sam looked at me as if I've grown two heads. "I can't," he says, reaching over and looping an arm around my shoulder and pulling me to him. "I'll miss my roomie too much."

I roll my eyes and ignore his statement by turning my attention to the football coverage on TV. I'm not the biggest fan of football but I've learnt to get used to it, even going so far as to learn the offside rule. It did take Sam the better part of his evening to explain it but I think I am now qualified to be a sideline referee. If that is what they're actually called. To my surprise, I've even learnt some of the Premier League team names and can name at least one player from said teams. 

"Man City versus Hull," I deduce the two teams based on the crests that flash up on screen. "Who are we supporting?"

"Hull," Sam answered. The buzzer for the front door chimed, forcing Sam to go and meet the delivery man downstairs. Naturally, as he was the one to mess up the cooking, Sam was the one to pay for dinner. Hearing the door close, I get up from the sofa and meet Sam in the kitchen, pushing aside the mess so that there was room for the Chinese on the counter. "We support anyone that plays against City. Here's your shredded duck and here is your noodles. Oh, by the way, I forgot to mention it earlier but it's my turn to host boys night next week. It'll be just me, Michael, Elias, and Fletch. That's cool, right?"

I feel my body tense at the sound of Isaac Fletcher's nickname. The last time Sam hosted the boy's night, pre-Christmas, I had to escape to my brother's house to avoid having to see Isaac. Or perhaps it was to avoid the urge to jump him in front of everyone. Now, however, any attempt to avoid him was due to the fact that I was still embarrassed about our liaison. Even thinking about that night was enough to make my face burn.

Avoiding having to give Sam an answer, I quickly busied myself by plating my dinner but that didn't exactly work. I could feel Sam's stare on me the entire time, no doubt an amused smile on his face. Being the only one that knows about Isaac and me, Sam had taken to teasing me at every opportunity about that mistake I had made. Whenever he did, I quickly changed the subject but as always, Sam found a way to bring it back to Isaac. 

"You're going to have to see him eventually," Sam noted. "May as well see him sooner rather than later."

What Sam didn't know is that I have already seen Isaac. In a way. Kinda. I mean, he came into the shop and I quickly ducked behind the pâtisserie counter to avoid him and then crawled into the kitchen to Arnaud's disgust, but I had caught sight of his blond hair and smug grin and those bicep muscles and broad shoulders and... Besides the point. I've seen him and it's all cool. Totally over that fantasy. 

"Char?!" Sam snapped as his fist connecting with my shoulder. Turning too quickly, I knocked into him, the contents of his takeaway carton spilling on the floor. We both stared at the mess before I shot him the deadliest glare in my arsenal. Sam blushed but cleaned it up, post-haste. "On the upside, at least it wasn't all over your light coloured sofa and carpet. You never did answer me, though. Boys night next week?"

I sighed. "Yeah, fine. Whatever, I don't care. I can make myself scarce and go over to Sophie's place. Anywhere but here, really."

"You know Sophie and Danny are still on their honeymoon, right?" Sam reminded me with a cocksure smile on his face. I groaned as I remember waving the newlyweds off on their three-week honeymoon to Anguilla, ruining my plan to use their house as a retreat. "I guess you will be around after all."

"I have friends, you know," I say with a frown. Ignoring the sceptical look Sam throws my way, I pick up my plate of food and walk into the living area, retaking my spot from earlier. Getting comfy, I spoon some noodles into my mouth and chew slowly, biding my time before I had to speak again. When I couldn't stand the burning sensation of Sam's eyes on me any longer, I swallowed and mumbled, "Ok, fine, maybe I don't have that many friends but I can think of a million other places I could be instead of here that night. Now, please, drop it! The football is starting."

Even thought the football had started, unlike Sam, I didn't pay any attention to it. I sat there, blankly watching the screen and silently chewing my food like I was a robot on autopilot, my mind whirling with the thought of ever having to see Isaac again. Despite my protestations that I was over the whole flirtation and that I had him out of my system, it couldn't be further from the truth. In a way, I was more screwed now that I was before. I was like a child that had had its first introduction to sugary treats and I couldn't get enough of it. Yes, it would ruin me, but it'd be fun, nevertheless. 

A lot of fun, if memory serves me right. But fun is not what I need. I need stability, commitment, loyalty... things that Isaac Fletcher would never be able to provide. I may want Isaac, but I was smart enough to know that 'want' and 'need' are two polar opposite ideas. Like 'heart' versus 'head', I suppose. Since I've been in a position where I've had my heart broken, I know that I have to rule with my head. 

From here on out, Isaac Fletcher was just going to have to be a distant memory.