You have a roommate. You work days; she works nights. You haven’t seen each other in 10 years, but you think you’re falling in love with her.

It’s her smell. Her wit. And her thoughtfulness.

Sometimes it seems mere moments since she’s placed neatly folded clean washing on your bed and you pounce on it, burying your face in fabric that is softer and more fragrant than when you do it yourself.

It’s the magnetic fridge scrabble where, through unspoken mutual agreement, all the words have moved from witty banter to sensuous subtext.

It’s her notes of appreciation for the breakfast-dinners you slave over and leave warm in the oven to ease her return. Food is your poetry.

In three weeks time you have your first RDO in seven years. You planned a country road trip but for the past two months you’ve been considering staying home and surprising Georgie instead. You’re afraid though to risk what is evidently a near perfect relationship…