If this were a normal situation, he might well walk in, put the bottle down and turn and kiss her. But he can’t do that here. Their grip on this thing is tenuous at best. He told her something big tonight, something no one else knows. And then he told her, in his way, how much she means to him, simply by admitting he cared what she thought of him. And he still doesn’t know if it was enough. She’s always been impossible to read in this regard.

So he walks into the flat ready for this to go wrong - while thinking of her face when she said, you’ve pulled. She looked like she meant it.

He opens the wine. There’s hope enough, yet.