The Year I Met You. Cecelia Ahern

look at the key. ‘It’s probably better if you keep it.’

      You carry on looking at me and I start to feel uncomfortable. I’m not sure what to do; you clearly have no intention of moving, so I go to your front door and open it.

      ‘Are you having a party?’ you ask, looking across at the parked cars.

      ‘Just dinner.’

      I feel bad then. You’re eating from a McDonald’s bag; am I supposed to invite you in? No, we’re strangers, and you have been the enemy since I was a teenager, I can’t invite you in.