I’m heading for some home comforts this weekend and I can’t wait. Kyle has built the stations where we’ll work out. While I’ve been exhausted all week, now that I’m on my way, all the tiredness I’ve felt has evaporated.

We’ve gotten into a groove on our Friday evenings. After work, Kyle prepares dinner while I drive back to join him for the weekend. The time I arrive home is variable depending on the state of the traffic, but he always manages to cook something which can be ready just as I walk through the door. It’s a simple routine, but I love it; it’s the sign of home.

Plus, much as Florian will kick me, my nutrition has gone downhill since I’ve stopped racing and it’s wonderful to have a proper home cooked meal as many times a month as I can be here.

I don’t smell anything when I walk in today though, and usually where Kyle is waiting at the door to greet me, today it’s still closed when I arrive. I push it open, “Hi, honey, I’m home.”

Kyle appears at the top of the steps in our high-ceilinged hallway. “Oh, you’re back early. I didn’t realize what time it was.”

His cheek is creased. “Were you napping?”

“Caught! I didn’t sleep too well this week. I was just trying to get a bit of shut eye before you came home.” He slinks down the stairs. “I thought we’d probably be up all night.” He winks, arriving on the bottom step and reaching to kiss me on the side of my face. His lips catch on my stubble.

“You OK?” I tilt my head, taking in his demeanor.

“Of course, why?”

“I don’t know, you just seem different.” I’m used to being eaten alive when we meet after a week apart, but today, he seems, well, distracted and much as I don’t want to be one of those men who expects his dinner to be ready as soon as he steps foot in the house, the lack of food is also a move away from what Kyle has allowed me to get used to.

“Ah, I’m just tired.” He pads off down the hall toward the kitchen. “Do you want anything particular for dinner? I thought we could have spaghetti bolognese.”

Don’t get me wrong, I’m OK with bolognese. It’s not my first choice, but also not my last. All I’m saying is it seems a little, well, ordinary for a coming home meal. Previous meals have included stuffed chicken breasts, pork chops with spicy Brussel sprouts, and beef casserole which had been simmering on the stove top for hours. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

I head to the fridge for a glass of wine while Kyle works at the stove. “Would you like one?” I hold up the bottle.

“I’ll have a beer please.”

Something has shifted and our conversations which usually flow with ease, are now stilted. It's as though we've forgotten how to understand each other.

I start up a new one, to test the water, “What have you been up to this week?”

“Ah, not much. I’ve just been working and working out. I watched the rugby, but you didn’t expect me to miss that did you?” He smiles, but it doesn’t light up his face like it normally does.

There’s no lead for me to latch on to. Kyle is giving me a shopping list of his week’s activity, minus the personality.

“Here, let me help.” I go to stand beside him, wrap my arm around his waist. He tenses, it’s only brief, but I spot it before he relaxes into my side.