"How did he take it?" Grace asked the moment Miriam fell into the seat opposite hers.

Miriam collected her braids in a high ponytail and shrugged. "How do you think he took it?"

"Did he cry?" Grace leaned forward, both hands gripping the edge of the table. "Please tell me he cried. God I just wish I was there."

"Grace," Miriam laughed.

"What?" she frowned, pushing off the edge of the table.

"Of course he didn't cry." Miriam was good, but she wasn't that good. In truth, she felt it was a miracle she'd been able to do it in under Lydia's ascribed month. "He was pissed," she allowed. "Very pissed, but there were no tears."

A slow, sinister smile unfurled on Grace's face. It looked misplaced, like a happy accident. "It's the least he deserves," she said with a dismissive sniff. "Do you know how many girls he's done this to?"

"Far too many," Miriam said.

"Exactly. Anyway, what do you want?"

"A caramel macchiato is just fine," Miriam laughed.

Grace clapped twice then jumped up and hurried to join the growing queue. The moment she left, Miriam fished her phone out of her bag.

Miriam:

You free later?

Lydia:

Is it done?

Yep

I'm free in an hour. Meet me at mine?

Flat 3 256 Hunter Street

Cool

She dropped her phone back into her bag the moment Grace returned, fixing a bright smile to her face. In true Grace fashion, she'd forgone their agreement and come baring a tray laden with enough pastries to feed a small nation. "These are your favourites, right?" she asked, placing a brownie in front of Miriam.

"Yes," she laughed, "but you didn't have to buy all this."

"It's the least I could do," Grace insisted. "Ade broke me. Without you he'd never get to taste his own medicine. Hell, without you he would've never apologised."

Miriam waved a hand.

"I'm serious," Grace said. "When I found him in the library he was so dismissive of the entire thing, told me I was being melodramatic and that we were nothing. But then you come along and all of a sudden he knows the word sorry. You're literally a miracle worker."

"I'm happy to have helped." Miriam shifted awkwardly in her seat then took a bite of her brownie. "So, have you decided our next book club pick?"

While Grace weighed up the two options currently acting as frontrunners, Miriam began to study her. She looked lighter, brighter, happier. Satisfied. In turn, Miriam felt an intense sense of relief. She knew what it felt like to be a Grace. To be betrayed, confused, abandoned. It caused an intense longing, both for the person who hurt you and their destruction. If Miriam could help with the latter, it was up to Grace to sort the former, but with Ade well and truly shattered, Miriam had no doubt Grace would manage it flawlessly.

"Thanks for this," Miriam eventually said, already halfway out of her seat, "but I have to get going. This dissertation isn't going to write itself."

Grace laughed and stood too, arms outstretched. "I can't thank you enough," she said while she and Miriam hugged.

"Don't mention it." Miriam stepped out of the embrace, running her clammy hands along the length of her jeans, then slung her bag over her shoulder and waved before ducking out of the store. Through the window she watched Grace's self-satisfied smile and smiled to herself. Grace may have been many things, but she didn't deserve what Ade did to her. Nobody did.

Miriam's next stop on her victory lap led her to a shiny green door with a rusted brass knocker which didn't match the polished silver lock. Beside the door sat a row of buzzers each labelled with a different number. Miriam pressed the button beside three and stepped forward once the familiar crackle of a speaker sounded.

"Hi," she said into what she hoped was a microphone. "It's Miriam."

"Hold on," Lydia said. "I'm coming down." Ninety seconds later, she was standing in the doorway beaming up at Miriam. Stepping aside, she welcomed Miriam in before leading her up a flight of steps and in through a door marked with a gold three. The flat was silent save for their footsteps which caused the wooden floorboards to creak all the way into the living room where Lydia gestured for Miriam to sit while falling, cross-legged, onto a mismatched armchair in the corner of the room. Miriam perched on the edge of the long, green sofa and crossed her legs at the ankle.

"So?" Lydia's joy was much more muted than Grace's. "How did it go?"

"Uh, it went well. I mean it's safe to say Ade knows exactly how you felt."

A deep sigh ripples through the room. "Thanks," Lydia said. "For everything."

"It's what I do."

"Yeah, the non-judgemental, pro-female, guardian angel that you are."

Miriam let out a surprised bark of laughter. "I'm sorry about that," she said. "It was wrong of me to judge you. I can see now how you could get...caught in Ade's web."

"And yet you came out unscathed. How do you manage it?"

When asked this question, Miriam often lied. In her line of work, it was better to sell a dream. One in which Miriam was too tough, too smart, too unbothered to find herself falling prey to an uber dick. But something about the way Lydia asked, voice cracking to reveal an almost pathological fear, made Miriam tell the truth. "I know heartbreak," she said. "I refuse to give just anyone that sort of power over me. If you want a chance at breaking my heart, you've got to earn it because there's no way in hell I'm going through it again for some mid fuckboy I found on the street."

"Those are words to live by," Lydia said with a laugh.

Miriam joined her. "But I'm serious," she said. "Don't let just anyone dim your light. Make sure they're the right person."

"Well, that's certainly not Ade."

"Definitely not," Miriam agreed.

Silence settled between them, broken only when Lydia smacked both hands against the armrest of her seat. "How do I pay you?" she asked.

Miriam blinked twice in rapid succession. Something about accepting payment felt wrong, what with the Grace of it all, not to mention how Miriam treated Lydia at Sandy's, so she shook her head and said, "Consider this one on the house."

"Are you sure?" Lydia's brows furrowed into a neat peak.

"Yeah." Miriam nodded, strengthening her resolve. "It was kind of therapeutic to ruin Ade," she explained.

"Therapeutic?" Lydia raised an eyebrow.

"I learnt a lot," Miriam said instead. "You know, about myself and what I want."

"Does that mean that this." Lydia gestured widely. "Is over?"

There was no question about it, no guilt, it simply was the end of an era. "Yeah," Miriam said, smiling gently. "I guess it is."

Lydia's eyes slid across Miriam's face, then she too smiled. "I'm happy for you."

"Thanks." Miriam stood up. "Anyway, I should probably get going. My diss has been begging me to look at it all day."

At that Lydia laughed then showed her the way out, stopping Miriam at the threshold and crashing against her in a big, warm bear hug. "Thank you," she whispered. "Truly."

"I'd do it all over again," Miriam said. Then she left.

Without a text from Wes, she had no choice but to head to the library and finally work on her dissertation.

~*~

The text arrived at ten past six. Miriam scrambled at her desk, shoving her belongings into her bag, and heading out without even bothering to put on her coat. The wind slapped against her, relentless in its attack. Even when she eventually stopped to put on her coat, scarf, and gloves, it managed to seep in, spreading like a disease. She'd never been more relieved to see her building, to step into the heated foyer and wait for lift. And yet, it wasn't enough, leaving her a chattering mess by the time she tumbled through the front door.

Wes shot into the hallway and bundled her into his arms. "You feel like ice," he murmured against her forehead.

"I think I might just be ice."

He laughed, the sound reverberating from the tip of Miriam's skull to the sole of her feet, and somehow managed to pull her closer. "You'll be fine," he said.

Miriam scoffed and stepped away from him. "If I die of frostbite," she said while hanging up her things, "just know you'll be the first person I haunt."

Wes pulled her in at the waist. "That's fine with me, as long as I'm the only person you haunt."

She rolled her eyes and punched his shoulder, to which he caught her hand and tugged her gently into the living room. In her absence, he'd transformed it. Miriam halted in the doorway, eyes wide, pinging from corner to corner, absorbing every single detail. The Christmas lights were strung up, emitting a soft amber glow. On the small table in the corner of the room, a single candle was lit. It flickered gently, swaying to and fro, casting ghostly shadows on the cutlery set on either side. "Did you do this?" she spluttered, pressing both hands to her chest.

"You like it?"

"Yes, of course, it's perfect." She launched herself at him, clinging tightly to his waist and burying her face in his chest. "You're perfect," she whispered.

Wes laughed and peeled Miriam off him. "Let's see if you're still saying that after we've eaten."

Miriam followed Wes to the table and let him help her into her seat. He then dashed into the kitchen, returning with two plates. Miriam squinted in the low light, just about making out a firm ridge of what turned out to be slices of sourdough bread. "Is this what I think it is?" Miriam asked, knife and fork at the ready.

"Bruschetta with mozzarella," Wes winked.

With a delighted squeal, she returned her cutlery to the table, picked up a piece of bread and tore of a hunk, moaning with delight when she caught whiff of the balsamic glaze. "Just like home," she sang.

Miriam's love of bruschetta was established aged sixteen when Wes agreed to go on a practice first date in preparation for Miriam's real first with Josh. Josh picked a tiny Italian restaurant in Little Venice, and although kept a secret from Miriam, he was all too happy to share the details with Wes who promptly addressed Miriam's fears by organising a practice run. In many ways her practice was far better than the real deal. But then they were friends, and back then Miriam couldn't imagine them being any more.

"Are you ready for the next course?" Wes asked once Miriam swallowed her final bite.

"Bring it on," she grinned.

The wait was longer, filled with panicked yelps from Wes and laughter from Miriam, the two teasing one another back and forth until Wes placed a shallow bowl in front of her. In it sat a perfect mound of rice smothered in curry chicken. The sauce was thick and glossy, pungent with thyme and scotch bonnet. "You didn't," Miriam whispered, glancing up at Wes from beneath her lashes.

"It was nothing," he said breezily. Far too breezily for Miriam's comfort. "I mean Esther gave me the recipe, so if you should be thanking anyone it's her. And I didn't even make the roti, it looked way too difficult and—"

Miriam sprang from her seat, fell into his lap and kissed him like her life depended on it. His fingers kneaded her waist to an irregular rhythm before his hands skimmed up her back and crushed her close enough that she could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady, through his t-shirt. "Thank you," she whispered when she pulled back.

Wes cradled her face, bringing her close enough to kiss. Except he didn't, he just held her, letting her fall into his touch. "You don't have to thank me," he eventually said. "Your happiness is thanks enough."

Miriam couldn't bring herself to roll her eyes or blow off the admittedly cringe sentiment, so she kissed him once more then slid of his lap and returned to her side of the table. Three bites in, Wes asked for her thoughts. Miriam merely nodded, almost bouncing on her seat, and shoved more food into her mouth. It was transcendent to eat a meal she loved prepared by the man she—

No, she thought. It was too soon. But then she caught his eye, a slow smile unfurling on his face, and she couldn't deny it. He was the man she loved.

***

Pt.2 is locked and loaded. What did you think?

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