“Dean,” I call to his closed bedroom door, “we’re going to be late.”

“We’ve still got time,” he calls back.

I slowly walk through his kitchen, checking the bare cupboards. It seems that since Dean and I have been together he’s stopped trying to eat on his own completely. There’s barely enough here for one meal. I glance at the clock on the wall and groan. “It’s your sister we’re meeting for dinner! I don’t want to make a bad impression by being late!”

Dean’s head pops out from his bedroom. “Pug’s always late,” he grins. “And she knows I am too.”

“But I’m not!” I exclaim as Dean’s door closes again. “I’m never late,” I mutter, knowing that arguing with him will do no good. Dean will be ready to go when he’s ready to go. I swear, though, that he can be worse than a witch.

Since there’s nothing in the cupboards to take the edge of my appetite, I abandon the kitchen and move on to Dean’s living room. One of these days I’m going to learn to stay at my flat until Dean is completely ready to leave. At least there I have books to read. Merlin knows Dean doesn’t have any decent reading material in his flat unless you count art books with pictures and captions.

I sit down on the couch, but my legs are shaking so badly I can’t get comfortable. I don’t know why I’m nervous. Technically, I’ve met Pug before. It just wasn’t under the best of circumstances. But I want her to like me because I know how much Dean values her opinion. I’m not exactly used to spending a lot of time around Muggles, especially in Muggle London. I would prefer to have a meeting of this much importance in a place where I’m more comfortable, but Pug wanted us to go out together, so go out it is.

“Are you ready yet?” I whine. It doesn’t actually take Dean very long to get ready; he just waits until the last minute to start. And then he realized how much it bugs me that he waits until the last minute, so he’s started doing it intentionally. He loves to get a rise out of me, and normally I don’t mind… just not tonight.

Just as I’m about to storm into Dean’s bedroom and drag him out, ready or not, I spot a notebook on the coffee table. It looks like the notebook that contained all of the drawings of Zara. I’m trying not to be jealous, but I can’t compete with this woman if he’s still in love with her memory. Not that he can’t love her, I just don’t want him to be in love with her.

Merlin, listen to me. I don’t even know if I’m in love with him, much less if he’s in love with me.

I can’t resist and I pick up the notebook to see if it is indeed the notebook full of Zara. I’m shocked that instead of Zara’s face staring back at me, it’s my own. A quick glance through the few pages shows that the notebook is of me. I feel flattered, insecure, and not entirely sure what to make of it all. Dean’s talent is overwhelming; he has a way of making me look beautiful in a way I don’t think I deserve.

“What are you doing?” Dean asks quietly from his place behind the couch.

“I’m sorry, I know you don’t like me looking through your notebooks,” I stutter, mortified at having been caught. I turn around so I can look in his face to apologize, but the stunned expression freezes me in my tracks. He doesn’t look mad, just surprised.

“I overreacted last time because it was Zara, and things were still…” his voice trails off and he looks towards the ground. He sounds so sad, so vulnerable. It hits me that his art is very personal for him; it’s when he’s exposed to the world. I just want to wrap my arms around him and protect him. If only life were so simple.

“They’re very good,” I say quietly, moving from the couch to where Dean’s standing. I wrap my arms around his waist and rest my head on his chest. “You’re quite talented.” I pause, unsure of how he’ll react to what I want to say. “Maybe you should focus on your art again, now that you’re unemployed.”

His body tenses slightly. “That was my old life.”

His life with Zara…

“But there’s no rule that you can’t bring parts of your old life into your new life,” I reply, ignoring the pang in my chest. “I always sort of fancied the starving artist type.” I’m struggling to lighten the conversation, to keep us both happy before our dinner.

“I wouldn’t be starving, you know,” he says. “My dad, he left me some money. Not a whole lot, mind you, but I could survive without working for a bit.”

I raise my eyebrows. That’s news to me.

“Mr Macmillan had a letter from my dad he gave me a couple of days ago,” Dean begins. “There’s a vault of his with some gold. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. It’s just something I needed to do alone.”

“It sounds like you have a lot to consider, then,” I smile. Suddenly I’m overcome with a sense of boldness I’ve never felt before. I pull back slightly so I can look at Dean properly. “But you know, if you are going to focus on your art, maybe you need a real subject to practice on.”

“Meaning?” Dean grins.

“Meaning,” I reply, feeling my cheeks flush, “that I could sit for you.”

Dean leans down and kisses me softly. I can feel my body practically melting in his arms. Suddenly going to dinner with his sister is the last thing on my mind.

“Did I ever tell you that you look nice tonight?” he whispers, his face inches from mine.

“I didn’t mean I should sit for you tonight,” I laugh. “Tonight we have dinner with your sister.”

He leans down and kisses me again. “Are you sure you want to go to dinner?”

“No,” I reply, struggling to catch my breath, “but we can’t stand up your sister. She’d never forgive us.”

“If you insist,” he says dramatically. My body immediately misses being close to his, and for a split second I actually consider skipping dinner.

“I do,” I say, inwardly hating my sense of responsibility as we walk out the door.