2016

In a remarkably short space of time, we make love again and this time it's gentle, tender and just . . . Well, kinda beautiful. Sorry, I really am a wee bit sickening. You came here for the bitter cynic, and now I'm just letting you down, big-time. But Ryan has been chipping away at my cynical hard shell since he reappeared in my life, and I finally feel like I'm starting to return to the old Iona, the pre-prom version.

Who would have ever realised she was still in there?

"Have you eaten?" Ryan asks me, after we've lay recovering in each other's arms for a few minutes. I shake my head, my stomach waking up with the question and making an embarrassing gurgling noise.

He rolls off the bed and starts getting dressed. "I'll be right back," he says, smiling at me and then leaning over for a kiss. "Don't go anywhere."

I don't intend to.

He closes the door behind him, and I hear him go to his room first before he leaves the building altogether. I slide my slip dress back on and wrap my dressing gown around me, and then I start over-thinking everything, of course.

Does he love me back?

Are we a couple now?

Am I going to end up devastated and alone again?

I mean, I suspect the answers to the above questions are yes, probably, and hopefully not, but I know we will need to have a proper talk at some stage. Bear in mind here that most of my past relationships have been emotionally void clusterfucks, and you can probably understand why I'm spiralling a little bit.

Ryan knocking my door again jolts me out of my confused thoughts, and I open it to find him holding half a large tray of piping hot lasagne, and an ice cool bottle of prosecco.

"The kitchen was just closing up for the night so they let me have the rest of the lasagne," he explains with that sweet grin, proudly carrying the goodies over to the table in the corner of my room. He's changed into a black t-shirt and jeans and swapped his contacts for his glasses, and he's just so adorably cute in this moment; I can't resist wrapping my arms around him and pulling him in for another kiss.

I love him so much. I always have.

"You okay?" He checks with me. I nod firmly.

"Yep. Everything is perfect. You're perfect." I blush. He does too, of course.

"I could say the same about you," he says softly, easing the cork out of the prosecco bottle expertly so it barely makes a noise.

He retrieves cutlery, plates and wine glasses from the kitchen and we eat in companionable silence.  The 90s playlist is still on in the background, and the Spice Girls are currently informing us they really really really wanna zig-a-zig-ah. My mind won't stop working overtime though.

"You seem deep in thought," Ryan observes. He puts his fork down and watches me, concern deepening that wrinkle between his eyebrows.

"I just . . ." I sigh. Just say the words, Iona. "Are we on the same page, Ryan?" I ask, before I can stop myself. "I mean, do you want this - us - to be an ongoing thing? Or was I just an itch you needed to scratch?" I can't look at him.

"What do you think, Iona?" He asks finally. He takes a swig of his drink and a deep breath.  "I was head-over-heels in love with you as a teenager, and a part of me never really got over you. For the last three plus years, I've had you pretty much constantly on my brain, even though I haven't saw you in years. To the point that, when I heard from my mum that you'd moved back in with your folks, I decided to drive four hours to Glasgow on impulse on my day off, just so I could possibly see you in the flesh again." He laughs, clearly embarrassed. "Does that seem like the actions of a guy who just wants to scratch an itch?"

My mouth has dropped open. "But you didn't even seem pleased that I was there," I protest, remembering back to that night. I'm struggling to get my head round this.

"Trust me, it was so hard to pretend I didn't really care," he assures me. "When I heard you come into the house, I was so fucking nervous to see you. Especially when our mums had already pretty much decided for me that you were going to come up and work here. But the minute you walked through that living room door, I knew for sure my feelings hadn't changed. It all just came flooding back. I didn't know how you felt though so I needed to stay in control."

"I know what you mean," I whisper. It had been exactly the same for me, really.

Ryan wraps a warm hand around one of mine, blue eyes completely sincere. "I've wanted this - us - for a really long time. I want us to be together. I don't see this as a fling; I don't want to be with anyone else. This is like endgame stuff for me. Me and you. If you want that too, obviously."

I let out a shaky breath. "I do."

He grins, looking relieved. "Then it's settled . . . Girlfriend."

I suddenly find I can't stop smiling. Neither  can he. Then we're kissing, and shedding our clothing once again, and next thing I know I'm back on the bed, feeling him move inside me, hearing him whisper in my ear how much he loves me. I wish I could freeze-frame this moment.

It feels like this is what I've been waiting for, since the first minute I realised I had a massive crush on the cute nerd with the bright blue eyes who sat next to me in computing. Obviously my thoughts would have been far more innocent then, but the closeness and intimacy? The love? The way he looks at me? It might have taken us 20 years to reach this point, but this was what I imagined, and is all I ever wanted.

So I guess what I'm trying to say is that I, Iona Stewart, would like to resign my membership from the Society of Cynics, effective immediately. Apparently I'm in recovery now.

And I'm starting to realise that sometimes happy endings do exist after all . . .

We just have one more chapter to go . . . And we're skipping ahead a couple of years this time!

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