Free Rachel Does Rome by Nicola Doherty Page B

gone back in time to the depths of winter. It’s hard to believe
     that this time yesterday, I was prancing around without a jacket on.
    I turn into the path to my building and trudge along towards the steps, head down.
     Until I hear someone say my name.
    ‘Rachel.’
    I look up and blink in the dark, wondering if I’m imagining things. But it’s him.
     He’s sitting on the steps of my building, holding a bunch of purple and orange carnations
     and Michaelmas daisies. His suitcase is beside him.
    ‘Oh,’ I say, unguardedly. ‘What are you doing here?’
    ‘I thought I’d surprise you. Was that not a good idea?’ He stands up. I’d forgotten
     how tall he is. And how sexy. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch this weekend. My
     phone died, and I forgot to bring my charger. And the others all have smart phones,
     so none of their chargers worked for me . . .’
    I have every intention of saying calmly, as I’d planned, ‘That’s fine, but I was
     annoyed at the time.’
    But I’m tired and hung-over, and coming down from the weekend, and instead what comes
     out is, ‘I thought you were ignoring me.’ I have a catch in my voice that soon turns
     into real tears. ‘And it was Valentine’s Day!’ And now I’m sobbing for the whole street
     to see, and totally mortified. I must look like the most pathetic drama queen in West
     Hampstead.
    ‘Oh my God! Rachel!’ He drops the flowers and pulls me into his arms. I breathe and
     gulp, inhaling his familiar scent and feeling the wool of his coat against my cheek.
     ‘I thought you didn’t care about it! We said we wouldn’t do anything.’
    ‘No! We said we would do something low-key. And I know you had to work, but it still
     sucked that you changed your mind about it.’ I’m still gulping and sniffing in a very
     undignified way. I scrabble in my pocket for a tissue, and find one from the café
     in Rome.
    ‘Honey,’ he says, leaning back and looking at me. He’s never called me that, or anything
     like it, before. The tenderness in his eyes almost makes me start crying again. ‘I
did
do something low-key. I sent you a card. But then I missed you, so I came back from
     Bristol early. I would have gone to the airport to meet you but I couldn’t remember
     which airport you were coming through.’
    ‘But that’s crazy! You could have been waiting hours.’ I start laughing, but it turns
     into sobs again. Oliver hugs me, and then kisses me through my tears.
    ‘Come on. Inside,’ he says. He hands me the flowers, picks up my suitcase, and holds
     the door open for me once I’ve unlocked it. He stops at my pigeonhole and takes out
     a card, and hands it to me as well. He’s not afraid to boss me around sometimes. And
     once in a while, when you’ve been making decisions all day, that’s what you need.
    ‘How was Rome, anyway?’ he asks, as we toil up the four flights of steps.
    ‘It was fine,’ I say, but I’m still feeling irrational and sulky, and I can’t help
     adding, ‘How was lovely Laura?’
    ‘Who? She’s fine! Rachel, what are you—’
    I say nothing as we go inside my flat.
    ‘Look, I’m sorry I had to go to Bristol,’ he says. ‘I really am. But I thought you
     didn’t mind. I thought we agreed to do something low-key for Valentine’s Day, like
     sending a card.’
    ‘Well, I thought we agreed to do something low-key together,’ I say, dully. I’m sick
     of the whole subject of effing Valentine’s Day now; I never want to hear it mentioned
     again.
    Oliver is still staring at me. I can practically hear the wheels clicking.
    ‘I didn’t think you cared so much . . . about Valentine’s Day,’ he says.
    ‘I don’t give a shit about it! I only care about
you
,’ I say, blowing my nose again.
    ‘Do you?’ he says, a smile breaking out over his face.
    I nod. ‘Well, I love you. What do you think of that?’, he says.
    I’m laughing
and
crying now. ‘I like it. I mean, I love you too.’
    He kisses me