|Ben Cohen who is definitely not gay but is gay friendly|
The oil lamps in the cottage were lit. The soft light spilled out of the uncurtained windows onto the decking. The moon was reflected in silver ripples across the lagoon, and the air was warm and utterly still. Tom closed the door of the car, quietly. He knew that Adam had to be aware of his arrival. The stillness of the country night, the darkness of the forest, the loneliness of the cottage meant that it would have been hard to miss.
His relief that Adam was there and alive made him light-headed.
He had marshalled arguments and words, but when he opened the door and saw Adam sitting in the tatty comfy sofa, an open bottle next to him, the single glass black with wine, he found that none of them would do.