He smiles. ‘I don’t think so. Doesn’t work that way. Sometimes the happy thing just happens.’

‘Look at you, with all the sunny optimism! That’s usually my jam, not yours.’

‘Not sure what’s brought it on. Recent betrothal? Bright future? Love-of-life in arms? Hard to say.’

I chuckle, nuzzling into his chest, breathing him in. ‘You smell like home,’ I tell him after a moment.

‘You are home,’ he says simply. ‘The bed, the flat . . .’

He pauses, the way he always does when he’s looking for enough words for something big.

‘It was never home until you were there, Tiffy.’