Man up and fucking knock.

Ah, fuck it. Fortune favours the bold.

Hasn’t that been rather emphatically proven over the last twenty-four hours? Confidence is all you need. Time to grow a pair.

With only a flicker of nerves, you raise your hand and knock three times.

The chatter inside the room abruptly dies away – and then the door opens, and you’re face-to-face with an gray-haired, severe-looking woman holding an iPad. Her brow wrinkles as she studies you. ‘Ah, you found us,’ she says, and you think, oh, British. Figures. ‘James, is it?’

‘That’s right,’ you say, trying your best to smile disarmingly at her. ‘Sorry to drop in unannounced.’

‘Well, we’re just packing things up here.’ The woman taps at her iPad for a moment. ‘Emma will be out in a moment. If you wouldn’t mind taking a seat?’

‘Sure,’ you say, still smiling like an idiot, and you’re halfway across the room when –

‘James?’

The door opens, and it’s her, and she’s beautiful.