I stare at Rory doing the cooking in the kitchen from the door. He’s in a grey T-shirt and black shorts. Around his neck is a green apron, and it’s tied to his back. He seems to listen to some music while he cooks because he hasn’t stopped shaking his bum and I just stare at him in fascination as his hips sway rhythmically and he nods his head and tosses the frying pan around.

“Nothing I can see but you

When you dance, dance, dance

Feeling good, good, creeping up on you

So just dance, dance, dance.”

He sings along, his voice sounding so heavenly and I know the...