Hi again, everyone! Can you believe this is the final short story in the book??

(OR IS IT?! More on that at the end of Part 5...)

Massive thank you AGAIN to everyone who's been reading and commenting - Lockdown on London Lane passed 165,000 reads today! Whoohoo! It's been so much fun to be posting something brand-new on Wattpad. 

And thanks to everyone for your lovely messages about an old Wattpad book - ICYMI, last week we announced that The Kissing Booth 2 will be dropping on Netflix July 24th! You can grab your copy of the book, TKB2: Going the Distance, from the Book Depository now - they ship free, worldwide!

Anyway - this week, in Part 5: Dear Charlotte, we see how Ethan is coping as he tries to plan the perfect proposal for his girlfriend Charlotte... what can possibly go wrong?!

Enjoy!

It's automatic, the way I roll over when I'm not even fully awake yet, my arm out to pull her closer. Today, like every day in the last week, it falls through empty space, and my eyes snap open before I remember why the bed is empty.

It's automatic, when I fill the kettle with too much water for just me, and get the pink mug with the swirly gold 'Hello Sunshine' motif on it she likes to use in the mornings off the mug tree and put a tea bag in it, before I remember she's not putting her makeup on in the bedroom and I don't need to make her a cup of tea.

It's automatic, when I pick up the TV remote and open my mouth to turn to her and ask if she wants to watch another episode of The Mandalorian. When I wonder what we'll have for dinner or when I order a large pepperoni pizza and make it gluten free before remembering I don't have to, because she's not even here to eat it. When I put away the laundry and wonder if that t-shirt is one that she hangs in the wardrobe or folds in the drawers.

And it is so, so, blindly obvious to me, all the places that Charlotte is missing this week.

I go back into the bedroom to get dressed after making myself a cup of tea, and the sheets are still kicked at the bottom of the bed, the throw pillows still in a heap on the floor. I thought it was ridiculous when she bought them – who needed five throw pillows, and especially when two of them cost twenty quid each? But now, I make the bed, smooth the sheets out, and stack the throw cushions carefully, and sigh when it doesn't look as nice as when she does it.

I miss sitting at my desk and leaning back, stretching out, looking out at the balcony, and not seeing her carefully watering the collection of plants we bought together at the garden centre last year.

I hate that I realise I've been hunched over my computer a little too long, and she's not here to come stand behind me, fingers lightly massaging my neck before she leans down to hug me and murmur, "Come on, Ethan, sweetie, you need a break."

I miss the smell of her perfume.

Shit, I even miss the smell of cigarette smoke from when she's really stressed about something and thinks she can sneak one out on the balcony without me noticing.

I even miss the angry little look on her face when she's annoyed at me about something. The way her nose scrunches up and her lips pout and she folds her arms tight across her chest and if anything, it just looks kind of adorable and sometimes I have to try not to laugh at her for it.

Fuck, I miss her.

I don't need anybody to tell me how pathetic I sound.

I am acutely aware of how pathetic I sound.

I mean, Jesus, it's barely been a week, and I'm going crazy without her. I'm still putting that mug out for her in the morning, or going into a room and expecting to see her there, my heart sinking when she isn't.

I'm on the verge of going full on 'Bella Swan in New Moon' without her, and I'm not even mad that I even get that reference. (Charlotte and I had a great weekend watching the whole five-movie saga when they were all on Netflix last year, so she could enjoy some nostalgia from her teenage years.)

Honestly, I'd give anything to be snuggled on the sofa with her right now, binge watching the Twilight movies.

Breaking news: I'm a total sap.

***

I met Charlotte at the cinema, four years ago.

She loves the story. She calls it a 'classic rom-com meet-cute'. Her green eyes light up and she blushes when she tells it, a big, stupid grin on her face.

I was on my phone, texting the girl from Bumble I was supposed to be meeting there. I didn't even see Charlotte, and I walked right into her when she turned away from the counter. She dropped the large bag popcorn she'd just bought, letting out the most adorable squeak.

I was mortified, and fully expected some big, beefy guy to suddenly pop up behind her to ask me what the fuck I thought I was doing, almost knocking his girlfriend to the floor and spilling popcorn all over her.

Said beefy boyfriend never appeared though. I stammered apologies and insisted on buying her a replacement popcorn. Charlotte let me, blushing, and asked if I was there alone.

"I'm actually waiting for someone. What about you?"

"Here alone," she told me.

I sounded way too judgemental when I asked incredulously, "You come to the movies on your own?"

"Don't you? I love it," she'd told me, breaking into a smile, and that was when I noticed the hazel flecks in her eyes. "I mean it's not like you can talk much during the film anyway. And I can't resist a period drama. I, um, I guess your girlfriend can't either."

"Oh, she's not my girlfriend. I met her on Bumble. I've, um, I've never actually met her before. First date."

"Oh! Ooh, well, good luck."

She had her popcorn by then, and we stood there at the counter holding up the line while she smiled at me, and I tapped my phone awkwardly against my fingers, my mouth dry.

"I hope your date goes well," she told me.

"Uh, yeah. Thanks. En – enjoy the movie."

My date never showed. I stood there holding two tickets in one hand and my phone in the other, until the usher told me, "Mate, I think you've missed the trailers. If she's not here by now..."

At that point, I figured, I may as well see this movie, since I'd already paid for it.

Charlotte and I somehow found ourselves leaving the screen at the same time, after the movie was over. I say 'somehow', like she hadn't waved at me when I walked in by myself, and like I hadn't sat three rows behind her and kind of maybe sort of waited for her to leave once the credits began to roll.

By then, my phone had a text that said, 'So sorry! Can't make it :( maybe some other time?'

Charlotte told me she was sorry my date had stood me up.

And I couldn't help myself. This cute girl with her chin-length wavy ginger hair and freckles, the big white cable-knit jumper she was wearing with a short plaid skirt and ankle boots, who went to the movies on her own and was still holding a mostly-full large bag of popcorn, blushing when I stared at her.

So I said, "I don't think I've ever done this in my life, but... do you, maybe... want to go get something to eat? Or – or a coffee, or something, or... I mean you don't have to, and –"

She beamed at me, and I was floored.

***

I didn't even know her name when I asked her on that date, but I'm so goddamn glad I did.

I can't imagine not meeting her. Or if the Bumble date had ever shown up. Charlotte likes to say it was fate; I love it when she does.

I told her I loved her on our fifth date.

She suggested moving in together after three months together.

It was crazy, and her twin sister Laura laughed and told us we were, quote, "Fucking idiots, falling for a whirlwind romance like this," and she, like everyone else we knew, told us not to sign a twelve-month rent agreement on an apartment, not when we'd only been dating for a couple of months.

The twelve months ran out.

We didn't renew it, like everybody told us we wouldn't.

Instead, we bought our own place. (Thanks to some inheritance I had from my grandpa, and a loan from both our parents to help bring the mortgage down to something we could actually afford and which we'd probably still be paying off in ten years, but it was so worth it.)

It wasn't exactly Charlotte's dream place, and I would've liked an extra room to use as an office, but it was ours.

Right now, it feels too big, without her.

I hate the empty space on the dresser where her perfume usually sits, the half-empty pot where some of her makeup brushes are missing. I hate the empty space on the other side of the bed and I hate sitting down at the dining table by myself, the place mats still left out in Charlotte's seat.

I hate her not being here.

And I know that's stupid, I know she'll be back in just a couple of days and she's only been staying with her parents and sister for a week and it's all because of this stupid lockdown business, it's not like she chose not to be here anymore or we had a fight or anything, but...

I wish she were here right now.

I wish she never has to go away for a week again.

I wish I could spend the rest of my life with Charlotte sneaking cigarettes on the balcony after a bad day at work and pulling that angry face at me because I forgot to water the plants even though I'd been at home all day, I miss making her tea in the morning while she gets ready and having her snuggle into my arms with a sigh and reading essays on classic literature while I play a video game.

I never want to be without that.

And then I realise –

I want to marry this girl.