The moment Mum got her hands on me, any potential plans Isaac might have had for our evening were cancelled. She hurried Henry, Essie and Elle out of the door, dismissed Isaac with a thankful smile, and somehow managed to glue me to my bed. While they all disappeared to the beach, their laughter taunting and welcome, Mum forced me to spend the rest of the evening watching her pack like the invalid I am as Paula offloaded her relationships woes onto us.

She's been in the same on-again-off-again relationship since her twentieth birthday. It would be exhausting if not for the fact that Raheem is her perfect piece.

Yes, you heard correctly. Her perfect piece.

They're both hyper-focused, highly involved individuals who want the best for themselves and anyone who manages to enter their dizzying orbit, including one another.

It's usually a match made in heaven, but the moment work gets in the way, they're off again, and Paula is left weighing up her options.

Take now, for example. Raheem was supposed to be on this trip too. I was excited for him, for them. But after a month of missing one another, things teetered off again. Paula seemed to be taking it well, although she seems to take everything well. Except now that she's spinning out, and I've been forced to act as a witness, let's just say that I think we're about to enter another on period.

I love on periods.

"I don't see why everything has to be so complicated," Mum sighs as she folds a pair of shorts. "You love one another. You're good together. That was all it took for your father and me to know things were serious."

"I don't think she wants to hear about you and Dad right now," I mutter as I shuffle to the edge of the bed.

"A." Mum jumps up, rushes over and gently pushes me onto my back before rearranging my feet so they're resting on her poorly constructed pillow tower. "You need to keep your legs elevated. And B, I'm just trying to help."

"It is helpful," Paula says, smiling softly. "But things aren't that simple."

"You young people love to complicate everything."

I roll my eyes and shoot Paula a pointed stare. "How did you leave things?"

She tugs at her middle finger and collapses beside me, her feet joining mine on Mum's wobbly pillow tower. "We said we'd reassess when I was back in London."

"So you're getting back together?" If Mum's trying to hide her glee, she's doing a shit job at it. It's painted across her face, causing her cheeks to swell and her plump lips to pull taut. Honestly, she's two seconds away from clapping her hands like a dribbling infant. It's gross how much she loves Raheem.

"We're not getting back together," Paula says.

Mum's face falls flat.

Serves her right.

"I don't think it's healthy anymore," Paula continues, her left hand wrapping around her right as the truth festers in the stale air.

"Not healthy? Not healthy? What's that supposed to mean?"

"That it's toxic," I hiss, my hand resting on top of Paula's mangled ones.

"I've seen you two," Mum says, folding my last bits with frothing fury. "You're the furthest thing from unhealthy. Lizzie and Spencer, now that was unhealthy, but you two are mature adults. You could work through your issues if you just applied yourself."

Paula untangles our hands and squeezes my thigh. "I don't think applying ourselves is enough this time."

Mum throws a forgotten bikini on top of the neat stacks of clothes that line my suitcase and struggles to her feet. "I suppose you know what's best," she says as she heads for the door.

"I do," Paula whispers.

The door slams shut behind Mum's retreating figure, leaving stuffy silence to grow in her absence. I lift my feet off the pillows and bend my knees, ignoring the searing pain that shoots down my calves.

"Ignore her," I say as I slide off the bed and stand up. "And I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Burdening you with all of my shit when you and Raheem are going through it."

She waves a hand through the air and laughs. It's not perfect, not carefree and light, but it's something. "I'm your big sister," she says, patting the space beside her. "If not me, then who?"

"Huh?"

"If you don't tell me, who will you tell?"

"Oh...well then if not me, then who too."

I collapse into her outstretched arms and smile into her chest. She smells like home. The scent is faint, imperfect, but it clings to her skin, hidden beneath her usual cocoa butter and floral perfume. I burrow in further until the smell is no longer a hint but a fully formed fact and inhale.

"You smell like home," I mutter as the scent fades away.

"You smell like a rainforest," she says, sniffing my hair.

"Do you think I'm crazy?" I ask. "For everything with Spencer."

"Of course not. Do you think I'm crazy?"

"Never."

I glance up and catch the blinding brilliance of her smile. "Well, I guess we're just two non-crazy sisters then," she says, her laughter smoothing away the last of my rumpled fears.

"Exactly."

"Speaking of non-crazy things." She lets me go and wriggles off the edge of my bed. "I have something to show you."

"Is it food?" I ask as she grabs my hand and leads me out of the room. "I could really eat."

"Not everything's about food," she laughs. "Now shut up before Mum hears us. You're supposed to be elevating your legs."

We sneak out the front door without incident and down the driveway. I glare at the traitorous ground, half cursing it, half scanning for tell-tell signs of my untimely fall. You know, blood, messed up rocks, anything that spoke to my predicament.

"Hurry up," Paula hisses when I stop to stare at an exceptionally well-formed mound of stones.

"Sorry." I hobble a little and follow her off the drive. She heads towards the white house.

She stops beside its low white brick wall and leans against it. "Here," she says, shoving a folded piece of paper into my hands.

"What's all this about?"

"Just read it, Lizzie. I'm not allowed to tell you much more than that."

Friends-ish?

"Did Isaac put you up to this?" I ask, shoving the creased slip of paper in my back pocket.

She shrugs. "I can neither confirm nor deny."

"How convenient. Is this where you leave me?"

"No. But you're supposed to lead the way."

"Does that mean you'll do it if I have no clue what this is about?"

"Just go," she huffs as she turns me around and gives me a little shove.

"Okay, okay." I raise my hands above my head. "I'm going."

We head towards the beach. The glittering lights of the bar cast a warm glow across the sand, illuminating a swaying Henry. He beams at us before tipping his head back and glugging down a mouthful of beer.

"He's so drunk," Paula wails. "Mum will kill him if he's hungover on the flight back."

"Just shove a pair of sunglasses on him, throw a couple painkillers down his throat, and she'll never know."

"You're joking," Paula sighs, slamming her hand over her face.

"Did you see Mum crying last Christmas?"

At some point in the night, our family game of charades in the living room turned into Henry and me lounging about in the summer house laughing at nothing over an expensive bottle of wine he swiped from Mum's collection. Eventually, Spencer snuck in through the side gate, and Henry disappeared, bottle in tow. I found him on Boxing Day spread out on his bed, the bottle discarded in his bin. After I chucked enough water to float a rubber ducky and two paracetamols down his throat, he was good to go. Mum never suspected a thing.

"I don't even want to know what you two get up to," Paula groans. "I just know that I can only deal with one hungover sibling tomorrow."

"Don't worry," I grin. "I won't drink. Scout's honour."

"You were never a scout."

I shrug.

Henry stumbles over before Paula can insist again. He shoves a crumpled piece of paper into my hands and stumbles back. He's laughing, and his eyes are slightly crossed, but I ignore it and stare at the looped handwriting scribbled onto the page.

You can't not get to know you

"You've got to be kidding," I groan, slipping the piece of paper with the other.

"Do you know where you're going?" Paula asks, her eyes trained on Henry rather than me.

"Yeah, it's just up there."

"Will you be okay on your own or?" Her voice trails off, and we both turn to Henry.

He's standing, barely, and sipping beer rather thoughtfully while he hums an indistinct tune.

"I'll be fine. You deal with him, and I'll go find Isaac."

She shoots me a thankful smile and wraps an arm around Henry's waist, leaving me to head further up the beach alone. I half expect Isaac to be waiting at the mouth of the trail but am glad to see that he's sitting at the end of the promenade.

He jumps to his feet the moment he spots me and rushes forward. "You figured it out!"

"Of course I figured it out."

"I know, it's just...you figured it out."

"You've said that," I laugh.

"I'm just surprised is all."

"Wow, ye of little faith."

"I have faith in you."

"Sure you do."

"I do."

"Don't worry," I smile, lowering my voice. "I forgive you."

"Thanks...I think."

"So, what do you have planned for tonight?"

"It was supposed to be a picnic back where we watched the sunrise, but since you're all hurt and stuff, I thought we could have a picnic right here." He gestures vaguely towards the beach and ducks, trading a view of the sand for one of my smile.

"Here?" I ask.

"Yes, here."

"I don't see a picnic."

"You don't?" He produces a large, movie-style wicker basket and smiles. It's so bright I shy away from him for a second, but then his warmth spreads, and I can't help but bask in it.

He threads his fingers through mine and leads me away from the wooden slats of the promenade. We stop once the lights from the bar starts to dim. Isaac places the basket down and produces a blanket, which is quickly followed by a wide array of food.

"This is too much," I mutter, my cheeks warming slightly as I drop beside him.

"Mum insisted. She said you either go big or go home."

"She knows?"

He only nods.

"She can't say a word. My mother will go ballistic if she figures out I'm not home."

"Which is why I also brought this." He pulls out a single, plump pillow from the bottom of the basket and places it under my feet. "Now, she'll have no reason to kill you."

"You really thought of everything."

"I really did."

We share the food, dribbles of laughter infecting the soft salt air as Isaac tells shitty dad jokes, and I pretend to be unimpressed. Once we've finished eating, he takes to throwing food at me. He throws a smallish grape with plump skin; I catch it in my mouth, grinning once I've swallowed it. I throw one at him; it lands in the sand.

"You're so shit at this," I giggle after his fourth failed attempt.

"You have a bigger mouth than me."

"No, I'm just better than you. Come on." I wriggle onto my forearms and lean forward. "Admit it."

He moves closer, his dark brown irises dancing, and winks. "No."

"You're the literal worst Isaac Harris."

"Right back at you."

He somehow moves closer, our lips now millimetres apart, and just when I expect him to back away, his head falls forward, and our mouths collide.

He smiles into the kiss, and I can't help but smile too as my hand reaches for his cheek. It curves over the sharp point of his jaw, warming under the heat of his skin. My fingertips move to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, and I feel his weight shift. Then he pulls back, a dizzying grin slapped across his face, and I'm left blinking like a dazed fool.

"Friends kiss," I whisper as he leans in again.

He presses a chaste kiss to my lips and hurtles back. "Friends definitely kiss," he says.

Except we're not idiots.

We both know that isn't true.

So what does that make us?

***

They finally did it!

Do you think friends kiss?

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

xxx