Every night for the last two weeks, Paige and I have been holed up in her bedroom as soon as the kids are down for the night. There's no more watching television or doing dishes or hoovering the baseboards and corners of the room.

If I'm honest, the housework has gone to shit, and I keep expecting Paige to mention the state of the place. She hasn't, which tells me she's as deep into this as I am. We've been consumed with each other, surrounded by a fog of desire. The sound of her coming hums in my ears throughout the day, and by the time the kids are asleep, I'm desperate to hear it again.

Not touching her when there are little eyes around is becoming harder and harder. During the week, nap time is my favourite so I have a chance to get things done without not-so-helpful hands, but that same time on the weekend is becoming my favourite for a whole different reason.

"Ash," Paige murmurs as her fingers brush against the small of my back.

We're on the settee, and rather than going to the bedroom where there's a lock, we appear to have agreed to live on the wild side by staying down here. Our shirts are gone, but we've both got our jeans on. She smells faintly of chlorine and honey. A strange combination, but you won't hear me complaining as I grip her hip and grid against her. She moans softly in my ear, and I'm never gonna get enough of that sound.

When I first met Paige, I never suspected this uninhibitedness existed in her, but as long as it feels good to her, she's up for anything. Any time she doesn't like something, she's got no issues letting me know. It's a level and type of trust I didn't realize could exist between two people. We are completely and utterly ourselves.

"We should go upstairs," I mutter against her neck. As tempting as it is to remain down here, there are large windows that look out to the garden. If we stay much longer, I'm not going to care if the delivery bloke who seems to arrive once a week with something or other gets a full view of my bare arse while I serve Paige another orgasm. Having her come apart in my arms on a daily basis might be one of my greatest accomplishments.

Still baffles me that a woman like her wants anything to do with me, despite what her sister said. Bankers, lawyers, or doctors seem more Paige's speed. She admitted as much when we went to the football match. Educated blokes with bank accounts brimming with cash and massive American houses. Not a poor Englishman who left school as soon as he could.

"Whatever this is between us," she says, "I cannot get enough."

Her comment mirrors my feelings exactly, and the tiny bit of uncertainty that had stirred within me, settles. At least for now, I'm the one she wants.

There's a sharp knock on the door, and it takes a moment for the sound to register. Then I remember the large windows, and I release Paige to sit back on my haunches, trying to catch my breath. From the floor, I grab her shirt and pass it to her.

"You order more stuff online?"

"No." She lets out a little laugh of uncertainty. "I took the hint."

I tug on my shirt and adjust myself before heading to the front entrance. The hint Paige is talking about happened last weekend when I greeted the delivery driver like an old friend and told him I'd see him again soon. She can do what she likes with her money, obviously, but she's been spending a lot of it on me and Chloe, and it's been starting to make me feel guilty. Not that I can't give her gifts too—though it would literally still be her money paying for it—but I've been trying to save every pence for the rainy day on the horizon. Paige won't be here saving my arse forever.

At the door, I take a deep breath, and I hope whoever is there didn't see Paige with her top off and me grinding on her. When I swing it back, everything in me tenses.

Toby and Flora are there, and judging by Toby's expression before he can mask it, he definitely saw me and Paige on the settee through the windows. A wave of shame sweeps through me, which just makes me angry. There's nothing wrong with what I was doing with Paige. Their daughter left me, left her own child, and it's taken them a year to turn up anywhere to check on us. I have a right to move on, any way I need to.

"You didn't call," Flora says, and from her black hair to the shape of her eyes, she reminds me so much of Imogen that an unexpected streak of grief races across my chest. I used to like their similarities—as though I could see into Imogen's future by examining her mum.

"'Course not," I say, and I don't elaborate. From behind me, I can sense Paige's presence in the entryway, but she doesn't speak.

"We just want to talk," Flora says. "Can we come in for a chat?"

"No." I lean against the edge of the door, and I guard them against seeing Paige, against ruining the slice of happiness I've managed to carve out for myself. "You've wasted your time coming here." I start to swing the door shut.

"She made us choose," Flora shouts. "She said she wouldn't see us anymore if we saw you and Chloe. I just—she's our daughter." Her hand is on the door, but there's not enough pressure to stop me from closing it if I really wanted to.

"I don't give a toss what you think about me," I say. "But your granddaughter is in here, and she doesn't know you from Adam." The fact that Imogen issued an ultimatum to her parents is bloody confusing, but it certainly drives home how fucked up she must have been when she left. "You made your choice." And I shut the door, clicking the lock into place.

When I turn around, Paige's expression mirrors my anguish, and she doesn't say a word, just steps into my embrace and lets me bury my face in the crook of her neck and breathe her in. We stand like that until my thrumming heart beats in time with hers, and the chasm of grief that opened in me doesn't feel so endless.

Little feet pound down the staircase. We've got about thirty seconds before Joey discovers us in the entryway, and I expect Paige to draw away. Instead, she draws me closer.

"If you want to talk about it, I'm happy to listen," she whispers in my ear. "And if you don't want to talk about it, that's okay too." When she draws back, she traces the edge of my face with her thumb and then she kisses my cheek.

"Ash," Joey calls from the corridor. "Owie?" He comes to Paige's side and glances up at me.

"Yeah, mate," I say. "My heart was sore, and your mum was trying to make it better."

"I'll get Band Aid!" He tears out of the front entrance and back up the stairs to the bathroom where the plasters live.

"Thank you." I frame her face and I trail a line of kisses from her temple to her lips.

Feet pound on the staircase again, and I step away from Paige just as Joey skids around the corner.

"Band Aid!" He holds it up triumphantly.

I crouch down in front of him, and he tugs on the neck of my shirt. Paige and I exchange an amused glance, and I grab the back of my shirt to drag it over my head. He stares at me with a frown, and he scans my chest.

"No owie?" He's already taking the bandage apart with determination.

Whether I've got an owie or not, he's putting the plaster on me. Telling him where it hurts is simply a formality. "It's on the inside."

That only causes his frown to deepen, but once he's got both sides of the sticky plastic in his fingers, he seems to decide that placing it over the sprinkle of chest hairs is the best solution. I wince at the thought of ripping it off later.

"All better," he says, and when he stares at me for confirmation, I ruffle his hair.

"I reckon you should be a doctor when you're older."

"I play footie on telly," he says, and I glance up at Paige. Since Joey spends so much time with me, his vocabulary and even his accent are starting to mimic mine. The evolution has been funny to observe.

"We should probably start by signing you up for a soccer league around here somewhere." She gives me a small smile.

"Always something on the go somewhere," I say, rising to my feet and threading my arms through my shirt to cover myself again. "I'll have a look for a league or a clinic."

There's the lightest touch on my back, and I close my eyes at the contact. Times like this, I wish we didn't have to pretend in front of the kids. I understand it, but I could have used another ten minutes or possibly another few hours of holding Paige and letting her steadiness seep into me.

From above us, Chloe starts calling for me, and Da-Da rings through the baby monitor in the living room. The kids are up, so there's no more time to wade into or allow myself to wallow in my confusing reaction to Flora and Toby turning up here.

~ * ~

For the rest of the evening, we're both subdued, and Paige even suggests all of us watch an animated film before the kids go to bed. While she still doles out time in front of the telly like most parents would sugary candy, it's no longer a strict no.

Chloe lays cuddled in my arms with a bubbas, and Joey is between me and Paige on the settee, completely enthralled with what's on the screen. Meanwhile, I've been texting Tejinder and Diya, trying to get my head round Flora's claim that Imogen threatened them. Both of them seem to agree that, while bloody awful, it's something Imogen could do. Doesn't seem possible, but then almost everything that's happened since Chloe was born is surreal if I think about it too long.

Later, after I've gotten Chloe down, I head to the kitchen for a beer. It doesn't take long for Paige to appear, and she pours herself a glass of wine before sitting at the kitchen table. We drink in silence, and she doesn't push me to talk.

"Do you reckon I should hear them out?" I ask from my spot near the counter.

Paige worries the corner of her lip, and she takes a deep breath. "Would you consider them good people overall?"

"They are," I say. While I'm a bit confused about how I've always seen Imogen versus what she appears to have become, her parents were steadfast and supportive. Since Immy is their only child, I can see how her threat might have prevented them from seeking me out, from building a relationship with Chloe.

What's changed, though? That's the question I'm afraid to have them answer. If I see them, I'm not sure I'll be able to stop myself from asking about Imogen. I don't want to care, but I can't help it.

"Then I guess you need to balance whether allowing them into Chloe's life would be good for her. You know how close I am to my parents, and sometimes I regret that Joey will never know the other side of that equation. He's only ever going to have one set of grandparents. When I decided to come here, the time he'd miss with them was one of my biggest concerns."

"Her parents would be a good nan and grandad," I say. "I'm just not sure what else I'm letting in the door."

"Ask them. If you're wondering whether this is a way back in for Imogen, you could just ask them?"

"Do you reckon they'd be honest?"

"I have no idea, but I think you need to ask them everything that feels important to you and weigh their answers. What's acceptable. What's not. What's best for Chloe." She stares at me for a beat. "And what's best for you. You matter, too, Ash."

"I don't know if I'm ready," I admit. "I feel like I've finally got my feet under me, and each time I see them, it's like having the ground give way again."

"Then maybe you need to call them or text them and let them know you're not ready yet and that when you are, you'll tell them. Otherwise, I'd be worried they'll keep turning up. Set the boundaries, and if they can't respect them..." She shrugs. "To me, that helps to answer your question about whether they should be involved. You're her dad. You've been the one who's been here all along."

Paige is often calm and rational, but I'm not sure I've ever appreciated those qualities as much as I do in this moment. Her reaction is analytical and thoughtful where I'm all raw feelings. Part of me wants to cut them out forever from spite, and another part of me wants to give them full access, welcome the sense of family they'd create for Chloe. Neither of those is the solution to the confusion swirling in my gut, so Paige's measured response is likely best.

If they really want to be part of Chloe's life, when I'm ready to let them, they'll be there.

"I don't know what led you to post that ad, or why Tejinder showed it to me, or how I never mentioned I was a bloke in all our messages, but I'm so fucking grateful for you."

Paige's hand goes to her heart, and tears well in her eyes. "Oh, Ash. I'm just as grateful for you. Truly." She rises from her chair, and she wraps her arms around me, holding me tight.

And this time, there are no little feet pounding down the stairs, there's just my heart, beating in sync with hers, and the clock ticking down our time together on the wall.

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