“Not true,” he replies. “I said you were ridiculous, but brave, too. Remember? That was nice.”
“You did,” I concede, smiling. “I’m ridiculous, brave, and Not Ugly. You really know how to sweep a woman off her feet, don’t you?”
“I wish I did,” he replies, grinning ruefully. “I might have a bit more success with them if I did.”
I look up at him in surprise. Now this I definitely don’t believe. Alex may be a grumpy, complicated mess of a man, but he’s also hot. Like,reallyhot. Hot like a microwave burrito when you’ve nuked it for slightly too long, and now it’s going to burn your mouth when you try to eat it. Hot like the underside of my laptop when I fall asleep with it on my knee and wake up feeling like my legs are on fire. He’shot, is what I’m trying to say. And, in my experience, hot guys don’t normally have issues with what Gerald would call “the ladies”. Not even ones like Alex, who would easily be able to get a part-time job guarding Azkaban, if he so desired.
I really want to delve deeper into this unexpected admission of his, but the bus has just come to a halt to let some people off atone of the hotels in Playa de las Americas, and as I glance out of the window, I spot someone on the street next to us who makes me forget all about Alexander Fox.
It’s Jamie Reynolds.
I know it’s been years since I last saw him in person, but I’d recognize him anywhere; and not just because of all the time I’ve spent poring over his Instagram, either.
His light brown hair is currently hidden under a baseball cap, but the face beneath it is instantly recognizable as the boy who once broke my heart. Hazel eyes that always look like there’s laughter behind them. A full-lipped mouth that’s used to smiling. A slight hint of stubble — which, okay, wasn’t there when we were 13, but which gives his face a bit of added edge.
It’s definitely him.
He’s walking along the street outside the hotel, with that long, loping step of his; hands in his pockets, headphones over his ears, probably listening to some obscure new band that I won’t have heard of, but who’ll soon become my all-time favorites, because his taste isthatgood.
“Jamie Reynolds!”
I didn’t realize I was going to say his name — or shriek his name, rather — out loud until everyone in our section of the bus turns to look at me in surprise.
“Are you okay, Summer, love?” comes Rita’s voice from the seat behind me. “Having a nice little daydream there, are you?”
“No… no,” I reply, standing up and grabbing my bag. “Jamie Reynolds is right there! He’s really there!”
I point in the direction of the window, but the street outside is empty but for a young woman pushing a baby in a pram, and an elderly Spanish gentleman walking a Bichon Frise.
“I think the sun must have gone to ‘er head,” I hear Rita say, but now I’m pushing my way past Alex’s knees and out into the aisle as the bus driver puts the vehicle into gear, ready to move on.
“Wait!” I call out, my voice coming out much louder than I expected. “Wait! I need to get off here.”
“Summer,” Alex says from behind me. “Do you really think this is a good idea?”
“Yes,” I throw over my shoulder as I hurry towards the bus doors. “I think it’s an excellent idea. See you all later!”
I jump out onto the hot pavement and give a cheery wave as the bus pulls away, Alex’s face just one of the many peering out at me as if I’ve lost my mind.
And who knows: maybe I have.
Jamie didn’t ever call me, after all. Not so much as a text message.
The thought makes me falter for a moment as I prepare to chase down the street after him. But then I shake my head as if to clear it, and set off determinedly in the direction I saw him walk off in.
I came here to find Jamie Reynolds, and I just have.
There’s no way I’m going to let him get away a second time.
Twelve
“Jamie! Jamie, wait!”
By the time I catch up with him I’m red-faced and panting from the effort of running — okay, jogging — in the hot sun, and his headphones are obviously drowning out my voice, so I have to reach out and grab his arm; an action I instantly regret when he spins around as if he’s being attacked, almost knocking me off my feet in the process.
Now Ireallywish I hadn’t worn a pair of platform-soled wedges today…
“Whoa, sorry,” Jamie says, his forehead creasing with confusion as he reaches out a hand to steady me. “You gave me a shock there. Can I help you with something? Do I know you?”
