Wow, Dad, what a welcome! Why bother with a spa retreat when home is practically ‘all inclusive’? When James handed Eva the keys to his flat, she realised: victory was hers. Not even Leonardo DiCaprio waited for his Oscar like Eva waited for her James—complete with her very own nest. Desperate and thirty-five, Eva found herself throwing sympathetic glances at stray cats and scoping out craft shop windows more often. Then appeared James—single, having spent his youth on his career, healthy eating, the gym, and other nonsense like soul searching, and childless to boot. Eva had been wishing for this since she was twenty, and somewhere up above, they finally understood she wasn’t joking. “My last business trip of the year, and after that I’m all yours,” James said, handing over the treasured keys. “Just don’t be startled by my bachelor’s den—I only come home to sleep,” he added, hurrying off to another time zone for the weekend. Eva grabbed her toothbrush, her face cream, and set off to check out the bachelor pad. The problems started right at the door. James had warned the lock sometimes stuck, but Eva hadn’t thought it was this bad. She spent forty minutes storming the entrance: pushing, pulling, carefully inserting the key—trying every trick her schoolyard mates taught her back in the day. All the noise opened a neighbour’s door. “Why are you trying to break into someone else’s flat?” a concerned woman asked. “I’m not! I’ve got the keys!” snapped Eva, wiping sweat from her brow. “And you are? I’ve never seen you before.” “I’m his girlfriend!” Eva declared, hands on hips, but only a crack in the door met her challenge. “You?” the neighbour replied, surprised. “Yes, me. Is that a problem?” “No, it’s just… well, he’s never had anyone over (which made Eva love James even more). And then suddenly, you…” “What do you mean, ‘you’?” Eva frowned. “None of my business, sorry,” the neighbour said, closing her door. Determined, Eva jammed the key in with all her heart, nearly twisting the whole doorframe. The door finally opened. James’s entire world stood revealed, and Eva’s soul froze. Of course, single men are often a bit ascetic, but this was a true monk’s cell. “Poor thing, you’ve either forgotten or never known true comfort,” Eva whispered, surveying the humble abode she’d now be frequenting. At least the neighbour hadn’t lied—a woman’s touch had never graced these walls, floors, or kitchen. Eva was first. Unable to resist, Eva dashed to the nearest shop for a pretty shower curtain and bathmat, oven mitts, and kitchen towels. Naturally, this led to more purchases… To the curtain and mat joined handmade soap, air fresheners, practical containers for cosmetics. “Adding little touches to his place isn’t overstepping,” Eva assured herself, as a second trolley joined the first. The lock gave up resisting—no longer even functioning properly, like a hockey goalie without his mask. Realising what she’d done, Eva worked until midnight with kitchen knives to remove the old lock, and the next morning dashed out for a replacement. Of course, the knives needed replacing too. Then forks, spoons, a new tablecloth, chopping boards, coasters—soon, curtains were next. At Sunday lunchtime, James rang: the trip was extended by two days. “I’ll be thrilled if you make my flat a bit warmer and cozier,” he said, grinning as Eva confessed to a few liberties with his decor. By then, coziness was arriving by the truckload, all sorted and filed, years’ worth tucked away in Eva finally unleashed. By the time James returned, only a lone spider by the vent remained from the old place. Eva almost chased it off, but seeing its startled eight eyes, decided it was better left as a symbol of respecting another’s property. James’s place now looked like he’d been happily married for eight years, got disillusioned, and found happiness again regardless. Eva hadn’t just taken over the apartment, but made sure everyone in the building knew she was the new lady of the house. The lack of a ring was purely technical. Neighbors were skeptical at first, but then just shrugged: “Whatever you say, it’s your business.” *** On James’s homecoming, Eva prepared a true home-cooked meal, dressed herself in dazzling attire, placed air fresheners at every corner, dimmed the shiny new lights, and began to wait. James was running late. When Eva felt her festive outfit digging painfully into the spots she’d spent months toning at the gym, someone started turning the new lock. “It’s a brand new lock, just push—it’s not locked!” Eva called out, a little embarrassed but with sultry intent. She feared no judgement—she’d done a brilliant job decorating, surely she’d be forgiven anything. Just then, Eva got a text from James: “Where are you? I’m home. The flat looks exactly the same. My mates were sure you’d cover everything in cosmetics.” Truth be told, Eva saw the message much later. At that moment, five complete strangers entered the flat: two young men, two school-aged kids, and an elderly gentleman, who straightened at the sight of Eva and smoothed what hairs he had left. “Blimey, Dad, what a reception! Why that spa, when home’s got all the trimmings?” said one young man, earning a swift slap from his wife for staring. Eva stood in the hallway with two full glasses, rooted to the spot. She wanted to scream, but was paralyzed. Somewhere in the corner, the spider chuckled. “Sorry, who are you?” Eva squeaked. “The owner, love. And you—here for the clinic visit, a dressing change? I said I could manage, you know,” replied the old man, eyeing Eva’s nurse’s uniform. “Err… Adam, your place is really cozy now,” the young wife peered in. “Not like the tomb you had before. And you, dear—what’s your name? Isn’t Adam a bit old for you? Though he’s respectable, has his own place…” “E-E-Eva…” “Well, Adam, must say you pick your people well!” Judging by his twinkle, Adam thought it a fine turn of events. “But where’s James?” Eva whispered, nervously draining both glasses. To be continued “I’m James!” shouted the eight-year-old boy. “Easy, son, not yet,” his mother sent him and the other child out to the car. “S-s-sorry, I seem to have the wrong flat,” Eva managed, recalling the struggle with the lock. “Is this Lilac Avenue, eighteen, flat twenty-six?” “No, it’s Beech Street, eighteen,” Adam replied, rubbing his hands together, ready to unwrap his unexpected gift. “Right,” Eva sighed tragically, “my mistake. Make yourselves at home; I need to make a call.” She grabbed her phone and darted to the bathroom, barricading herself, wrapping up in a towel. There she finally read James’s SMS. “James, I’ll be right there, just popped to the shop,” Eva texted. “No worries, I’ll wait. Grab a bottle of red if you can,” James sent. Eva intended to bring some red, but more in spirit. Tucking the mat and shower curtain under her arm, she waited until the strangers headed for the kitchen, then dashed out. She hastily packed up, and ran from the flat. *** “I’ll explain later,” Eva promised James on arrival, brushing past him in a daze. She went straight to the bathroom to swap the curtain and mat, then crashed on the sofa, sleeping off the stress—and the red—until morning. When she woke, a stranger waited for an explanation. “Excuse me, what’s this address?” “Butterfield, eighteen.”

Blimey, Dad, talk about a welcome party. And why bother with a spa weekend when youve got all-inclusive service at home?

When Edward handed her the keys to his flat, Emily knew: the fortress had fallen. Not even DiCaprio has yearned for an Oscar the way Emily waited for her Edwardwith bonus real estate.

Desperate at thirty-five, shed taken to casting sympathetic glances at stray cats and gazing longingly into the windows of Crafts & Bits.

And then theres himlonely, having spent his youth chasing a career, eating kale, sweating in the gym, soul-searching, and other tedious modern pursuits. Childless, too.

Emily had been wishing for this gift since she was twenty. Somewhere up above, it must have registered: she was not joking.

Ive got one last work trip this year, then Im all yours, Edward said, handing over the coveted keys. Just dont be frightened by the cave. I mostly drop by for a naphardly ever actually live here, and off he went, across time zones for a long weekend.

Emily grabbed her toothbrush, face cream, and headed off to inspect this so-called cave. Problems started right at the door. Edward had warned the lock was temperamental, but Emily hadnt expected it to be positively Machiavellian.

She staged a forty-minute siege: shoving, pulling, coaxing the key in, politely angling it a fraction, but the door was determined to remain shut.

Emily changed tactics and tried psychological pressure, just as shed learned in school behind the bike sheds. The racket lured out a nosy neighbour.

Excuse me, why are you breaking into someone elses flat? demanded a suspicious female voice.

Im not breaking in, I have the keys! replied Emily, mopping sweat from her brow and bristling with irritation.

And you are…? I dont believe Ive seen you before, persisted the neighbour, clearly relishing the intrusion.

Im his girlfriend! Emily declared, hands on hips, facing only the narrow gap in the door.

You? The woman was genuinely surprised.

Yes, is that a problem?

Oh no, no problem at all. Its just hes never brought anyone homeso, well (Emilys heart warmed towards Edward right then.)

So what? Emily asked, not getting it.

Oh, never mind. Best of luck, the neighbour said, withdrawing behind her safety gap.

By now, Emily knew it was her or the lock. With all her pent-up desire, she jammed the key, nearly rotating the doorframe off its hinges. Successthe door surrendered.

The full inner world of Edward unfolded before her, and her soul iced over. Yes, young bachelor pads are meant to be spartan, but this was positively monastic.

Poor thing, your hearts forgottenor maybe never knewwhat comfort is, Emily murmured, surveying the humble digs that would soon be her second home.

Still, there was a silver lining. The neighbour hadnt lied: no womans hand had ever softened these walls, this floor, this kitchen. She was first to land.

Unable to tolerate the barrenness, she slipped on her shoes and dashed to the nearby shop for a pretty curtain and a bath matand, while she was at it, oven mitts and kitchen towels.

Naturally, the shop seduced her Out she tottered with scented candles, handmade soap, and nifty organisers for her cosmetics.

Adding treats to someone elses flat isn’t cheeky, Emily reassured herself, doubling up her shopping trolley.

The lock surrendered completely; now it was less functioning security and more like a hapless goalie caught without his helmet.

Realising her handiwork, Emily spent the night unscrewing the old lock with kitchen knives, and rushed out at dawn for a new one. The knives too, obviously, had to be replaced. Then forks, spoons, tablecloths, chopping boards, hot pads it was curtains for the previous decor, quite literally.

On Sunday afternoon Edward called, saying hed be held up another couple of days.

Ill be thrilled for you to add a touch of coziness to my life, he chuckled as Emily confessed to a few creative liberties at his place.

By now, the coziness had been imported in bulk. Meticulously plotted out, years of pent-up nesting energy burst forth; Emily just couldnt stop.

By Edwards return, the only remaining tenant from old times was a spider above the vent. Emily considered relocating him, but with those bewildered eight eyes, she decided to leave him as a symbol of property rights.

Edwards flat now looked like hed enjoyed eight years of happy marriage, experienced disillusion, and then found joy again in spite of everything.

Emily didnt stop at redecorating; she made it known to everyone on the landingshes the new lady of the house, feel free to direct all queries to her. No wedding ring yet, but thats just paperwork.

At first, neighbours regarded her with suspicion, but soon shrugged: Whatever you say, love. Not our problem, is it.

On Edwards return day, Emily cooked a proper home-cooked meal, dressed her still-springy assets in something delightfully over-the-top, arranged aromatic candles in strategic corners, dimmed the new lights, and waited.

Edward was late. As Emily began to wonder why garter straps cut so deep on the very bits shed done all those lunges for, someone turned a key in the lock.

New lockjust push, its open! she purred, with more confidence than she felt. Judgement? Pfft. Shed worked wonders. Who could begrudge her now?

Just as the door opened, Emily received a sudden text from Edward: Where are you? Im homeand have to say, the flats exactly the same as ever. My mates warned me youd drown it in cosmetics!

Of course, she read that message much later. At that moment, five total strangers swept into the flat: two young men, two school-aged kids, and one very elderly gent, who straightened up and smoothed his thin white hair as he spotted Emily.

Well, I say, Dad! Youre getting the full VIP treatmentand why do you need a spa trip when home is clearly all-inclusive? piped up one bloke, who immediately earned a scolding from what was probably his wife for staring.

Emily stood frozen in the doorway, clutching two overflowing glasses, utterly unable to move. She wanted to scream, but could only stare.

Somewhere in the corner, the spider giggled.

Er Sorry, who are you? Emily squeaked.

The owner of this humble abode. And you, I reckon, are from the NHS? Come for my dressing change? Thought I told them I would manage, the old man answered, eyeing Emilys nurse-inspired getup.

Ah, right, Mr. Adam Matthews, its positively divine in here now, peered the young mans wife over Emilys shoulder. A breath of fresh airit was deathly before. And you, miss, whats your name? Isnt our Adam Matthews a bit old for you? Mind you, he does own property

Em-Emily

Well, there you go! Adam Matthews knows how to pick em, doesnt he!

Judging from Mr. Matthews gleam, he rather liked the turn of events.

And wheres Edward? whispered Emily, draining both glasses at once.

Im Edward! declared an enthusiastic eight-year-old boy.

Not yet, dearwait your turn, his mum shooed the kids out to the car.

Err, terribly sorry, I think Ive got the wrong flat, Emily stammered as she remembered her earlier battle with the door. Is this Lilac Close, Number eighteen, Flat twenty-six?

No, its Beechwood Avenue, eighteen, replied Mr. Matthews, barely containing his excitement at his unexpected Christmas come early.

Ah, well, Emily sighed dramatically, my mistake, then. Please, do make yourselves at home, Ill just pop out for a bitneed to make a quick call.

She grabbed her mobile and retreated to the bathroom, barricaded herself with a towel, and finally read Edwards text.

Edward, Ill be back soon, just got held up at the shop, she messaged.

Great, waiting. Oh, bring a bottle of red if you can, came Edwards cheery voice message.

Emily was, indeed, about to bring redbut inside herself. Grabbing her bath mat and yanking down the curtain, she waited until the strangers were busy in the kitchen, then made her dash for freedom.

She bundled her bits into a bag and escaped, dignity trailing behind.

Later, Emily breezed past Edward with a, Ill explain later, sidestepping rapidly.

Sailing in like a sleepwalker, she darted straight to the bathroom, swapped in her curtain and mat, then collapsed on the sofa and slept through till morning, letting the stress and the red fade.

Upon waking, Emily found herself face-to-face with Edward, expectantly awaiting an explanation.

Could you tell me whats this address again?

Brambledown Road, eighteen.Emily blinked, clutching the bath mat tighter, as if it were the only certainty left in the universe. She gazed at Edward, who stood waiting, keys dangling from his hand, eyes full of worries and affection andwas that a hint of amusement?

She burst out laughing. Not the polite giggle of an overwhelmed hostess, but a full, long, uncontrollable peal. It bounced off the new kitchen towels, across the plush curtain, up to the spiders web. Even the spider seemed to pause in stunned delight.

Edwards features softened. So, home invasion, mistaken identity, and a touch of curtain theft… all in one afternoon?

Emily nodded, still stifling laughter, eyes wet at the corners. Turns out, Im better at redecorating than navigation. Your neighbours on Beechwood think Im the NHS and Mr. Matthews might propose any minute. And your flatwell, its finally alive.

Edward slipped an arm gently around her shoulders and steered her toward the living room. The sunlight filtered through Emilys new drapes, lending warmth to the walls. In the hush that followed, something quietly shifted between them: a sense of true belonging, not just to the flat, but to each other.

So, what do we do now? Edward asked.

She looked at himthe man shed waited for, the home shed made, the laughter shed foundand smiled. We live. We laugh. Next time, I bring the wine and double-check the address.

The spider nodded approvingly. And, for the first time, Emily truly felt at home.