Henry is a romantic. We all are in our own little ways, but Henry truly has the beating heart of a soppy Hugh Grant character locked up in his surprisingly hairy chest. His favourite film is When Harry Met Saly, for God's sakes—the OG friends to lovers, with a momentary dash of enemies for kicks and giggles. If that's not a man who burns for true love, I don't know what is.

Henry's also ridiculously risk-averse. Mix that with his secret love of love, and you get a monster with a string of broken hearts flying in his wake, his own front and centre in the pathetic lineup.

But mystery girl is his chance. His chance at redemption, at romance, at a rom-com ending. And if his fussing is anything to go by, he knows it too.

He strides into my room, trouserless, and slams two pairs of shorts onto my bed. They're both blue, unfaded, with glinting silver buttons and thick upturned hems. He holds the first pair to his body. "What do you think?" he asks. "Too short?"

"I don't know, ask Paula." She's the resident fashionista around here.

"She'll tell me they both look fine."

"Maybe because they do."

"Yes, but this one is a little shorter than this one." He gestures vaguely at the identical shorts, his lips pursed as he stares at me.

"Fine, then go with the longer ones."

"And this shirt?" he asks, fingering the navy Hawaiian print material.

"Yes, and that shirt."

"You sure?"

"I'm not going to let you leave looking like shit," I mutter as I rifle through my makeup bag.

"And you're sure you still want to come?" he asks.

"Yes, Henry, I'm sure."

"I'm serious, Lizzie. I don't need you deciding this isn't your kind of thing at the last minute."

"I'll be on my best behaviour."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

He rushes over, pinkie finger stuck in the air. It captures mine before I can spring away. My bones whine under the pressure, then he steps back and sets me free.

"There." I huff as I cradle my throbbing finger in my left hand. "Are you happy now?"

"Immensely." He wriggles into his shorts before shoving me aside to hog the mirror. "What do you think?" he asks, leaning into his reflection, a slight frown toying on the corners of his mouth. "Do I look ridiculous?"

"You look fine."

"Fine?" He twirls around, his knuckles already in his mouth.

"Perfect," I say, my eyebrows twitching.

"You sure?"

"Of course. If she doesn't fall in love straight away, she's a massive idiot."

"Essie," he whispers. "Her name is Essie."

"Pretty."

"I know." He collapses onto my unmade bed, sighing as he falls like a fragile damsel. Honestly, he's two seconds away from placing a hand to his head and swooning like a straight-laced Austen character. It's ridiculous. "She's perfect," he says. "Too perfect for me."

"Nobody's perfect."

"You haven't seen her, Lizzie. She's like no one I've ever met before."

"I highly doubt that."

"I'm serious. She likes Rex Orange County and Cardi B and that café on Milton Street with the artisanal lemonade."

"Artisinal lemonade is a con," I mutter, brushing a light dusting of powder over my face. "And liking Rex Orange County and Cardi B doesn't make her a superhero. She's not going to be your Manic Pixie Dream Girl, Henry. She's an actual person. And you're not some sad, immature guy floating through a sepia-tinged world. You can't just put her on a pedestal like an ornamental vase. She will fall."

"You said that whole Manic Pixie Dream Girl trope was misogynistic." He hurtles upright, his eyebrows furrowed as he glares at me.

"It is," I say as I reach for my mascara.

"But—"

"I'm not saying she is a Manic Pixie Dream Girl. No one is. I'm just saying you shouldn't imagine she is one. She's not there to be quirky and cute and perfect. She has flaws. She's complex."

"Flaws?"

"Like you and me, Henry. Like you and me."

"Who has flaws?" Paula asks as she slips into my room.

"Essie," I say, winking slyly.

"Essie?"

"Henry's mystery girl."

"Oh." Paula glances at him. The corners of her eyes soften as she wraps her arms around his frail frame. "It's alright," she says, the soothing notes of her voice amplified. "People would be boring without flaws."

"He's not a child," I mutter as I apply lipgloss. "He's just pissed because I warned him not to put her on a pedestal."

"Oh." Her arms drop. "Lizzie has a point."

"Not you too," he wails.

"Get a grip, Henry," I say, grabbing his upper arms. His muscles tense, and he frowns. "She's not perfect, neither are you. If you're going to let this ruin your fledgling romance, then get ready to be alone for the rest of your life."

"That's way harsh, Lizzie," he grumbles, ripping his arms out of my grasp.

"It's also way true. Now, are you finished moping? I'd really like to get going sometime today."

Thankfully, the bell rings. I march past my siblings, strut down the hall and throw the front door open. Isaac's waiting on the other side, his hand poised, ready to knock.

"What have you done?" he asks, his hand dropping limply to his side.

"Why do you think I've done something?"

"I know you, Lizzie."

I narrow my eyes, he narrows his. It quickly becomes a contest, the two of us fighting through the acute stinging of our corneas, quivering lashes and muscle spasms. Then Paula and Henry emerge from my room, and we break contact.

Henry smiles, barely. He wraps an arm around Isaac's broad shoulders and steers him towards the end of the drive, leaving Paula and I to trail behind.

"You were a little harsh," Paula says once we near the beach.

"I'd like to think I was honest."

"Yes, but you could've done with a touch of tact. You know he's sensitive deep down."

"I was saving him from heartbreak."

"Just apologise," she says, wrapping an arm around me. "Otherwise, he'll mess this up and blame you."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Lizzie." There's a dark edge to her voice. It infects my conscious, slinking around until I swallow it whole and relent.

"Fine," I mutter. "But I stand by everything I said."

"Of course you do." She pats my cheek condescendingly before yanking at my arm. We hurtle towards Henry and Isaac. They falter, breaking apart to accommodate us. Paula practically shoves me into Henry, leaving me with little choice but to thread my arm through his and tug him ahead.

"What do you want?" he asks, huffing like a big bad wolf. "I'm nervous enough as is without you and your negativity."

The fighter in me pounces, growling deeply as it prowls around the fringes of my mind. I manage to herd it back into its cage, locking the gate behind me and throwing away the key before it breaks loose again and wreaks havoc on my apology.

With the beast tamed, I clear my throat, swallowing the last of the insults, and fix a smile onto my face. My cheeks ache, my lips falter, but I manage to hold up through the ramshackle apology.

"Thank you," Henry smiles. It's easy, lazy even, curling lopsidedly at the corners as he wriggles his arm out of my grasp and throws it around my shoulders.

"I wasn't trying to upset you," I say, staring up at him. "I just didn't want you to get hurt because you weren't seeing her clearly." I knew all too well the dangers of pedestals.

"I know, Lizzie," he says.

"So you're not mad at me anymore?" I ask.

"Of course not. Are you mad at me?"

I pinch my thumb and forefinger together teasingly before shaking my head. "As long as you know she's a fully-formed human with opinions and feelings and flaws, then no, of course I'm not mad at you."

"So we're friends again?" he asks.

"Best friends."

Henry takes the lead once we reach the beach, leaving me to fall back with the others. He marches us towards a row of overfilled bars, slowing once we reach one that spills out onto the beach itself.

A large, sprawling group are spread around a semi-circle of multicoloured beanbags. It's easy to spot Essie. She's lying on a pale pink beanbag beside a familiar looking blonde. Her skin glows under the soft amber lights emanating from the lanterns above. She struggles to her feet, tucking a stray strand of perfectly curled hair behind her ear, and rushes forward. Her arm snakes around Henry's waist. He pulls her in close, his lips brushing against her ear, and smiles subduedly while she beams at us.

"Essie, is it?" Paula asks, offering her a hand.

She laughs, the sound shooting into the stratosphere, and detangles herself from Henry. No more than a second later, she's wrapped her arms around Paula. "It's so lovely to meet you," she says, stepping back. "I've heard so much."

"Likewise."

"And you," she says, capturing me in her vice-like grip. "You must be Lizzie."

"The one and only."

She smells like a tropical dream. The scent clings to her hair, dancing down the glistening strands. "Is that the Fusion mousse?" I ask, inhaling once more before we break apart.

"You use Fusion products?" she asks, her eyes widening.

"I swear by them. The curl enhancer is my go-to."

"Me too! But I just don't have the heart to do my hair on holiday. It's so much easier to stick a wig on and call it a day."

"You definitely didn't just stick that on," I laugh, glancing at her impeccable hairline. The lace is invisible, the baby hairs slick, the parting plucked to perfection.

She opens her mouth, another gushing comment spilling out, but there's a cough behind her that slices it in half. Turning, her bright smile seeming to grow, she gestures to her friend. "You must remember Micha," she says as he scrambles to his feet. "You met the other night, at the club."

"We were pretty drunk," he laughs, rubbing at his thick neck. "I won't blame you if you don't remember."

It suddenly comes back to me. The stubble, piercing blue eyes, those hands. How could I forget?

"Clearly, I wasn't drunk enough," I say as he pulls me into a bear-hug, the two of us rocking back and forth until I wriggle free.

"I didn't think I'd see you again," he admits, taking a step closer. "You disappeared before I could ask for your number."

"I had way too much to drink."

"I'll say." Another blonde joins the fray. Her freshly manicured hand trails up Isaac's bicep, the pale pink nails digging into the crease behind his elbow. "Isaac was just desperate to find you," she says, laughing. Or was it a cackle?

"Lizzie, Paula, this is Elle." The corners of Isaac's mouth are tight, pursed even.

I want to laugh, truly I do, but I stifle it behind a polite hello and an awkward three-second hug. No, it was more of a touch. A brush, even.

"Well, let's not just stand here," she says, wrapping her arm around Isaac's waist. "Drinks on me?"

"I never say no to a free drink," Paula grins. "Lizzie, you coming?"

"Unfortunately, I do say no. I don't think I can handle another hangover for a month at least."

"Bit of a lightweight?" Elle asks.

"More than you'll ever know."

"Well, I guess I won't be drinking either then." Isaac escapes Elle's grasp and bounds towards me.

"Why not?" I ask.

"There's nothing worse than being the only one not drinking," he says.

"Well, then I guess it's just us three." Paula glances at Elle and Micha. Elle flounces off, leaving Micha to smile sheepishly and Paula to hurry behind. She shoves her way through the crowd, a scorching path left in her wake, and waves down a bartender instantly. The crowd quickly reforms, swallowing them entirely.

"I'm sorry about that," Essie says as she places a clammy hand on my exposed shoulder. "She's not usually so blunt."

"That was blunt?" I laugh.

Essie pulls back and wraps her long fingers around her neck. "It was awkward, I know, but she's not like this, I promise."

"Yeah," Henry says, "she's usually a lot nicer." There's a hard edge to his words. It slices through my resentment, leaving it in tatters.

"It's fine," I say, glaring at him. "These things just take time, I guess."

Henry takes this as a cue of some sort. He threads his fingers through Essie's and tugs her away, leaving Isaac and me to collapse on two dusty green beanbags. I kick off my flip-flops, burying my feet in the sand as a loud sigh jumps out of my mouth. The sand's colder than in the day, like a disintegrated ice block. Only where there should be a pool of water, there are heavy chestnut grains that glistens under the weak light of the lanterns.

"What happened between you two?" I ask, glancing over my shoulder at the swelling crowd.

Isaac refuses to meet my gaze when I return it to him. Honestly, his eyes hover on everything but me.

"Come on," I coo, leaning forward, my knee bumping against his. "You can tell me. You might have to. I have a feeling she hates me because of you."

"Don't be dramatic," he says, finally fixing his eyes on me. They soften around the edges, and for a moment, he looks like his mother. Kind, caring, perfect.

"I barely know her, and she's out for blood, Isaac. What did you do?"

"It's more about what I didn't do."

I quirk an eyebrow, cocking my head to the side, but the others return before I can ask.

Micha leads the charge, a broad smile brightening his features while Elle and Paula cackle behind him. He collapses beside me, dropping an icy bottle of water in my lap. Isaac snorts, struggles to his feet and disappears just as Elle joins us. Her thin lips pull down into a prominent frown as she watches Isaac disappear.

For a second, a very brief second, I feel for her. Then she glares at me, and I roll my eyes, focusing all my attention on Micha. That's where it should be anyway. Micha is easy, unproblematic. Micha is safe.

~*~

I'm not sure how it happened or how I ended up here, but I know that Isaac saved me. Not only from Elle and her icy stare but Micha and his persisting smile. It's a sweet smile, enchanting to the extreme, like Prince Charming in the first act, but it's also suffocating. It weighs me down, clawing at my defences until they give way. Only Isaac doesn't let them.

He offers me a hand, hauling me up from the busted green beanbag, and doesn't let go until the amber lights are mere blips in the distance.

"Isaac Harris, what are you doing?" I ask as he collapses onto the sand.

"Saving you," he says.

"Who said I need saving?"

"Your face," he laughs. It bounces high, skipping over the gentle waves until it reaches the moon.

"My face?" I sit beside him, carefully crossing my legs.

"You had your diplomatic smile on," he says.

"I have a diplomatic smile?"

"Oh yeah. It's very pinched."

"Pinched?"

"Like you've eaten a lemon." A slow, teasing smile appears. It's accompanied by a cheesy wink.

"You're an arsehole," I mutter, shoving his shoulder. "An absolute arsehole."

"You love it, really."

"Do I?" I ask as I fall back into the sand.

"Oh yeah." He falls too. "But the real question is why aren't you loving Micha?"

"He reminds me of Spencer."

As sweet as he is, and Micha is sweet, he has a dangerous edge. It's cold, dark, bitter. It's the very part of Spencer I ignored. The very part that left me broken, shaking, wailing in a dark corner, crouched in a pool of tears. I can't ignore it in Micha too. Can't pretend he isn't too slick for his own good. I won't, for my own sanity. I deserve better.

Don't I?

I turn onto my side. Isaac remains on his back. He has a very regal side profile, with an angular jaw and pouted lips that crack along the centre. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip before tugging it into his mouth. His teeth glisten under the bright moonlight, holding my attention until he rolls onto his side too.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks, inching forward. His fingers creep across the sand. They brush across my cheek, pushing a stray coil behind my ear before returning to his chest.

"Nothing," I say.

"I know you, Lizzie."

"Fine."

"Fine?" His eyebrows raise.

It's a challenge.

A challenge to tell the truth or sell a lie.

I could choose the latter, could leave him wondering, questioning my sincerity. But as the words form, something in me pushes them aside, the truth rushing out before I can swallow it down.

"You," I whisper.

"Me?" A slow, steady smile creeps onto his face.

"Yes, Isaac, you."

He inches forward again. I do too. I feel my cheeks warm, the skin burning as he reaches for the inflicted area. His rough fingertips brush across my skin, a small smile skirting across my lips as his palms settle against my jaw. Then he licks his lips, wriggling closer still.

"I—"

"I know." He smiles, faint laugh lines disrupting his smooth skin. "I know."

He leans his forehead against mine, the salt-tinged air whipping around us as we move closer. I close my eyes, waiting, ready. But the moment never comes.

We spring apart as gold glitter erupts above us, brightening the silken sky with a fantastical bang. The droplets arch all around us, its reflection mirrored in the uncertain sea before the gold melts into hot pink and the pink into electric blue and then jaded green.

We're silent, even when the display ends and the puffs of grey smoke clear.

We're silent when we struggle to our feet, dusting the sand off the backs of our thighs and out of our hair.

We're silent as we return to civilisation, the inky darkness of the beach disappearing with the appearance of weak lanterns and lopsided beanbags.

We're silent the entire way home, our hands brushing against one another, secret smiles shared as Paula gushes about Elle and Henry about Essie.

We're silent as we say goodbye, a slight wave accompanied by a half-smile before we disappear into our respective houses.

I'm silent as I strip down into my underwear and climb under my duvet.

I'm silent as I squeeze my eyes shut, a small smile playing on the corners of my lips.

But I'm not silent when I squeal.

Not silent when I whisper a subdued oh my God.

Not silent when I realise that I, Lizzie, almost kissed him, Isaac.

Or was it the other way round?

Did he, Isaac, almost kiss me, Lizzie?

Oh what does it matter?

The bigger question is what does it mean.

***

Here is the second half.

I had crazy writer's block trying to finish this. But here it is, a little longer than I was expecting.

What do you think the almost kiss means?

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

xxx