You'll all probably be thoroughly unsurprised to know that we're both nursing moderate hangovers when we finally wake up on Friday, after staying out dancing until 3am.

"So, do you have a sore head, too?" Lewis asks as we roll over to face one another in bed. I instantly regret trying to nod in response.

"Everything hurts, actually. Even my hair."

He grins, then winces. "Remind me not to smile either - that's also a bit painful."

"At least I don't feel the urge to puke," I sigh. "I really don't want to do that in front of you."

He strokes my cheek with delicate fingers, his touch trailing delightful heat through my body. His eyes are bright and twinkly despite everything: as if this is somehow the best hangover he's ever had. And I sort of understand that feeling. "I'll hold your hair back over the loo anytime you need me to," he laughs, and I can't help but roll my eyes at such a cheesy line.

"How very romantic of you." Carefully lifting myself into a more upright position, I wait a few beats for the room to stop spinning before I reach for the bottle of water on my bedside table. "Why oh why did we think staying out so late was a good idea?" I groan now.

"We're operating on vacation time, so it doesn't count." Lewis shrugs, flopping onto his back and resting a palm flat against those excellently sculpted stomach muscles. "You know, the same way calories don't count when you're on holiday. Or alcohol units, apparently."

"Well, there were a lot of alcohol units too," I groan. "Thank fuck we got some gyros to soak them up once we left the club. If not, we'd probably feel even worse now!"

Those were good gyros, I think now. Slightly wistfully. My stomach is feeling decidedly empty again and desperate for some sort of carb. Possibly all of the carbs!

"I definitely think we need to eat," Lewis announces, clearly reading my thoughts. Or perhaps he just heard my stomach growl like a grizzly bear! He jumps out of bed in a decidedly unfair display of energy and pulls me to my feet, despite my whines of protest. "Come on, Rubes, you know it will make us feel better."

Luckily, I bought way too much food yesterday when I went shopping, so there's still plenty left over to graze on and we won't need to leave the suite just yet. While I flop on the sofa to recover from my exhausting walk from the bedroom, my hero collects the tzatziki from the fridge (I'm sure you'll be glad to know I eventually did put it in the right place!) and warms up some pita bread in the toaster, slicing it up like soldiers. He lays it out on the coffee table in front of me along with a massive bowl full of Lay's Crisps (also tzatziki flavoured, in case you were wondering!) and a coffee each.

Why does he have to be so damn sweet?

I grab greedily at a strip of pita and dunk it into the tzatziki. The dip is cool and refreshing, and my tired body grasps onto this tiny bit of nourishment as hard as it can. "You've put on quite the spread," I tease Lewis after I've finished chewing. "I'm assuming I'll see you on Masterchef any day now?"

"Of course! And  I think you'll find that my deconstructed Pot Noodle dish will astonish and impress," he chuckles as he sips on his coffee. "All jokes aside, though, I'm actually a pretty decent cook." He pauses for a moment, his expression turning rueful. "Well, as long as you like spag bol, chilli or a stir-fry. Unfortunately, the menu at Chez Lewis is fairly limited."

"Luckily, I like all three of those options," I smile. Unbidden, my mind transports me to Lewis' flat at some point in the future, watching him while he cooks for me! I don't even know what his flat looks like, but somehow, suddenly, I can still picture myself sitting in his kitchen clear as day. Crazy Cassie is running around in circles, not sure if she wants food scraps or pats more; and then it's Lewis' turn to observe me, eyes darkest of cocoa, as I sample the meal he's presented me with.

I'm sure it would be just as delicious as he is.

A sudden feeling of yearning twinges painfully in my stomach; and it's markedly different from the other type of longing I've been mostly experiencing this week. It's not just about getting Lewis naked, or having his lips on mine, or feeling him inside me.

It's more than that.

The thought of everything ending when we land back in Glasgow makes me terribly sad. The idea that we part ways at the airport and only see each other at those random group nights out actually intensifies my hangover headache. And even the notion of him potentially appearing one evening with another girl on his arm threatens to rip my heart from my chest.

Just a few days ago, I couldn't even have pictured us being friends. And even after we slept together once, then twice, then started to bond . . . Despite recognising I had caught feelings, I still couldn't imagine we could possibly have a future out with our holiday bubble. Not after all the years of animosity leading up to that point.

But now . . . Well, I know you all see it, don't you? Do I even need to admit to you that I've properly fallen for him? It was basically inevitable all along, and I was the only one who didn't see it coming . . . just like that clueless heroine in the book I've been reading!

"Ruby? Where have you gone?" Lewis' voice in my ear brings me back to reality with a bang. He's watching me, his face the picture of concern. "You completely zoned out there."

"Oh, I was just picturing a nice home-cooked meal," I reply, recovering myself quickly. I mean, it's partly true!

"Can you cook?" His mouth quirks upwards into a curious smile.

"Let's just say I can make a mean shop-bought microwave lasagne," I babble jokingly. "So it looks like you're going to have to be the chef in this relationship." His eyes widen at my words, and I immediately give myself a mental kick in the arse. Why did I say that? I'm such an idiot.

"Relationship?" he asks quietly. His suddenly serious gaze searches my face as if trying to determine if I'm joking or not. "Ruby, what are you saying?" Hope pinwheels gold around his dark irises, and I feel like my insides are caving in on themselves. Mount Ruby is clearly experiencing another seismic shift, and the repercussions of this one really could  be life-changing.

Just be honest, Rafferty!

"I . . . think I want this to continue. After the holiday," I say slowly. "I think I  . . . " Nope, I can't go that far yet. "I really like you, Lewis," I add weakly, hoping he didn't notice my word fumble. "And I really do want this to be more than a fling . . . If you still want that, too?"

"You're not messing with me, are you?" he asks suspiciously, his brow furrowing as if he can't believe I'm for real. And it low-key breaks my heart that he could even doubt me . . . yet I can hardly blame him!

I shake my head firmly, feeling ridiculously shy all of a sudden. "No. I absolutely mean it."

His expression clears at this, and the relieved grin that illuminates his face is dazzling. "That's just what I needed to hear," he says softly, reaching up to gently cup my cheeks. "I don't want this to end either." And then his lips are against mine in a heartbeat, his kisses soft and sweet and torturously tender, and suddenly all my aches and pains seem to dissolve . . . Much in the same way that I'm melting into the couch as he lowers me down and starts to inch my pyjamas off.

Yep, this might be the best hangover cure ever . . .

Just a little chapter . . . Short, but hopefully sweet! Could you feel their hangover through the screen?? 🤢

And Ruby has finally admitted she wants something more with Lewis - are we proud of our girl for (almost) owning her feelings?

As you might have guessed, we're fast approaching an end now, and I anticipate a little drama is on the horizon. I'm also considering a cameo from some of my characters from one of my other stories, but we'll see if I can make it work . . . I wonder who they might be, though! 🤔