Marry Me Tomorrow: The perfect, feel-good read to curl up with in 2017!

The first time I’d bought him one it had been raining hard and he’d been sitting on the floor, soaked through. I’d passed him the coffee and he’d looked so grateful, I’d been touched. Just thinking about what a difference a hot drink could make, made me want to buy him one every day. I’d felt good about myself. Emily, bringer of coffee to the homeless. Emily, the Saint.

Ah who was I kidding? Truth was, I had a bit of crush on him. That big grin he gave me when I passed him the drink. The way he asked how I was every morning. It was the highlight of my day.

How fucking sad.

I berated myself for my stupidity all the way back to my car, and all the while angry tears leaked down my face. I remembered Christmas as a happy time when I was a kid. Now it was just one big stress. A time for reflecting on how crap your life was.

Unlocking my car, I shoved my bags in the boot, putting all of my anger into slamming it shut. Then I stood for a moment, with my hands over my face, trying to pull myself together before driving home.

‘What’s in it for me, then?’

I jumped. He was standing behind me, head on one side.

‘I already told you,’ I said. ‘Warm bed. Hot food. Christmas indoors. But don’t worry about it. I’ll manage.’

‘Are you crying?’

‘No,’ I said, opening my car door and climbing in. ‘I always look like this.’

‘No you don’t, you’re always happy and smiley.’

‘No, this is my face now. The face you’ll see when I pass you each morning, without saying hello or giving you a coffee.’

‘Don’t be like that.’

I gave him a look and went to shut the door, but he stuck his knee out to stop me. Suppressing the urge to slam the door repeatedly on his leg while screaming like a lunatic, I said, ‘Please remove your knee from my door.’

‘I do like coffee, really.’

‘Great. Well, you’re still not getting any more off me.’

He shrugged, and stood there, watching me with dark eyes and a serious expression. He still had his knee in the door. ‘I’ll help you, if you still want me to.’

I stared at him. Did I still want him to? I wasn’t sure now; he was different to how I thought he’d be. Less grateful. More complicated. Still, he’d followed me here. ‘Well, I don’t want to force you into it,’ I huffed.

He sniffed and looked away. ‘I’ll ask around the other homeless guys, if you like? See if one of them’s up for it?’

‘Yeah, go on then.’

He grinned at me. ‘I’ll do it. But if you turn into too much of a nightmare, I’m straight out of there.’ He went round to the passenger side and climbed in.

‘Do you need to tell anyone? Will anyone wonder where you are?’

‘Nah.’

‘Really?’ I frowned across at him as I started the engine and flicked on the headlights. ‘No one will report you missing?’

He shook his head. ‘I come, I go. I keep friends to a minimum. People are baggage that weigh you down.’

‘Really? That’s sad.’

‘Not really. I’m not the one making shit up to please other people. It’s no one else’s business if you’re single or married. You should be able to live your life how you want.’

I blinked at him. ‘Well,’ I said after a moment’s thought, ‘she’s my mum. She just wants me to be happy.’

‘Well, in my experience marriage just makes you miserable.’

I looked across at him. ‘Have you ever been married?’

‘Once.’

‘Ended badly then?’

‘Yep.’

‘Okay, well, hopefully this won’t end badly and you can leave at any time you like. I’ll try not to be too much of a nightmare, as long as you do too.’

He chuckled. ‘I ain’t making no promises.’

I joined the queue of traffic to get out of the city centre and we sat in silence for a while. His stale, unwashed stench filled the car and I wondered if it would be rude to open a window. I’d have to get him some new clothes. And some wash stuff. ‘I might nip to Asda on the way home,’ I told him. ‘Pick up some stuff. What do you fancy for tea?’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t care. I’m not a fussy eater.’

‘I’ll get you some clothes too. What size do you reckon you are?’

‘I dunno.’

‘About a medium?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Do you want to come in with me?’

‘No, I’ll wait in the car.’

‘Fine.’

More silence. The traffic began to move and I put the car into gear. ‘So, I suppose you’ll need to know a bit about me if you’re going to pretend to be my husband,’ I said.

‘Go on then.’

‘Okay, I’m Emily Fielding. I’m thirty-four. I’m an accountant. I went to Warwick University. I like all animals, but especially dogs. I have a cat named Roger –’

‘Roger?’

‘I used to ice skate but gave up when I was fifteen after a bad fall. I love music – pop music mostly, but I like a bit of country. I like reading and romantic comedies. Ermmmm what else, what else… Oh, I’ll think of more after. What about you?’

‘What about me? You don’t need to know about me if I’m pretending to be someone else. What’s my name, anyway?’