And I haven’t even picked up that broken glass from earlier.
I stoop down, sweeping the pieces into my hand, and when I straighten up again, he’s opening the sliding door to his room.
“Promise me one thing,” he says, stopping in the doorway.
“What?”
“Promise me you’ll stop trying to be more like your friend Chloe. Because you don’t need to. You’re perfect the way you are.”
The door slides closed behind him, leaving me alone with my thoughts — most of which revolve around that mindfuck of a last sentence of his, which has casually just turned everything I thought I knew on its head — and a pile of broken glass.
Once I’m finished cleaning it up, I go back to the balcony and look out again at the sky. I stand there for what feels like a long time, but I still don’t see any shooting stars.
Nineteen
When I go down to breakfast the next morning I find that Chloe’s been seated at a large table beside Rita and Gerald, who looks like he can’t believe his luck.
“Look at us, all the singletons together,” says Rita, when I stop to say good morning. “Gerald’s just been telling us all about how he went out clubbing with you young ‘uns last night. You should have said, Summer. I’d have come along too.”
“Oh, it were too wild a night for you, Rita,” says Gerald, speaking as though he partied all night, rather than leaving at 9:30 p.m. on the dot, after I’d had to nudge him awake twice. “You’d never have been able to keep up. And anyway, I was there to look after ‘er on behalf of the Crone Crew. She was in safe hands.”
Rita looks like she’s about to dispute this, but thankfully thinks better of it.
“I can’t believe they’ve put me with the old folks,” Chloe hisses, getting up and following me to my table on the patio. “They said thereweren’t any other seats left. Can you believe it? Can’t I just sit with you, Summer? Oh. Hello there, handsome!”
The sulky look leaves her face instantly as she catches sight of Alex, who’s here before me, as usual.
“I forgot you were sharing a table withhim,” she says to me in a stage whisper. “You lucky thing, Summer.”
“I’m not—” I start to say, but Chloe’s already at the table, where she takes the seat that should be mine, leaving me standing there stupidly next to her like an olden days lady’s maid, waiting on her ladyship’s instruction.
“Youdon’t mind if I join you, do you?” she purrs at Alex. “Stop hovering over us, Summer,” she snaps, turning to me. “Go and find yourself a seat and bring it over.”
I can’t see any option other than to do what she says, but then Alex clears his throat ominously.
“She already has a seat,” he says in a ‘don’t mess with her’ tone that’s oddly thrilling, especially in the context of his drunken flirtation of last night, which I still can’t stop thinking about. “You’re sitting in it.”
Chloe stares at him, startled. “Alright,” she says huffily, getting to her feet. “Keep your hair on. I’ll be back in a mo’.”
She turns and crosses the terrace to her original table, where she makes a beeline for her empty seat and starts dragging it noisily towards us. From the dramatic way she’s doing it, you’d think she’d been sent to work down the mine, rather than just move a lightweight seat from one spot to another.
“Thanks,” I tell Alex, sitting down. “For sticking up for me.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he replies. “I know you’re more than capable of doing it yourself, but I didn’t want you to start throwing plates again.”
I smile at him shyly as I reach for the coffee pot. I still feel weird around him after last night. It’s strange to be activelynot hating himany more. I’d gotten used to our constant sparring contests, and now that we appear to have called a ceasefire, I’m not totally sure how to act around him.
“Anyway,” he says briskly, “We can’t stay here too long, anyway. The quad biking thing starts at ten. I checked.”
“What’s that?” says Chloe, rejoining us. “Quad biking? You’re not going quad biking, are you?”
She pulls her seat up to the table, which is much too small for the three of us: not that she seems to notice.
“We are,” I tell her, hoping she’s not going to try to muscle in on that, too, but knowing she will.
“Oh, brilliant,” she says, proving me correct. “I’ve always fancied trying that. Ooh, I know! Let’s ask Jamie if he wants to come, too!”
“Er, no, let’s not,” I say hurriedly, as she takes her phone out of her back and pulls up the message app. “I think he said he was working this morning. He probably won’t be able to make it.”
