I pause then sharply break the contact between my hand and his back. Harry does not turn to see my reaction; perhaps my silence is reaction enough.  I have no idea why but my only instinct in that exact moment is to get out of the bedroom. I rise up and off the bed and rush towards the door.

My heart is pulsing so hard I have to pause at the top of the stairs to catch my breath. Under my hand held at my chest I can feel it pounding. I glance back down the landing. The bedroom door rests ajar but there is no sign of any movement behind it.

Downstairs I busy myself making tea and toast, anything to take my mind off the weight of his words.  As I attempt to pour milk into my drink, my shaking hand clumsily misses the mug, instead spilling it all over the kitchen surface.  His intent was a question and an invitation so why then does it feel more like a statement with assumption attached, especially as he could not even look at me when he spoke.

I am still smarting I found out he was leaving the way I did but he does not know that I knew about his departure and now this. One half of me supposes I should be happy that he wants me to accompany him. It confirms his commitment to me, to our relationship and to us beyond the here and now.

The other half of me is offended that he would ask me to down tools and join him jaunting around the world as part of his entourage because he knows my feelings about leaving home, let alone the fact I am trying to establish my business. He has dismissed those two known facts simply by his asking.

He has not appeared so perhaps he has his answer. I hear the shower running, then stop, followed by a creaking across the floorboards from the echoes of his feet. I grab my mug, pick up the box I left by the door last night and slip on my shoes to head outside to the shed.

There is something decidedly French-vintage about the shed's weathered door but it was not always so. When I was seven, the wood was a rich glossy blue with shiny metal latch and hinges.  I often dressed up in items from my grandparents costume box; a treasure chest full of old clothes, hats, shoes and accessories collected throughout their lives. In flowing skirt and cape, with mud applied to my face just for a bit of authenticity, I would imagine I was an orphan in Victorian times.  I ran through the garden pretending I was being chased by my wicked stepmother, who in my head was my sister.  I always ended up at the shed.

Back then, it had a door at each end. I entered through the magic blue door, closed my eyes and spun around three times. When I came out the other side I had been whisked off to The Magic Faraway Tree from Enid Blyton's story. I skipped through my fantasy world to the big oak in the orchard and climbed up to the first set of branches to enjoy pop biscuits with Silky the Fairy and Moon Face. Once I even hung pots and pans on my young cousin and instructed him to pretend he was the Saucepan Man but he just cried, said they were heavy and that I was mean!

Now, standing in front of the door, its pale blue paint is peeling from the planks that are jagged at the bottom from decades of being kicked shut. The rusty hinges seep lines of russet like rivers into the grooves of the surrounding wood that has warped over time from being exposed to the elements. I unlatch the lock but typically it sticks. With a shove from my shoulder, it flies open and vibrates as it slams into the wall behind. Overgrown ivy that covers the felt roof tumbles down like a curtain hanging over the opening.

Brushing it to one side, I enter to the familiar musty smell of old wood, dusty flowerpots and earthy tools that is a quiet refuge. I skim my hand over the surface of the aged workbench. Despite being worn from years of use, the wood is soft and has a smoothness about it.

For old times sake I close my eyes and turn around three times but when I open up I chuckle to myself that I have not been transported into a fantasy world!  I slump against the wooden slatted walls and close my eyes again.

Harry's voice 'I want you to come with me' still reverberates around in my mind and a little anxiety rattles inside my chest.

If I say yes, I leave this town, my family and friends and put starting my business on hold. Granted it would not be forever but it might be for the foreseeable future. I will possibly be giving up the life I envisaged for myself but it could be an amazing experience.

If I say no, I keep my dreams alive that I have always seen for my life and my career.  Am I too comfy in my dreams? Just as I told my own sister, do I need to push myself out of that comfort zone?

Either yes or no does not determine the fate of our relationship. We will either stay together or separate whatever I decide. Who am I kidding? This is a heart versus dreams reality because I cannot have both. A long distance relationship is not what I want and he knows that.

Suddenly, the door scrapes along the concrete floor and brightness floods across my shut lids.

"You didn't have to run, it was purely a question," his voice mellows.

I keep my eyes firmly closed. "Purely a question?  Well here is one for you. I already knew you were leaving but why didn't I hear it from you?" I reply nonchalantly.

His sharp breath pulling in is audible. He must hold it as there is a pause before he puffs out with irritation in his voice, "who told you? Was it Jeff?"

"Mum."

"I didn't even think when I gave notice on this house. I never meant for you to find out from anyone but me.  I am sorry," he sighs. 

Saying what is on my mind without the visible distraction of him seems easier for me somehow.  "Why keep it from me though? We've both known this day was coming. Better I know than don't and hear it from you, not someone else."

"I only found out myself last week. We have had to move the album release date forward and reshuffle all the plans so it does not clash with the US Presidential election. That is the only reason I am leaving early."

I bite my lip and absorb his words. My mind is racing with thoughts I cannot express right now.

"I said I was sorry and I mean that. Beautiful, each time I tried to get you alone to tell you, we kept getting interrupted by people," he emphasises.

"Not people, Harry, but Jeff. He has a habit of popping up out of nowhere," I accuse.

He is now standing directly in front of me because the smell of his body wash is unmistakable. His hands rest on my upper arms; squeezing them gently triggers me to open my eyes into his concern.

"Forget Jeff. Me leaving is not as simple as just leaving. There is much more to say than that. Everything us, it matters, always, you know that."

"If we cannot talk this stuff through timely when we are here together, how are we ever going to cope when we're miles apart?" I gush.

"I wasn't sure how you would take it."  He observes me, pushing a stray strand of hair off my face. 

"Is that right because I have always known this," I wave my finger through the air between us, "is not forever."

"Okay then," he holds up both his hands, "if you want the truth," he places them against his chest, "I couldn't take it. The depth of my feeling for you, what we have and what we could have scares me a little bit. But I am ready, ready to make a commitment to us so please say you will come with me." He is physically shaking as he says the words.

"Harry!" I choke out, "I can't." I look down not wanting to see his disappointment but he cups my cheeks between his palms, tilting my head up to meet his gaze.

"I am making a complete hash of this aren't I?" he sighs.  "That didn't come out right." His thumb traces across my cheekbone then he rests his forehead on mine.  "Of course I would love you come to with me permanently but I know it is not what you want and I respect that."

"What then, I don't understand?" I frown in confusion. 

"Going through all the solo plans last week was exhilarating. The buzz inside me at getting back out there and playing music returned instantly but my nerves kicked in," his voice is almost a whisper, "and the roundabout started to turn again, albeit ever so slowly." He looks down, almost ashamed and I place my hand over his at my cheek.

"There's no need to be nervous. You've got a great team around you and there is no denying that Jeff, he-."

"No, I don't mean professionally. I have been away for so long, just the thought of going back feels daunting. I need you by my side when I return to London. I need to share my first week back with you. Please say you will come."

His honesty does not need any thought on my part. He is not looking at me when I reply, "Yes."

He shrugs still in defeat. "I don't know when we will get to see each other again after-."

I place my finger on his lips to silence him and this gathers his eyes to mine. "I said yes."

His lips part slightly then he breaks them into a smile that continues to grow until his dimples are digging so deep, the joy on his face is undeniably beautiful. He pulls me into a tight hug and his relief wraps around me.

"Thank you. I am so looking forward to sharing pieces of my life with you," he mumbles into my ear.

I pull away to stand on my tiptoes and lean into him. My kisses absorb his lips into one continual caress that cannot be broken.  Passion is steamrolling through me. From his chest, my fingers skim around his torso and glide down the curve of his soft back.  I slip my hands into the waistband of his sweats. Finding he is sans boxers is of no surprise. There is a swirl of longing in my stomach and I need him closer to me. My nails push against the soft skin of his buttocks and I yank him to me to connect us closer.

Suddenly we become fumbling lovers. He turns us, pushing me against the workbench and him hard against me before he lifts me to sit on the edge of the surface. His face buries in my neck and warm lips suck my collarbone. I delve my fingers into his mass of wet hair, tugging through the tangles that only make him more rampant. His hands glide over the material of my top, catching my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers and causing me to throw moans off into the air.

He continues his downward journey until coming to rest on my thighs. The tantilisingly slow tracing tickle of his fingers from my knee up my legs takes my skirt with them. His thumbs tease the edges of my underwear and immediately he touches me, an undeniable heat spreads through me. 

I push away and grip his chin, turning his head sharply to gather his stare. I hold him there, gazing into the green windows of his lust. A wicked smile breaks across my mouth before I launch a kiss upon him that holds such volatility it catches him unawares. He filters a long growl and his greedy tongue into my mouth.

My hands move ambitiously downwards from his chest until I palm his sweats. He is rigid beneath the jersey material as I play with him. My whisper of "protection," has him shaking his head. Eagerly tugging his sweats down with one hand, he grabs mine with his other. Once the restriction is gone, he cups my hand around him, before releasing his hand for his fingers to find me once more.

As we indulge one another, we are sloppy kisses, writhing tongues, expletive passion and bitten lips. The more euphoria he streams through me the harder my grip and the more vigorous I am upon him until we can no longer kiss each other properly. Our mouths rest open on each other's skin before I peel mine away leaving the taste of a freshly showered him glazed within their ridges. 

Resting on my hand, I lean back and pull him over me. We ascend to our gratification then come undone; me around his fingers as he spills over mine.  He stands between my thigh sandwich like vice around his hips. Our foreheads rest upon one another, pants clashing between us. He kisses my nose and I tilt my head to unite our lips again.

"How are you feeling?" Despite meaning his hangover, I think it is a question that covers a multitude of possibilities.

"Better now." He grins as he pulls my skirt down and his sweats up. His eyes shift to beside me. "What's that box, you had that with you last night."

"So you do actually remember something about last night then? I grin at him.

He sniggers and reaches for it but I place my hand on his to stop him.

"Let me see," he appeals.

I feel my cheeks redden in embarrassment. "It's a gift that I made for you."

I lift the box and place it on his upturned palms. He opens the lid to peek inside and immediately confusion spreads in lines across his face.

"You don't like it?"

"Umm."  The sides of his mouth turn down in an awkward pout. "lt's not that I don't like it," he laughs nervously, "but it's a wreath, Beautiful."

He stands patiently waiting for me to explain but when I do not respond straightaway, he rests his hand on my arm. "You just told me it's all about communication, talk to me," he urges.

I run my tongue across my swollen lips, savouring the remnants of him still lingering there. "You said that you never got to say goodbye to your friend Steve who died in the boating accident. That shrink friend of yours."

He remains pensive and his face is totally unreactive.

"I thought perhaps we could go to the Lighthouse before you leave and you could say a proper goodbye to him."

He is no longer looking at me but down at the wreath, repeatedly running his fingers over the sea themed decorations. I wave my hand dismissively. "It's a silly idea, forget it I should have never-."

His arm wraps around my neck and his lips silence mine before I can finish.  "You are so astonishing, thank you. This is incredible and it is a wonderful idea. Can we go today?"

I screw my nose up.  "We could but the weather doesn't look too promising later. Perhaps leave it for a better day?"

"Definitely, I would like that." Carefully, he places the box back on the workbench. "We'll just have a lazy day then."

"That sounds perfect."

"First though, we have a matter of importance to attend to," he announces.

"What's that?" I look perplexed.

"Well I hope you brought your swimsuit because today is your first swimming lesson."

I narrow my eyes at him. "I hoped you'd forgotten about that. Sadly, I didn't bring my swimsuit." I answer with glee at wriggling out of the commitment.

He grins, knowingly, his eyes shining in victory. "There's not a chance you are getting out of it. Underwear will suffice. Let's go."