• • •

It turns out that after the first time, the second time isn't nearly as intimidating. Neither is the third. Or the fourth. Over the past few days, we've snuck quiet moments after everyone else is in bed, even more tantalized by the need to be silent. On Tuesday afternoon, while Allie and Daria went to pick up the boys from school, we stole thirty minutes without restriction. Liam took full advantage of there being no-one else in the house.

I feel more connected to him now. It's as though we share a deeper bond now that we've slept together, several times. It's hard not to feel validated in the way he touches me, the words he murmurs when he's inside me, his nails leaving deep crescents in my skin. I don't want to leave. Tuesday comes too soon.

I woke up sore this morning. We may have overdone it last night, exploring every inch of each other in a feverish haze after we stayed up late with Liam's mom. While she sipped soda water, we substituted alcohol, bubbly champagne popping on our tongues until tipsiness took over, and we were a little less reserved when we made it to bed.

Now my body's screaming at me that three times was too ambitious. Fun at the time, writhing in the sheets until we were a sweaty tangle, sharing hushed giggles as we tried – and struggled with – a couple of different positions, but now I ache. We went from zero to sixty pretty fast, just a couple of days separating our first time and our seventh, and I think my body's in shock.

Judging by how late we slept in, definitely in shock. I'm an early riser by nature, rarely sleeping in past eight – anything close to nine is a luxury – but it was almost twelve when we eventually rose. I repeat, twelve. We slept in until midday, having exhausted ourselves the night before. Allie was waiting for us when we made it downstairs, having already taken the boys to school and come back again.

I feel a lot more human after a bit of breakfast and a huge glass of orange juice, with pulp. Liam turned his nose up at that. I love the pulp. He can't stand it. He literally used a coffee filter to get rid of the fleshy bits in the glass his mom poured for him, and he stuck his tongue out at me when I teased him.

It's well after lunchtime now. I was supposed to have left already, but I can't bring myself to get in the car and drive three hours back home on my own. I never drive alone, except for the occasional day that Gray hasn't come to college, and it makes the ninety-minute trip drag on forever. Three hours will feel like a lifetime.

Liam and I are sitting out on his back porch, soaking up the last of the weak heat before the rain falls. The sky has been darkening all afternoon, a storm predicted to rage over us before long, but we're stubborn, sitting out here wrapped up in sweaters with a steaming mug of hot chocolate each.

"What's on your mind?" Liam asks, gently nudging my calf with his foot. "You look lost in thought."

I sigh, tearing my eyes from the huge expanse of garden that stretches out beyond Liam's house. "I don't want to go home," I say, shifting closer to him on the bench.

"So stay."

"I can't. I told Mom I'd be back today," I say with a sigh. Mom doesn't ask for much, and she doesn't expect much either, but I make sure never to go back on a promise. From the start, I told her I'd be with Liam until Tuesday. I'm not going to bail on her just to hang out with my boyfriend.

I rest my head on his shoulder and sigh, long and slow. "I'll miss you," I say, my voice quiet. "This has been a great few days."

"It's been awesome." He catches his hair and twists it into a bun that he secures with an elastic band, and I wince at the thought of trying to take that out. My own hair is ridiculously long, down to my waist, and spends a lot of time tied in braids. I should probably just cut it, but I can't bring myself to. Dad used to plait it for me each day before school and he joked that I was Samson – my hair made me strong.

At the moment, it's tied in one long, fat braid. Liam pulls it over my shoulder to play with the end, curling the tail around his finger. It's full of split ends at the moment, in desperate need of a trim and a deep conditioning. I tend to just get Mom to do it, straying away from hairdressers who get a bit scissor-happy, snipping off way more than I ask them to.

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair," Liam murmurs, pretending to climb my hair. "I love your hair." He curls it up like a fruit roll-up and lets it go, so it falls over my chest.

"I love when you play with it," I say. I can't get enough of that gentle tugging sensation, like a scalp massage, when he fiddles with my hair. He couldn't braid at all a few weeks ago. Now he has mastered a basic plait, working his way towards a French braid.

"Well, in that case..."

"No, not now. It's a total mess." I pull it over the other shoulder. "I need a cut." I pick up the end and show him how damaged it is, comparing it to his hair, which is somehow in perfect condition. He's the only guy I know who actually conditions his hair. I was shocked to find out that Tad and Gray both use a two-in-one shampoo. Liam, however, has thick, smooth hair with perfectly blunt ends.

"Mom does mine," Liam says as he watches me examining his blonde locks. "I'm sure she'd give you a trim if you asked."

It is tempting. And it'd be an excuse to stay here longer.

The first drops of rain fall, forcing us inside to where Allie is lounging in the sunroom with a children's book in her hand, reading aloud. Daria's lying across her, her ear pressed to her stomach to be as close to the baby as she can get for the next few weeks. Allie greets us with a smile when she comes in, but she doesn't stop her flow. I could listen to her all day. I don't care if she's reading a kid's book or the weather forecast. I just love her soothing voice.

We sit and listen to her until she comes to the end of the book, struggling to a sitting position before Daria leaps back onto her lap, clinging to her mom and chatting away to her stomach.

"Hey there, lovebirds," Allie says with a chuckle. She finds herself hilarious, but it's not annoying. It's kind of sweet, really. She exudes confidence and happy-go-lucky spirit, her personality infectious in the best way. She heaves Daria off her lap and stands, straightening her spine and smoothing her shirt. "What're your plans?"

"I have to head back soon," I say, glancing at the clock behind Allie's head. It's already three o'clock. At this rate, I can't be home before six at the earliest.

"Anything I can say to persuade you to stay a little longer?"

That's how I end up sitting on the floor of the sunroom with a towel around my shoulders while she sits behind me with a comb in her hand, teasing through damp tangles as she trims the damaged ends of my hair. Liam's sitting cross-legged opposite me with Daria in his lap, reading another book. She's obsessed with stories. When I have kids, I want them to be like her. Adorable, feisty little wordsmiths.

I barely hear my phone chirp over the sound of the hairdryer but I see the screen light up with a text from Mom – and the time. Four o'clock already.

are you still coming home today honey? let me know your plans xxx mom

She always signs off like that, as though she doesn't believe that I have her saved as a contact. As I unlock my phone to reply, another message pops up.

i don't want to tear you away from your boyfriend but we miss you! if you want to bring liam back, he's more than welcome of course xxx mom

I turn the screen to Liam, whose eyes flash across the messages. He's a quick reader, taking in both messages in a second, after which his eyes light up. He looks up at me, eyebrows raised.

"What should I say?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"Well, I'd love to come over," he says with a grin, "but only if you actually want me to."

"I want you to."

"There's your answer," he says. "Mom? D'you mind if I go back with Storie?"

She purses her lips and turns down the hairdryer. "As long as you're home for Thanksgiving," she says. "Even Matthew's making it home for Thursday."

"I'll be back," Liam says. "Dad's working in Cleveland until tomorrow night, right? I can get him to pick me up on the way back."

Allie's face brightens, ridding itself of its temporary worry. "That's perfect," she says. "Just make sure he can before you go making plans. I don't want to have an empty seat at dinner on Thursday."

She turns the hairdryer back on and Liam leaves to call his dad. I'm a bit nervous about the prospect of Vitaly coming to my home. I can't figure him out, but I can't shake the feeling he'll judge my family for our modest life. My entire house would probably fit inside his at least five times over; his garden is the size of Five Oaks.

He comes back as Allie finishes my hair and gives us a thumbs up. My spirits lift. I won't be driving alone. He'll be by my side.

• • •

We left at four-thirty and I texted Mom that we'd be home by eight. We didn't take the storm into account. By seven o'clock and only halfway home, the thunder is deafening, the lightning terrifying, and the rain is slashing down so hard that it's a wonder it hasn't pierced the roof of the car.

"Did you text Mom?" I ask Liam, turning down his music. We've had it ridiculously loud to counter the volume of the storm, but it's a bit much.

"I told her we won't be back before nine," he says, his voice almost drowned out by the loudest crush of thunder overhead that makes me flinch, my hands tightening on the wheel. I hate driving in this weather, especially in the dark. The rain is so thick that I can hardly see, my headlights struggling to pierce the deluge.

I eye a rest stop coming up on my right, the glow of a gas station and not much more. Without much thought, I indicate and slow right down so I don't aquaplane. Liam doesn't even question it when I come to stop in a sheltered area, finally getting rid of the pounding on the roof. He slips his hand over mine and we sit in silence for a moment, until I shift slightly in my seat to face him.

"D'you mind if I call my mom?"

"Go ahead." He passes me my phone and turns his attention outside when I dial. When Mom answers and I hear the clink of cutlery in the background, I know I've interrupted dinner so I keep it quick. Liam and I will be home as soon as the weather lets us, but I won't push it. Mom is effusive in her understanding, imploring that we stay safe.

"How're you doing?" Liam asks when I end the call by telling Mom I love her.

"I hate this weather," I say, but that's not entirely true. "I hate driving in this weather. I just want to be tucked in a blanket with you."

"There's a blanket in the trunk, and the back seat is empty," Liam says. "Might as well ride it out in comfort. No funny business."

I crack a smile and nod. We scurry to the backseat and the instant his arms are around me, the thick blanket covering both of us, I feel a hundred times better. He's warm and solid and comfortable. With my ear pressed to his chest, I can hear the steady beat of his heart. It's a lot slower than mine, which doesn't know how to settle. Any time I have a regular pulse, my brain finds something to stress about.

"We should watch something," Liam says. "I bet if we started a show and got really into it, the storm would suddenly pass." He lifts his butt from the seat to dig in his pocket for his phone and cuddles me close with one arm as he loads up Netflix with his unlimited data.

I don't watch a lot of TV. Most days by the time Gray and I get home from college, I'm too tired to focus on a show and I never know where to start anyway. It takes a lot for me to dive into a new series, so I tend to just settle with whatever Gray puts on, or what Mom and Tad are watching in the evening.

"What do you want?" he asks, idly scrolling through shows that I've either never heard of, or that I'm tired of hearing of. I shrug and snuggle against him.

"You choose."

"The Office?"

I shrug again. "I've never seen it."

If I didn't know better, I'd think he was actually choking. The noise that comes out of him is some kind of horrified splutter and I lurch away when I'm sure he's dying, only to see a look of pure horror on his face.

"I've known you three months, how did I not know that you're a heathen? You never mentioned that you live under a rock."

I shake my head at him and rest back against his shoulder. "Shush. Don't judge me. I'm behind, ok? I'd never seen an episode of Friends until a few years ago, and it's only because of Gray that I've sat through every tortuous minute of How I Met Your Mother."

"You weren't missing out before that one," he says.

I snort. "I know."

Once his shock and horror has died down, he lays his cheek on my head and starts the first episode of the first season. Halfway through, the worst of the weather clears. By the end, the rain has reduced to a light shower, the battering winds now a breeze.

"So?" Liam asks. He looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to gush over what is clearly a favourite series of his. It didn't grip me, though. I wouldn't be averse to watching it again, but I don't get the hype from that episode.

"It's ok," I say. "A bit boring."

"You wound me," he says with a cry."

"It's literally an office," I say, "with normal, boring people. But it'd be a good one to go to sleep to, maybe."

He splutters. "You're an ass, Storie."

"Ah," I add.

"Hmm?"

"Ass-storie-ah," I say, sounding out my name. He cracks a grin and kisses me.

"Alright, smartypants. Get your ass behind the wheel."

• • •

It's close to ten by the time we make it back, after getting caught out by a couple of flooded country lanes that forced me to divert the route. Considering I was already unsure of the way, paying close attention to the navigation, I lost confidence pretty swiftly, but it turns out Liam's a pretty good co-pilot and not too bad at talking me out of a breakdown.

Mom opens the door before I can reach for the handle and I fall into her arms, soothed by her embrace.

"Hi, honey," she says, her voice as smooth as actual honey. "I was beginning to wonder if I should worry. Hi, Liam."

"Hi, Jen," he says, giving her a friendly hug when I let go of her. Seeing him and my mom together endears me to him even more. "Sorry to crash your evening."

"Don't be silly," she says softly. "I told Storie you were more than welcome. It's so nice to have you over again." She leads us to the living room, where Tad joins us a moment later with a tray of drinks. A hot chocolate for me, and one that he proffers to a grateful Liam.

"Bad roads, huh?" He sits down once he has served Mom a cup of decaf coffee. She's been sleeping so much better since she's been on her new meds – and maybe having Tad next to her in bed has helped – and she doesn't want to jinx it, so she went cold turkey and switched to decaffeinated everything. Like I've always said, Mom is strong.

"Awful. I hate driving when it's like this," I say. Tad nods sympathetically.

"Luckily, she had a top-notch co-pilot with only the best tunes for a kick-ass driving playlist," Liam says. Mom lets out a quiet laugh and Tad glances at the ceiling.

"You've got some competition," he says.

"Is Gray upstairs?" I ask. He nods and checks his watch

"He's talking to his girlfriend. Has been for a while." Pursing his lips, he shoots a look at Mom and then a conspiratorial one at Liam and me, as though he's about to indulge us in a secret. "Do you know if we'll ever get to meet this mysterious girlfriend of his?"

It makes me laugh that Tad thinks she's mysterious. Navya's the least mysterious person I know, except Gray. She's an open book, her feelings scrawled across her face and laced into her every word. "Yeah, eventually. If she can ever come over without her parents knowing."

"They don't approve of Graham?" Tad looks affronted.

"They don't approve of dating," I say, "and they have no idea that Gray is her boyfriend, and I'm fairly sure it'd take a miracle for them not to be suspicious if she suddenly wanted to come home with him. And they haven't been official for long."

"She seems sweet," Mom says, her voice an approving murmur. "I'd love to meet her. Gray seems very happy with her."

"He is," I say, smiling. "He really likes her, a lot."

Liam turns his cheek to my hair, his lips brushing my earlobe, and quieter than Mom or Tad can hear, he whispers, "Not as much as I love you."

When we drag ourselves up to my room – I love that Mom has never made a big deal out of us sharing a bed, refusing to treat us like children – I poke my head around Gray's open door. He's lying on his bed, a book propped up on his stomach and his phone to his ear, a huge grin on his lips. He waves when he sees me, but he doesn't move, locked deep in a conversation with Navya. He does mouth goodnight though, and he blows a kiss, and throws a wink at Liam when he spots him behind me.

"Did Gray just wink at me?" he asks when we reach my room, and I waste no time exchanging my slightly rain-dampened clothes for a pair of pyjama shorts and a warm sweater.

"Of course," I say. "He's Gray. What do you expect?"

"The start of a lifetime movie," he says. "Falling for my girlfriend's stepbrother."

"He's not my stepbrother yet."

"It's catchier than Falling for my girlfriend's mom's fiancé's son."

I roll my eyes at him and get into bed, pulling the covers up to my shoulders. "Is this your way of telling me you're into Gray?"

He laughs and gets in next to me. "Not in a million years," he says, inching closer until he kisses my nose. "Gray's great, but I'm straight." He grins at his rhyme. "You're the only one for me, Storie."

When he lies down next to me, I roll onto my side and tuck my arm under my pillow. "Do you see a future with me?" I ask, the words spilling out before I even fully register the question. It's a bit heavy, but I can't take it back now, and Liam doesn't hesitate in his answer.

"Absolutely," he says. He mirrors my position, our faces a foot apart on separate pillows. "I don't think you realize how much I love you, Storie."

"How much?"

He beams. "Almost as much as my mom loves you," he jokes. "I think she loves you more than she loves me."

"Well, I don't blame her."

"Neither do I." His hand finds mine under the covers and he laces our fingers together with a happy sigh. "I know Thanksgiving is still two days away, but I don't need to wait to say that I'm thankful for you." He turns my hand over so our palms touch, his skin hot on mine. "I'm here for the long haul."

• • •