He kissed me. He actually kissed me.

Or did I kiss him?

No, he definitely kissed me.

It was a good kiss too. Nothing like I imagined it would be. Not that I ever imagined kissing him, but then I couldn't help but expect it to be wrong, awkward, nasty even.

If he was a bad kisser, it would make everything ten times easier. But, as luck would have it, he's a fantastic kisser, with soft, mouldable lips and sure hands. If there was a kissing olympics, he'd totally take gold, leaving everyone else to scramble for a place on the podium.

Thankfully, the Olympics are reserved for real sports like long jump and hundred-meter sprints.

There's a knock at the door. Dad pops his head in and smiles softly as I roll off the edge of the bed and jump to my feet. "Ready?" he asks.

I nod. He ventures further into the room and grabs my suitcase before returning to the hallway and disappearing towards the front door. I follow his lead and sling my backpack over my shoulder. But, as I'm about to cross the threshold and leave the villa behind, my phone rings.

It's Spencer.

Not pretend Jess or even Matt, but Spencer. Clear, unmistakable, truthful Spencer. All the things I wished he was. All the things he promised he could be.

Sighing, I hurry towards the kitchen and crouch behind a counter. I toy with my phone for a second, staring at his name, and then answer.

"Lizzie?" His voice is crystal clear, pleading, pained.

I lick my lips. "Yes?"

"I didn't think you'd answer."

"I don't think I'm supposed to."

He swallows. "I know, I know, but thanks for doing it anyway."

"What do you want?" I sigh, pressing my body against the cold wood of the cupboards.

"Jess said you're coming home today." His voice trails off uncertainly. "Is it...is it true?"

"I'm not sure you get to ask questions."

"Please," he begs. The ice casing that's formed around my heart cracks under the pressure of his words. "Just, please."

"I am."

"You are?"

"I am."

"Okay." He stalls, his breathing quick and shallow. "I want to see you," he says. "I have to see you."

"You do?"

"Yes. I'll, I'll come at eight, to the front door and everything. I'll do it right. I have to do it right."

"No," I hiss, memories of the yacht trip sullying the air. "Come through the side gate. I'll leave it open."

"Why?"

"Henry will be home." With uni over for the summer, he's bound to spend the next few months skulking around, nosying his way into my business and being a general nuisance.

"I can handle him," Spencer says with a mountain of unearned confidence.

"Well, I can't, so come through the side gate or don't come at all...I don't care either way." Except that's a lie, and from the sigh he allows to flitter down the line, I know he knows it too.

"Fine," he says, his smile infecting his voice. "I'll see you in the summer house at eight."

"See you then."

He hangs up just as my legs give way. I collapse onto the freezing tiles in a sprawling heap and settle down, pressing my cheek to the floor until the ringing in my ears disappears and my whole body isn't pulsating anymore. Then I hear my name, Isaac's voice unmistakable, and I scramble to my feet.

"What are you doing?" he asks as my head pops up, his smile mildly amused, his eyes more than confused.

"I dropped my water bottle," I say as I rush to his side.

"Your water bottle."

"That's what I said."

"Alright...so your Mum said you have to come in our car."

"I have to?" I ask, resisting the urge to roll my eyes.

"To stretch out your legs."

"How convenient."

"It is for me." He wraps an arm around my waist and draws me close. His lips brush against mine before moving to my cheek and then my neck. "It definitely is for me."

"Let's get going," I laugh, pushing aside the niggling feeling that settles in my stomach. "I don't want to hold everyone up."

"You're right," he sighs, threading his fingers through mine. "Let's go."

I should tell him. About the call, I mean. I know I should, and not in the vague way you weigh up two equally grey options, but in the precise way where everything is monochromatic. But why blow up something good?

I don't know what's happening between us, but on the flip side, I don't know if anything will happen with Spencer.

Why ruin this one good thing for a maybe? A maybe I'm not so sure I want anymore.

~*~

Henry's a mess. A catastrophic mess. Paula blames his hangover, but I know better. Hungover Henry is rarely so remorseful. If anything, he's usually pretty quiet and exhausted. He normally guzzles water by the gallon and eats everything in sight. But he's barely touched the bottle sitting by his feet, and he's been picking at the same almond croissant since we settled down in the departures lounge.

"What's up?" I ask, nudging him across the metal seat rest.

"I fucked it with Essie."

"How do you know that?"

"Because we were talking about what this was, about what would happen once we got to London, and I don't know, I just couldn't make any promises. It was like my brain froze, and I suddenly couldn't speak English anymore."

"You were nervous," I laugh. "Call her when we get home, ask her on a date, make things right."

"What if she doesn't want it? What if my time has passed?"

"You'll never know if you don't ask."

He smiles and reaches for his bottle of water. "When did you get so wise?" he asks, gulping down half the bottle.

"Trust me, I'm not wise at all."

"Don't be so hard on yourself," he says as the now empty bottle clatters into his lap. "I mean, you made the right decision in regards to that whole Isaac, Spencer fiasco."

"I did?"

"Of course. Isaac is a good guy, regardless of everything you two have said to one another in the past."

"And Spencer?"

He smiles ruefully and rubs the back of his neck. "Spencer's a selfish arsehole, and that'll never change. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go and drink my weight in coffee. You want anything?"

"No, but thanks."

"Anytime."

Henry disappears. Paula jumps up and follows, leaving Isaac to sidle over and plop into Henry's vacant seat. His hand seeks out mine, and his warm fingers cling to my cold ones.

"Are you happy to be going home?" he asks as he fiddles with my pinkie finger.

"Are you?"

"It depends."

"On?"

"You."

My heart stops. Seriously, the bustle of the airport fades for a second, and all I can see is searing white light that pulses attractively. But, just as I reach for it, my pulse shatters through my body, and I'm staring at rows upon rows of uncomfortable metal chairs again.

Isaac's hand is still on mine. He's stopped toying with my fingers and has begun tracing the faint scars on my palm.

"What do you mean me?" I ask, sliding my hand away from his.

He frowns. "I just mean that I wouldn't really want to go home if it means that this is suddenly over."

"That's a lot of pressure," I mutter as I glare at my fingers.

"It's not meant to be pressure."

"What is it meant to be then?"

"Honesty."

"Okay." I turn to him and lick my lips, watching as his eyes drop to them before returning to my own. "What do you honestly want then?"

"For us to give this a go, like a real go, without anyone else getting involved."

"And by anyone else, you mean?"

"Spencer, Elle, even Lily, for God's sakes."

I think I make a face. I can't be too certain, not when my heart is thumping so damn hard, but he winces just as I feel my lips quirk downwards.

"I've done the whole fifty per cent thing with Lily," he explains. "I can't have fifty per cent from you too."

"So you want a hundred per cent?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

His eyes crinkle in the corner. "Does that mean yes?" he asks.

I swallow as I shake my head and watch as his eyes straighten out and his lips pull into a prim line. "It means okay," I say, my voice wobbling slightly. "Not no, not yes, just okay."

"So you're still figuring things out," he mutters, "with Spencer?"

"I don't know. But I can't tell you yes until I'm sure. It wouldn't be fair to either of us."

"So what do you want?" he asks.

"For some time."

He scoffs and shakes his head. "I know what I want," he says. "But I don't think time is going to tell you what you want."

Before I have a chance to protest, to say anything, he gets up and leaves, wandering in the same direction as Henry and Paula. I catch Mum's eye. She shakes her head and sighs before mouthing something. I quirk an eyebrow, but she only laughs before getting up and joining me.

"That looked tough," she says as I lean my head against her shoulder and allow my eyes to flutter shut.

"You have no idea."

"Why do you have to complicate things so, Lizzie?" she asks, her fingertips tracing along my jaw.

"Because I'm a complicated person."

"Do you want to know what I think?" she asks.

I'm half tempted to say no, but she's being kind, so I shrug and wait for her pearl drop of wisdom.

"I think you complicate everything because you don't know if you deserve happiness."

"I'm not exactly the nicest of people," I remind her. "Not soft and pliable like Paula."

"I'm glad your not. You're you, and no matter how stubborn you are, you deserve happiness. Everyone does."

"What if Spencer is my idea of happiness?"

"Then I hope you're happy. But, between you and me, I'm not too sure he is."

"And Isaac?"

"That's for you to decide."

~*~

The flight is quick, too quick, and by the time I'm missing the villa's overgrown trees and the clear skies, with their sliver starlights and vivid sunsets, we've hurtled through arrivals and baggage claim. We all pile onto the first available bus back to the car park, and I squeeze my fingers into fists as I think about the awaiting chaos.

Isaac's avoiding me. Not that I blame him, I'd avoid me too. So while he and Henry sit up front, heads bent together, I respect his space and drag Paula towards the back. We collapse onto the last free seats. I turn to the window.

"Is reality setting in?" Paula asks, the slightest hint of a smile skipping across her features.

"Unfortunately."

"What does it look like?"

"A Monet. You?"

"A Picasso."

"That bad?" I ask.

"You have no idea."

We're silent the rest of the journey, the two of us using one another as pillows until the bus crawls to a stop and Paula has to go. "Call me later?" she asks.

I nod and watch as Dad helps her off the bus. She disappears within the rows of cars, and I wait patiently until it's our stop. Unfortunately, our stop also happens to be the Harris'.

Isaac refuses to meet my stare and instead shuffles from foot to foot behind his parents. I know I should look away, pretend to find the glittering metal pole beside the abandoned stop interesting, or the tiny wheels of my suitcase, but as Mrs Harris holds me close, I can't help but look at him. Then she lets me go, and I throw myself at her son.

He stiffens at first, his back ramrod straight, his arms hanging lifelessly by his side, and then, slowly, he hugs me back. I inhale his fresh scent and burrow my head into his neck.

"Sorry," I whisper, my lips brushing against his skin. "I'm so, so sorry."

"I know."

Dad coughs, and I let him go. He's smiling; at least he's half-smiling. I smile too before turning away and following my parents towards our car. Henry throws an arm around my shoulder and hugs me close.

"I told you, you were wise," he says.

Except I don't think I am. In fact, hugging Isaac might have been the most foolish thing I've ever done. 

***

Lizzie's in for a world of trouble, I can tell you that much.

Why do you think she asked for time?

I hope you enjoyed the chapter. If you did, please remember to share, comment and vote.

xxx