Pete was half-slouched against the bar, pint in one hand, phone in the other, pretending to listen while his mates argued over some match that’d already happened three days ago. He was laughing, but not properly — the kind of laugh people do when they’re half somewhere else.

Then the door opened, a gust of cold air coming with it, and his whole face changed. You walked in, baby balanced on your hip, cheeks pink from the wind, hair stuck out from under your hood.

He grinned straight away. “Oi oi,” he called out, pushing off the bar. “Didn’t expect to see you two in here.”

You shrugged, smiling a little. “Was just walkin’ past. Thought I’d come say hi before bedtime.”

The lads turned, a few of them nudging each other with those knowing looks, but Pete didn’t care. He took the baby off you without thinking, tucking her against his chest like second nature.

“There she is,” he said softly, bouncing her a bit. “You been keepin’ Mum busy?”

She laughed, smacked her hand against his face, and he let out that small, real laugh — the one that only ever came out around you two.

“She’s meant to be in bed,” you said, shaking your head.

“Yeah, well,” he said, smiling, “reckon she just wanted to see her old man.”

One of the lads leaned over. “Didn’t think I’d ever see Dunham go soft.”

Pete shot him a look but kept his tone easy. “Shut up, mate. You’d be lucky to have what I’ve got.”

He looked back at you then, eyes softer now. “You want a drink, or you just draggin’ me home?”

“Bit of both,” you said, smirking.

He nodded, setting the baby on his hip. “Alright. Let me finish this, then I’m yours.”