**Diary Entry – September 23rd**
He’s not what you’d expect…
“Mum and Dad are coming this weekend,” Emily said, trying to sound casual as she stirred her tea. “They’re really looking forward to meeting you.”
James, mid-spread of strawberry jam on his toast, froze. He set the knife down slowly.
“Brilliant,” he replied, forcing a smile. “I’ve been… looking forward to it, too.”
But Emily knew him too well. She saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes darted away.
“Jamie, it’ll be fine. They’ll love you,” she said softly, squeezing his hand.
He chuckled, but his eyes were restless.
“Em, your parents are proper, respectable people. And then there’s me—scruffy beard, tattoos, the earring. I’m their worst nightmare.”
“To me, you’re the kindest man alive,” Emily answered firmly. “They’ll see that. You’ll see.”
The week flew by in a flurry of preparation. Emily scrubbed the flat, dusted off her parents’ favourite recipes, and fussed over every detail. James helped quietly—hanging new curtains, buying fresh flowers—but every evening, he’d slip onto the balcony for a smoke, lost in thought.
Then the day arrived. Emily adjusted the tablecloth for the tenth time while James stood by the mirror, rolling up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt, smoothing his hair.
The doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it,” he muttered, stepping into the hall.
There stood her parents—Margaret and Richard. Her mother’s eyes widened as if she’d seen a ghost. Her father frowned, his gaze flickering from James’s tattooed arms to the silver hoop in his ear.
“Hello,” James said evenly, offering his hand. “James. Lovely to finally meet you.”
After a pause, her father shook it with a stiff nod. Margaret, sensing the tension, cleared her throat.
“Well, shall we come in? Emily’s waiting, isn’t she?”
Emily appeared from the kitchen, beaming—too brightly. She hugged her parents, then took James’s hand, leading them inside.
Dinner was painfully quiet. Margaret studied James like a puzzle. Richard fired off blunt questions. What did he do? How long had they been together? Where were his family from?
When James mentioned he was a vet, her mother arched a brow.
“A vet? Wouldn’t have guessed that by looking at you.”
He shrugged. “People say that a lot. Tattoos aren’t a personality test.”
A silence fell, broken by her father.
“Why animals?”
James took a deep breath.
“When I was a kid, I found a dog hit by a car. He was nearly gone. Mum and I rushed him to the clinic. Watching that vet fight for a creature that couldn’t even beg for help… that’s when I knew.”
Richard’s expression softened. He started asking about James’s cases, even shared a story about rescuing a tabby from a drainpipe.
By the end of the night, the air had warmed. James spoke about sensing an animal’s trust, about nursing abandoned pups others had written off.
As her parents left, Margaret suddenly hugged him.
“Thank you for being honest,” she whispered. “I was… unfair.”
Richard shook his hand firmly. “Take care of our girl. She’s one of a kind.”
When the door closed, James exhaled.
“I thought your mum was about to start crossing herself and sprinkling holy water.”
Emily laughed, pressing into him. “I told you they’d love you. Because you’re the best.”
They stood there, wrapped in quiet, while a ginger kitten—the very one James had rescued years ago—dozed on the windowsill.
“Funny how life works,” he murmured. “If it weren’t for you, for this little scrap… we might never have even spoken.”
“Now we’ve got a story to tell our kids,” Emily smiled.
“And parents who didn’t disown me,” he added.
They both laughed—light, easy, knowing that happiness is being loved exactly as you are.
