Like clockwork every day for the past two weeks, he’s at my door, picking me up at six thirty sharp. Each time he makes me pack a giant bag and asks me why I just don’t go straight to his house when I leave work. I’m slowly noticing that each day, more and more stuff is disappearing from my house and turning up at his.

It should piss me off, but it doesn’t. In fact, it just puts the stupid smile back on my face.

“Just making sure you’re good. You ...