I nod.
My skin tingles as he guides me onto his lap. We stare at each other and then our mouths come together, our lips joining for the first time in a year.
It is the sweetest kiss, slow and searching, and it causes shivers to rush down my spine.
I rock against him and feel him harden beneath me. His hands drop from my waist to my hips and he pulls me closer, gasping into my mouth.
‘Upstairs,’ I whisper.
I have no idea how we manage to keep quiet.
‘I still don’t think we should be in touch,’ I say in the cool grey hours of the early morning.
Finn rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling, two frown lines etched between his brows.
‘It’s too hard,’ I say, sounding slightly desperate. ‘I don’t want to be waiting around for your calls or messages, it will only prolong the pain. I’d rather know for certain that I’m not going to hear from you – a quick ripping-off of the plaster.’
He pauses and then nods, turning his head to meet my eyes. ‘If that’s what you want.’
‘It is.’ It’s not. But it’s for the best. ‘And I think you need to know that I’m not going to wait for you on the off chance that you’ll come back.’
‘Iwillcome back, Liv, but, as before, I don’t expect you to wait for me.’
‘I don’t expect you to wait for me either.’
He doesn’t answer, but his gaze is cool, assessing, wondering if I mean what I’m saying.
It would be unrealistic to think that he’ll turn down all the girls who will be throwing themselves in his path once his band starts taking off – and I have no doubt that it will.
‘But … if I’m single and you’re single …’ I say, letting my voice trail off.
He smiles at my attempt at flippancy and leans in, catching my mouth in a kiss. ‘I’ll see you next summer.’
THIS SUMMER
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
‘Tarek is ill,’ Amy calls to tell me.
‘What’s wrong?’ I ask with concern.
‘He’s got stomach flu.’
‘Poor guy.’
‘He can’t make the pub quiz. I wondered if Luke or Libby might be up for it?’
‘I doubt it. They see enough of me, working at Seaglass.’ I pause before saying, hesitantly, ‘I could ask Tom.’
‘Who’s Tom?’ she asks and I can perfectly picture her baffled expression.
‘The guy who’s staying downstairs.’
‘The grumpy git?’ she asks with alarm.
‘He’s actually really nice.’
‘Since when?’ she squawks, her pitch climbing up several notes.
