The train ride out of London had been long, but the countryside was worth it—rolling hills, the kind of green that looked airbrushed. You weren’t sure what to expect when you agreed to meet him again. The villa felt like another lifetime ago, and real life had a way of making things complicated.

When you finally reached the small pub on the corner of the village square, you spotted him instantly. Gary. Taller than you remembered, maybe—it probably just the way he filled the doorway. He looked comfortable in a plain jumper and jeans, hair a bit messy from the wind.

He noticed you, that slow smile spreading across his face, not the cheeky grin from villa challenges but something softer.

“Hey,” he said, voice quiet but steady, like he’d been waiting to say it all day. “Wasn’t sure you’d come.”

He scratched the back of his neck, clearly nervous, before nodding toward the empty table by the fireplace. “Figured it might be easier to catch up away from all the noise, y’know? Just us. No cameras. No drama.”

The silence stretched for a beat—awkward but charged. He shifted his weight, then added with a lopsided grin, “Don’t worry, I didn’t make nan cook for your first night back. Thought I’d start with just a pint. Baby steps.”

He pulled out a chair for you, waiting—letting you set the pace.