Dinner is awkward, of course. That's hardly surprising; it's me and Lewis, after all!

Koutouloufari, however, really is beautiful. I instantly fall head over heels in love with it. Traditional tavernas - many including roof gardens with fabulous views over Hersonissos and the nearby sea - line the narrow streets, and the entire place just seems to hum with life and colour.

It's perfect. Exactly my kind of vibe.

Dimitrios drops us off at the restaurant Milos recommended, and we're led into a pretty outdoor space, surrounded by brightly coloured flowers and trees. With the cloudless sky above us and the sun still burning brightly, it would make an excellent photograph for a postcard. I imagine sending the image back home to Lauren, emblazoned with the classic caption "Wish You Were Here". Then I shoot a glare at Lewis, who is casually studying the wine list as if he doesn't have a care in the world; I really wish he wasn't here!

It's a good thing I'd already decided on the lamb because the owner of the restaurant insists on bringing us over to the outdoor wood oven to show us the meat being cooked; I would have felt super guilty if I hadn't wanted to try it. That being said, I find it hard to act particularly engaged as the owner tells us more about the cooking process.

Lewis, on the other hand, is actually genuinely fascinated - or putting on a very good act - as he seems engrossed in the guy's monologue and even manages to ask a few pertinent questions. I'm struck, admittedly not for the first time, at just how good he is with people. He could charm the metaphorical (and probably occasionally literal) pants off anyone. Apart from me, of course. I'm immune . . . and he doesn't exactly make an effort with me anyway.

"Did you really care that much about that guy's meat?' I can't help but ask once we've ordered. I've opted to get the aubergine starter: something light to counteract the heaviness of the lamb. It's only when Lewis snorts loudly that I realise how carelessly I worded my question.

"Well, he's not really my type, to be honest," he laughs as I cringe. He shrugs. "But he was clearly very passionate about his food, and it's nice to be nice."

"That's rich coming from you," I snigger, and he frowns.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He asks mildly. Curious dark eyes fasten to my face, burning into mine. I'm briefly transfixed, trapped in the fire of his gaze. "Are you trying to say I'm not nice?"

"Not to me, anyway," I find myself blurting out. He shakes his head.

"That's not true." His voice is quiet all of a sudden, and he abruptly breaks eye contact, looking away and dragging a hand across his face. "I - I've tried my best with you." He sounds somehow . . . Defeated?

I am about to demand that he elaborate further, but the waiter chooses that precise moment to appear with the wine; and, of course, we're invited to taste it before we commit to a grape. I've personally always found this little ritual so odd in a restaurant - even if I wasn't a massive fan of the wine, I'm highly unlikely to denounce it "inedible swill" and demand a better variety! But maybe that's just me; I generally don't like to make waves.

"So we have a free day tomorrow!" Lewis says quickly as soon as the waiter leaves us alone again. It's almost as if he's desperate to change the subject. "I was thinking I could clear out early, and you can have the suite to yourself." He smiles, and it seems kinder than usual. "You'll be able to laze in the pool without worrying about me disturbing you. Even wear that transparent swimsuit if you want!"

I'm immediately suspicious . . . and then have to tell myself off for instantly jumping to the conclusion that he must have an ulterior motive. What's wrong with me? I accuse him of never being nice to me, and then when he is, I question it? Maybe I need to give him the benefit of the doubt once in a while!

"But what are you going to do?" I ask. I might not exactly be Lewis' biggest fan, but I don't want him to feel like he can't enjoy his holiday, too. The suite belongs to us equally.

"I'm not sure yet," he admits. "But there's a lot of options. Possibly watersports down at the beach, or I might jump on a bus somewhere." His lack of any sort of definite schedule both horrifies and impresses me in equal measure. I can barely even leave the house without some type of plan already embedded inside my brain.

"Obviously, I can stick around if you'd rather not be alone," he adds tentatively, and my silence in response to that clearly speaks volumes. It thickens the air around us so that we briefly exist inside an invisible cloud of our own awkwardness. He obviously immediately regrets even offering. "Never mind," he adds, the wicked grin abruptly making a return. "I'm sure the 'Greek Adonis' can keep you company if you're at all lonely!"

"I don't know what you're talking about." I lean back to allow the waiter to place my starter in front of me, very much aware of how defensive I sound.

"Oh, come on, Ruby, you're not exactly being subtle." He rolls his eyes. "And neither is Milos."

"Why the hell are you acting like a jealous boyfriend?" I demand.

"Maybe because I am?" He fires back immediately, much to my surprise.

And then something even more unexpected happens.

He blushes.

Did you just see that, everyone? Lewis Sheridan's cheeks actually turn pink! And - unfortunately - it's kind of adorable.

Shit.

I haven't thought of him that way since . . .

Nope, Ruby, don't you dare go there!

"You - you're actually jealous?" I ask hesitantly, and he scoffs, immediately recovering himself. Switching himself back into classic Lewis mode.

"That's not what I meant! I'm pretending to be your boyfriend, remember? If we were in a real relationship, I would definitely be put out if my girlfriend was flirting with another man."

"Yes, but Milos isn't here right now," I point out smugly. "So you can drop the act."

"Fine," he mutters. He's clearly still a little frustrated, though. And I realise that I like rattling him. It's . . . rewarding.

Hiding a smile of my own, I cut into my starter and pop a bite in my mouth. I wasn't really expecting the combination of aubergine, tomato, and yoghurt to produce such a taste sensation, but - oh wow! It's the sort of dish that you vow to recreate at home but never do because you know deep down it just won't taste the same. I scoop up another forkful greedily, my eyes closing involuntarily as I savour the freshness of the ingredients while feeling slightly saintly because it practically qualifies as "health food".

When I open my eyes, my nemesis is watching me again, his prawn saganaki untouched in front of him. And once again, he startles me because his face is serious, and there's something unexpected glinting in his eyes.

It looks like . . . desire.

But it can't be. Right?

Something flutters low in my belly in response, and, thoroughly thrown, I swallow hard. But I forget I'm actually still in the process of chewing and wasn't quite ready for that step. By the time I've recovered from a mild coughing fit, Lewis is looking down at his own plate, that default smirk painted across his face.

I definitely imagined it.

And yet . . . I suddenly remember the way I caught him looking at me last night, when I was practically orgasming over those truffles. Hmm.

We're both quiet as we eat, but there's tension rising again like vapour now, and I'm not entirely sure why. All of a sudden, I feel like I'm on an uncomfortable first date - and I don't have someone cued up to phone with a pre-planned "emergency" to allow me to make my escape.

I guess Lewis feels the same, as he smiles wryly at me after our starters have been replaced by our mains and says: "This is weird, right? Like a really awkward Tinder date?"

I nod, a relieved giggle bubbling from my lips at the acknowledgement that he feels the same. "Yes! So can I sneak out and just ghost you now?"

His lips twitch. "Why do I have a feeling you're speaking from experience here?"

"I am! In my defence, though, it was actually the date from hell. I think I was justified!" I take a sip of my wine, wondering whether to say more, and he looks slightly exasperated.

"Well, you're not going to just leave me hanging, are you? Please elaborate!"

I sigh as I cut into my lamb. I don't particularly want to get into this, but we're almost getting along for a change, so we may as well share battle scars. "Let me see . . . To start with, he was at least ten years older than his dating profile claimed, and his photographs implied. I could have possibly given him a pass on that . . . But he was also unforgivably rude to the waiting staff, chewed with his mouth open, and invited me to go with him to the loo for a quickie between the starter and main course. And no," I add warningly, as Lewis eyes begin to twinkle wickedly. "I did not take him up on that offer. I said I'd prefer to go to the toilet myself, then left my share of the bill with the staff before I made my escape."

He looks sympathetic. "That does sound horrendous."

We both sample our lamb, and it's the best I've ever tasted. It falls off the bone easily and melts in the mouth, and our eyes meet again as we nod approvingly. "I can now understand why the owner is so proud of his meat," I joke, and Lewis chuckles. I have to admit to myself - albeit reluctantly - it feels good having him laugh with me rather than at me.

"So do you . . . Date a lot?" Lewis asks hesitantly.

"Not really. I hate it, I'm lousy at small talk and, to be perfectly honest, I think I'm better off single," I tell him. He exhales sharply, as if he's been holding his breath while he waited for my answer.

"I get that," he says softly, eyes intent on his meal again. There's a shyness to him suddenly, and, like the blushing, it's strangely appealing. It feels as if I'm maybe seeing a past rendering of Lewis Sheridan, one that was painted over long before I got a chance to properly meet him.

But the apparent vulnerability on his part chips away at my own defences, and I can't have that. I know I can never let my guard down around him. And I need to take evasive action to remedy this.

"Yeah, you don't seem like the dating type either," I say dryly, almost having to force myself to say the words. "I've always imagined you probably just pick girls up in a club, hump 'em and dump 'em. Who needs Tinder, right?"

I'm not lying - that is indeed the impression I've always had of him. But as soon as the words leave my lips, I regret them. And the moment I watch his face react to my casual cruelty, I wish I could reverse the clock and keep my mouth shut. Because I can't miss the glimmer of hurt that passes across it. It's fleeting, and his face returns to Classic Lewis almost immediately, but I witness the moment of impact. And it makes me feel terrible.

"Exactly," he says after a moment of silence. "You've got the measure of me, Rubik's Cube." And there's that smirk - it's clearly been waiting in the wings the whole time. "Good to know I live rent-free in your imagination, though."

With that, we return to the status quo. Dinner is completed in virtual silence, and the free raki and divine homemade orange cake provided with the bill barely appreciated. Dimitrios arrives to return us to the hotel, and I'm desperate to escape to the comfort of my bed; to retreat from a whole new wave of tension that I seem to have created.

But Lewis has saved his most confusing surprise of the night for last.

"Milos was right about one thing, you know," he says, as I close the suite door behind us and walk towards the stairs. I turn to him questioningly, and he's standing a few feet away, hands shoved in his pockets.

"What?" I ask. My voice is shaking slightly.

He takes a small step closer to me. Stops. Tonight, his eyes seem lighter, I can't help but notice. Less Galaxy chocolate and more akin to caramel. As if they're sucking all of the light out of the room. They glow.

His smile is small. Wary. And once again, a little bit shy.

"You did look perfect tonight." His voice is barely above a whisper.

Then he turns and walks out onto the patio, leaving me shivering in his wake.

I took inspiration from my recent holiday in Crete for this chapter- the restaurant is real (I went twice and had the aubergine starter and lamb both times- delicious!) BUT the delightful homemade orange cake was served as a freebie at a different restaurant in Koutouloufari.

Food aside, I hope you enjoyed the chapter and the interactions between Ruby and Lewis. They're definitely starting to bond a little, whether they want to or not!

Any thoughts on what might happen next? (You might help with my inspiration!)