An excerpt from The Adventures of William Fitts

Every morning for the past few months, the flat had been filled with
the smell of breakfast – despite having lived together for almost four months
and been together for eleven, Darcy and her girlfriend, Lizzy, still made each
other breakfast in bed whenever possible, and I have been witness to more than
one argument about who should cook for the other one. I could say
whole-heartedly that the morning was better when Lizzy cooked; the flat would
be filled with the wonderful aroma of bacon or eggs or waffles, unlike the
strange odour of bad egg that I associated with Darcy cooking.

On that particular Saturday in
the middle of November, I woke up to the smell and sizzle of sausages and fried
eggs. There’s nothing like the prospect of a fantastic breakfast to drag you
out of bed first thing in the morning. Making a mental note to start watching
my weight next week, I threw on my dressing gown and made my way to the
kitchen.

 “Morning, Will,” Lizzy greeted
as I tried my best to casually saunter in the kitchen. She had her blue
police-box apron on over her pyjamas, concentrating on the frying pan she had
over the stove. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah, not bad,” I said,
switching on the coffee machine and leaning against the kitchen counter.
“Yourself?”

I pretended not to notice Lizzy turning a brilliant red as she replied,
“Yeah, pretty good.” She cleared her throat, taking the pan off the stove and
turning to the plates she’d already laid out. “Sausages?”

“If there’s any going spare,” I said, trying not to look to eager.

“Of course there are,” she grinned mischievously. “Honestly, you’d
think I didn’t know you and your appetite.”

As I dug into the plate she handed me, I was grateful – not for the
first time that week – that Lizzy’s dad had taught her how to cook.

“I’ll take these through,” she said, picking up two of the three other
plates. “Jordan probably won’t surface for a few hours, so don’t go eating his
breakfast!”

I made some sort of disgruntled noise through a mouthful of egg as
Lizzy disappeared back to Darcy’s room, and I couldn’t help but wonder when,
exactly, she’d become the mother of the house.

Lizzy and Darcy moving in together (or ‘The Larcy Project’, as Jordan,
Darcy’s brother, called it) had, so far, been smooth sailing, which was
surprising to everyone involved. As disgustingly perfect for each other as they
were, both of them had very strong, often clashing personalities. For the first
few months after they met, it was virtually impossible to have them in the same
room for any extended period of time. As Darcy came into the kitchen, a bounce
in her step as she hummed the latest catchy anthem that had been playing
endlessly on the radio, I couldn’t help but dread the moment that their
honeymoon period ended.

“You’re in a good mood,” I
commented as Darcy poured her coffee, tossing her annoyingly immaculate hair
over her shoulder.

“Any reason I shouldn’t be?”

“Just a comment,” I shrugged.
“It’s nice to see you so happy, that’s all.”

She smiled at me over her mug,
raising an eyebrow. “I’ve been ‘so happy’ for a while, you know.”