The seats are fucking amazing. Not just good, but smell the sweat of the players on the pitch sort of close. Unbelievable. Paige is a goddess.

"How'd you get these seats?"

"Corporate trade," she says. "Are we too close?" She glances around as though that's a legitimate concern.

It's an absolutely mental comment, but sometimes I forget Paige isn't a sports person, though she tries to be every Saturday for Joey, and today for me, apparently.

"You really can't drink at this, huh?" She frowns up at me. "I expected to be doused in beer from overzealous fans."

"Doused in beer? Where you been at?"

"An American football game in college." A hint of a smile. "Ex-boyfriend was a big Michigan State fan."

"This'll be better," I say, and I gesture toward the pitch. "Much more civilized."

"You made me watch Green Street the other night as research after the kids were in bed. I know all about English supporters."

"Made you watch," I scoff. "Now that's a quality film. Pure fiction, that is."

"Pure fiction," she says with a grin. "Sure. Where are the supporters for Man U sitting?"

"Where they belong," I say. "Far away from me." She's heard all about the fierce battles that have been waged between supporters of different football clubs. Sitting us together would incite a riot. Ludicrous they can put American supporters together willy-nilly with no dire consequences. Clearly, Americans don't support their teams properly. "There's only room for one team on this side of the stadium."

"Their shirts are definitely less of a statement piece." She skims her hand over the bold yellow and black home kit of my beloved team. Looks quite good on her. "I can hardly pick them out over there."

"As it should be. Almost as though they aren't here. Alright, they're coming back on the pitch for kick-off. Time to focus."

She slides me an amused glance and mimes zipping up her lips. "Not a word."

"No need to go too far," I say. "Perfectly acceptable to cheer, chant, sing the anthem." I list them off on my fingers. Thanks to Joey's enthusiasm for anything musical, she knows all the songs. Whether she'll sing them in public is hard to say.

But once the match starts, it doesn't take me long to find out that buttoned-up Paige Johnston can get swept into a frenzy along with a crowd of supporters. She chants, she sings, she follows the game just as well as me. Not once does she ask a question that suggests she isn't paying attention or enjoying the match.

In the dying minutes, it's a tie game when Watford gets a breakaway, and they head down the pitch at breakneck speed. Paige bounces beside me, and her enthusiasm is adorably distracting. My favourite striker fakes a pass before nailing an absolute cracker into the top corner.

The whoosh of the crowd's enthusiasm rushes through the stadium like a tsunami.

"Holy shit!" Paige jumps up and down, and she latches onto my waist, squeezing me tight, laughing with joy. "That was amazing!"

The rest of the crowd roars around us, and it's been a long time since anything other than Chloe has brought me so much happiness. But having this moment with her is almost more than I can bear.

For the longest time, I thought this intense blast of affection was lost to me, but it's not. I can still feel it for a woman. Shame she's my employer.

Paige stares up at me, pale cheeks flushed, and she's never looked lovelier. She crooks her finger to get me to bend lower. The crowd is still wild around us.

"I'm so glad you brought me," she says in my ear, and when I draw back, we're close enough that if I was feeling braver or stupider, I might risk it all.

Without some alcohol, I'm neither. But I can't resist inching over the line a little more. I let my forehead rest against hers, and I brush my thumb along her cheekbone.

"I'm glad you said yes," I say, and my voice is rough with unspoken desire.

Despite my vow not even two minutes ago, I'm teetering on the edge of a poor decision when Paige stumbles, and I wrap my arm around her waist to steady her while I glance over her head to see the bloke who fell into her.

"Watch what you're doing, mate," I say, and I tip my chin at him.

"Sorry," he says, holding up both his hands. "Didn't mean to."

To the right of us, a group starts up the club's anthem, and Paige steps away from me. The moment between us lost. As the match comes to a close, she throws up her hands and joins in on the song, a smile on her face, and my heart expands in my chest.

~ * ~

The crowd is thick around us as we exit the stadium, and I've got Paige's hand for safety reasons. Wouldn't want her to get lost.

She rises on her toes to get close to my ear when the crowd reaches a bit of a bottleneck. "We should go to a supporter pub. Tejinder told me to take you. A red lion or a yellow lion or something."

"We don't have to," I say as I glance down at her.

"I thought you were hell bent on giving me the full English."

A hint of a smile threatens. The places my mind is going right now are not good. I could definitely get her full of English.

"What's so funny?" She elbows me.

"Nothin'," I say, and I run my hand down my face trying to take my smile and my dirty thoughts with it. She's my boss, and I want to keep my job. But she's having a laugh. The sexual innuendos are just too easy.

"So, are you giving me the full English or not?"

She really needs to stop saying that. "I'm not sure you can handle the full English. It's a big commitment."

"Oh, I could handle it. The question is whether you'll give it to me." A slow smile spreads across her face, and I think we're speaking the same language, but I can't be sure.

The crowd begins to move again, and I decide not to push my luck. We've had an amazing day, given how it started, and if I creep too far over the mental line I've drawn, I risk not only my happiness, but Chloe's too.

We've got a good life with Paige, and I refuse to fuck it up because my dick's decided to take notice of Paige's other fine qualities. It doesn't have to be more than this.

I lead her to one of the supporter pubs on Vicarage Road. There was never really a question as to whether I'd take her. She wants to go, and so she shall. When we step inside, the place is buzzing, and it's wall to wall people.

"You sure?" I ask.

"Yes," she says. "Let's get a drink. I want the whole experience."

I haven't been here before, but if it's anything like other pubs I've been to after a match, all the lads will be crowded around the bar getting drinks and reliving the game. At the back, there should be a table or two.

Sure enough, in the back corner, there's an empty table fit for two people, and I weave through the yellow and black shirts to plant Paige in a seat.

Between having her jostled near the bar or having her sat back here by herself, this seems the safer option. It takes longer to get the drinks than I hoped, and when I make my way to her, she's got a crowd of blokes around the table trying to chat her up.

"Alright?" I ask her as I slide her white wine across the table.

"These guys were just amazed I knew anything about 'real' football." Her lips twist in amusement. "I assured them I had a very good teacher."

Rather than getting my back up, since Paige is not my girlfriend, I shake hands with the blokes hovering around her, and it doesn't take long for talk to turn to Watford's coming season. Paige sips her wine and listens in, but I'm aware this might not be her idea of a good time. When they all drift away, I slide into the seat across from her.

"Sorry about that," I say.

"No need to be sorry," she says. "I didn't mind listening."

We drink in silence for a few minutes, and I'm not sure if our earlier conversation on the train platform means I can push her for more details or if I'm best to leave it alone.

"Can I ask you a question?" Paige sets down her nearly empty wine. She's not much of a drinker, so I'm sure even this one glass has likely gone to her head.

"'Course."

"If she came back, would you take her back?"

I'm surprised, given my sour attitude earlier, that she's brought up Imogen again. Part of me wants to tell her there's not a chance, but that wouldn't be an honest answer.

"If Chloe could grow up in a house with two parents, I'd want that for her." That's the truth in its simplest form. Having been a single parent almost since Chloe was born, I understand the struggles of raising her, and if I didn't have to do it alone, I wouldn't. Paige might not share my belief given the choice she made. "You really didn't want a partner?"

"If I could have been sure I was going to get a partner, a true partner, sure, I would have liked one." She slides her fingers along the stem of her wine glass. "None of the men I dated were partner material, not for a woman like me who's career driven. A lot of my friends who have kids have had to put aspects of their career on hold for their 'partner's' needs, and I figured if I did it on my own, I could decide what I was willing to sacrifice... or not."

"You were worried a partner would overshadow you?" I'm trying to follow her logic, and I'm not quite there.

"Overlook me." She meets my gaze. "Women are supposed to be the caretakers. That's the role society slots us into. Even at my job right now, guess who fields the majority of phone calls from school? My female employees and colleagues. Sick kid? Call Mom. Forgot their lunch? Call Mom. At least once a week someone on my team is having to manage a crisis for their child. And by someone, I mean one of the women. If I was going to have to bear most of the weight, I figured I might as well be responsible for all the decisions. Why pretend that won't be true? You can't wish something into reality." She gives me a smile to soften the sting of her assessment.

I take a drink of my beer, and I absorb her words. Before Imogen left, she did all the practical arrangements for Chloe—doctor's appointments, clothes shopping, feeding, childminding arrangements. All of it fell on her—however brief it was. She'd gone back to work as soon as she could, and I was working too. Never occurred to me that our loads weren't equal. After she left I realized how much she'd been doing, but I was too angry and sad and resentful to consider that if I found it all overwhelming, perhaps she had too.

"That's very honest," I say. "You wanted something equal."

"Not quite. Equal rarely works in the practical sense. When you try to make things equal, not everyone gets what they need. Equitable is a better division."

"Do you reckon you'd ever find anyone you'd want to get equitable with?" I keep my tone light with a hint of teasing. Not sure if what we've got in the house would count as equitable in her books, but the division of labour, even if I'm being paid for most of it, feels fair to me. After what she just said, I wonder whether I'd ever have learned to pull my fair share if I hadn't sought out this job.

"I didn't used to think so," she says, and she picks up her wine glass to swirl around the contents. "That was the whole reason I had Joey on my own, after all. But I don't know, lately, I'm more open to the possibilities."

She's your boss. The possibility is not you.

"That's good," I say. "You deserve to be happy."

"I wouldn't say I was unhappy before, but I'm starting to see that there are other ways to be happy." She downs the rest of her wine and sets it on the table. "Did you want to mingle with your fellow supporters and crow about that postage stamp of a goal to seal the match?"

Truthfully, I don't want to be anywhere but at this table here with her, but it's getting late. I check the time on my phone. "Best be getting on," I say. "Last direct train leaves in an hour."

As we head toward the front entrance, the crowd thickens, and I reach back to offer her my hand to help navigate through the throng. She slides her palm against mine, and I try to tell myself that having her hand in mine is practical and nothing else.

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