The thought hits me like a piano falling from a building in an old cartoon. I try to shrug it off, because it would be blatantly ridiculous to feel sad at the thought of not seeing someone I’ve known for less than a week — andlikedfor only a fraction of that time — but all the same, there it is. Sadness. Following me down the little side streets near the resort, past the perfume stores and supermercados, around the edges of the tapas restaurants and hotel pools, and all the way back to the ocean, which is lying in wait for us, silver-tinged in the twilight.
I came here to find the boy next door, but it turns out the guy in the hotel room next door is a whole lot more interesting.
Trust me to only figure that out when it’s too late.
Alex offers me his hand to help me down onto the beach, where I slip out of my sandals before following him across the cool sand in the direction of the hotel. It’s just a short distance back to the steps leading up from the beach to the terrace, but Alex pauses at the water’s edge,and we stand together for a moment, watching the waves crash against the shore. The wind is still blowing in from the sea, making my hair float in snarled tangles around my head, and my eyes sting as the breeze throws grains of sand into my face. There are goose pimples on my arms, my hands still feel uncomfortably sticky from all the ice cream that trickled onto them, and my right foot is throbbing from the sharp edge of a shell I stepped on a few seconds ago.
All things considered, it’s pretty uncomfortable, really.
Kind of shit, in fact.
But then I look at Alex, who’s staring up at the darkening sky as if it’s something magical, and I think of Rita and Fred, sharing their bag of greasy chips in Skegness, and how, pretty soon, I’m going to be back in my little flat in Margate, driving to work on another gray morning on which all the color seems to have been bleached out of the world.
On second thoughts, maybe this imperfect moment isn’t so bad after all.
As if to underline this thought, Alex turns and favors me with one of his rare smiles. I grin back at him stupidly, and then —
“Ouch!”
The wind whips another fistful of sand into my face, and I close my eyes against the sting of it.
I am not appreciating Mother Nature’s attempt at exfoliation, thanks.
“That’s quite a look you’ve got going on there,” Alex says, peering down at me. “I’m not sure what you’ve got more of on your face: sand or ice cream. You look like a sugar-coated iced cookie.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, scrubbing at my cheek with my hand. “It’s a shame I don’t taste like one.”
I blush, seeing the look that crosses his face at this. It’s a look that suggests he wouldn’t mind putting that theory to the test, and suddenly my mouth is as dry as my face is.
“How have you managed to avoid getting covered in this… thisstuff?” I ask, just for something to say. “It’s like you’re not even human.”
“Oh, I’m definitely human,” he assures me. “Here, let me.” He takes a step towards me, then leans down and cups my face in his hands.
I’m so surprised I freeze on the spot, my heart thumping loudly in time to the music trickling down from the hotel bar, just above us.
“Relax, Summer,” Alex murmurs, his fingers tenderly brushing my cheeks. “I’m just helping you get the sand off your face. I’m not going to bite you.”
Maybe not, but this feels dangerously intimate all of a sudden, and there’s no way I’m going to be able to relax with him standing this close to me. And touching me. And sending shivers down my spine that have absolutely nothing to do with the breeze that’s still blowing.
My heart is no longer keeping time to the music. In fact, it’s playing a completely different tune now; one that gets faster and faster until I close my eyes in a bid to slow it down by shutting out Alex’s face.
It doesn’t work.
With my eyes closed, every sensation is intensified; his hands on my face move slowly and deliberately, and, look, surely to God there can’t bethatmuch sand on me?
“Are you done?” I ask in a croak that doesn’t sound remotely like the cool girl I’m pretending to be. “Did you get all the sand off? And the ice cream?”
“Oh. Yeah,” says Alex, sounding oddly hoarse. “I did that ages ago. I’m just … I’m justlookingat you now.”
My eyelids fly open.
“You’re…lookingat me?”
“Sorry,” Alex says sheepishly, releasing me. “That sounded creepy, didn’t it? I didn’t mean it to. It’s just… you’re so incredibly beautiful, Summer. It’s very hard not to want to look at you when I get the chance.”
My eyes narrow with suspicion as I look up at him. He doesn’t sound like he’s messing with me, but… hehasto be, right?
“Sorry,” he says again, looking adorably awkward. “I probably shouldn’t have said that. I’m very out of practice with this kind of thing.”
