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We lay together, feet up and horizontal on the plush L-shaped sofa. The twinkling lights behind us are hypnotic and warm, like staring into a crackling log fire at midnight. His head is just an inch from mine as we spread our legs out in opposite directions. His hand falls by my ear and I stroke his fingers as if they were velvet. Erykah Badu fills the room with smooth beats, the atmosphere electric, and we both agree that this really is music to make love to. The small party in the kitchen means nothing in this moment, as I swallow up time, this moment as beautiful as snowflakes melting on my tongue.

As we walk down the blustery street, the sea roaring on the other side of the road, I link my arm in his. The softness of his jacket, the way he mutually enjoys such frivolous intimacy, it’s almost like we have an understanding.

At 4am we are still awake, sitting in the dim lounge. We discuss cartoons and childhoods whilst I’m curled up in a cocoon of warmth. As he closes the door we whisper goodnight and I rollover, smile to myself, and allow my dreams to do the rest; finishing off a beautifully crafted weekend of wonders.