The Upstairs Neighbour – Part 2: Second Helpings

The takeaway was Thai, and Maya insisted on eating it cross-legged on her living room floor, with the stain on the kitchen ceiling still drying in the corner of her eye.

"You're not going to tidy up for me," Leo said, sitting down next to her with a carton of noodles.

"I'm not tidying. I'm hiding the mess."

"You're very bad at hiding."

"I know," said Maya. "Why do you think I'm inviting you round to eat?"

He laughed and pushed a container of spring rolls towards her. They talked about the architecture of London, the way a crooked Victorian house can be more honest than a shiny new glass block, and the flat he had wanted as a student but never quite managed to buy.

"What stopped you?" she asked.

"Cowardice, mostly," said Leo. "I designed buildings for other people. I didn't want to be stuck with my own opinions for twenty-five years."

"Are you stuck with them now?"

"Some of them." He looked at her sideways, a warm, direct look. "Some of them have changed recently."

Maya felt her face heat. She busied herself with chopsticks.

"You're doing the thing again," she said.

"What thing?"

"The thing where you say something that sounds like a joke but isn't."

"Is it working?"

"Yes," said Maya, and put down her chopsticks. "Leo, I don't do this kind of thing easily."

"I know," he said quietly. "Neither do I."

The flat had gone very still. Somewhere below, a neighbour's television murmured, and far off a bus sighed to a stop.

"Stay for a while," she said. "Not for the noodles."

"I'd like that," said Leo. "But I don't want to rush you."

"You're not rushing," said Maya. "I've been listening to you walk around upstairs for a year. I think I've been waiting for an excuse to come up."

He smiled, slow and unguarded, and reached out, very carefully, to tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. His hand stayed there, warm against her cheek.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. "And if I want you to stop, I'll tell you."

"Good," said Leo, and kissed her.

It was gentle, then less gentle, then something warm and unhurried that made the room feel close and bright at once. When they finally drew apart, she was laughing softly into his shoulder, and he was holding her as if he had no intention of letting go before breakfast.

The next morning, the water stain on her ceiling had dried to a faint brown ghost. Leo found her in the kitchen, in his jumper, making tea.

"I'll move the window," he said.

"You'll do no such thing," said Maya. "But you can come down the stairs every morning for tea, if you like."

"That," said Leo, "is the best design brief I've had all year."