As Dimitrios drives us the short distance to Malia a few hours later, I find I'm actually looking forward to the trip after all. "I thought we'd go to the old town first," Lewis tells me after we wave our driver goodbye, assuring him we'll get a taxi back and he doesn't have to pick us up. "There's supposedly some great restaurants there."

"Have you been doing your research?" I tease him as he throws a casual arm around my shoulders. The old town is admittedly far more charming than the main strip. It reminds me of Koutouloufari minus the hills, bustling with locals and tourists alike.

"Of course." He pulls me closer. "Nothing but the best for my girl!"

My girl.

Those last two words linger briefly in the balmy air between us, as if they're awkwardly waiting to be addressed. We both choose to ignore them. "So where are you taking me?" I ask, my question effectively pushing his previous sentence away into the ether.

"Here." He stops decisively outside a pretty, traditionally Greek white and blue building, festooned in pretty dark pink flowers. It's still fairly early, so it's not too busy yet. I have a feeling it will fill up quickly, though; it's got that kind of vibe. "What do you think?"

"I'm up for it." I nod, already obsessed with its quaintness. And it's a good thing I was in agreement because it turns out he actually had the foresight to book a table! We're led through the building and up some stone stairs to a small balcony with a limited number of tables. At the moment, we're the only patrons in this area, so it feels very secluded and romantic.

"This is lovely," I tell Lewis. I rest my chin on my hand, watching his face light up with a relieved smile. He really is adorable. "Although what would you have done if I didn't like the look of this place?"

"Oh, I totally had that covered: I booked tables in several different restaurants just in case," he says airily, winking at me to reassure me that he's kidding. He picks up the wine list. "In all honesty, I feel like I have a pretty good grasp of what you like now," he adds softly after a brief hesitation. "And I don't just mean in terms of food."

I almost choke on a breath. "I'm inclined to agree." My voice emerges a hoarse whisper. His words, now that he's chosen to use them for good rather than evil, often have the power to floor me. These particular ones have me thinking back to the hotter memories from the past week, X-rated images flashing in my mind as if I'm flicking through the pages of a sexy Kama Sutra flipbook featuring me and Lewis as the stars.

But it's not just about the sex. It's also about intimacy. Sweetness. Feelings.

And I've never felt like this before.

"I've got a bit of a confession to make," he says after we've ordered, and a carafe of white wine has been placed in front of us. "When I said I had researched restaurants here . . . I actually did that before we even got to Crete."

"You did?" I blink in confusion, and he blushes.

"Once I knew we were definitely going through with this holiday plan, I started looking places up online. Just in case I needed to pull something romantic out of the bag." He grimaces, still looking embarrassed. "I mean, I knew the chance of anything happening between us was pretty slim, but I wanted to be prepared all the same."

This admission practically breaks me, my eyes one step away from welling up with tears. I can almost picture him: back home, studiously poring over TripAdvisor reviews on his laptop with his glasses on (and possibly topless again - a girl can dream!), noting down ideas he wasn't even sure he'd actually get the opportunity to use. It reminds me once again of the power I've reluctantly found myself wielding in our current relationship.

I reach across for his hand and squeeze it. I've quickly learned that touch is Lewis' love language; I'm starting to think it might be mine too, actually. "You know you're an absolute sweetheart, right?" I tell him. His responding grin is slightly crooked.

"Can we keep that on the down-low? I have a reputation to maintain, after all."

My starter is deep-fried courgette, and it's perfection. Lewis has opted for a feta dish, the cheese wrapped in some sort of shredded pastry and accompanied by a watermelon sauce. He practically insists on feeding me a bite of it. I wouldn't normally be into that sort of thing, but seeing his pupils dilate as my lips close around his fork makes every moment worth it.

"I love the way you react to food," he says huskily, leaning forward to brush an escaping drop of sauce from my mouth with his thumb. My insides sizzle in response. "The mental image of you enjoying that chocolate truffle has been screenshotted inside my head for the last seven days."

"Ha, I did wonder," I say lightly. "I've noticed you watching me eat a few times."

"It's pretty addictive," he nods. His eyes darken further. "You're pretty addictive."

Okay, this dude is killing me. It seems like he's pulling all his best verbal ammo out of the bag this evening. And it's hitting me in all the vital parts. Heart, brain, libido . . . Yeah, I'm all over the place right now.

It also doesn't help that he looks so insanely good tonight. The loose, icy blue shirt he's sporting makes his suntan pop, and his hair seems slightly more styled than usual, but it also feels as if a genius inventor has discovered this amazing new filter and decided to try it out on Lewis in real life. His skin is glowing, and his eyes are bright, and he just seems so . . .

Happy.

That's it, isn't it? I remember mentioning once before that I'd always seen him as "happy-go-lucky" . . . but that's not quite the same thing, really. He always had a slight edge; as if those demons from his past were still lingering somewhere nearby. Over the past few days, that roughness seems to have smoothed itself out.

It's me, right? I'm the cause.

Or - wait - does that actually mean I'm the solution?

I feel the pressure weighing heavy on my chest. While also welcoming it somehow. Pain and pleasure mixing together.

Because I'm happy, too. And that's his fault.

"This dinner seems different from our last proper one together, doesn't it?" he asks, interrupting my frazzled thoughts. I'm thankful.

"Well, we're not talking about another guy's meat for a start," I joke. "But yeah . . . It's far less uncomfortable, that's for sure."

"I was worried we'd never get past that awkwardness," he says softly, smoothing a hand across his stubble in a move I've grown to find so unbelievably attractive.

"Seems that sex cleared the air after all!" Why do I keep making jokes? Can someone just stuff my napkin in my mouth and shut me up, for goodness sake?

His gaze is steady and sure. "That's one hell of an understatement, Ruby. You may have compared it beforehand to a meteorological event, but to me, it seemed . . . Far more life altering than that."

Wow.

"Yeah," I mumble hurriedly, noticing that our main courses are en route. "I think you're right."

Giving into temptation somehow brought us closer; it allowed us to open up to one another. Finally let us get to know each other better. Share our feelings. And all those realisations are now making me feel unbearably vulnerable because I'm a massive coward who's struggling to deal with the aforementioned feels.

I think he senses my fear - let's face it, I'm probably the human equivalent of a rabbit caught in headlights right at this moment so it's not exactly subtle - and he backs off again as our food is placed in front of us. Moussaka for me; beef stifado for him. We concentrate on the food in front of us, although every so often I catch him watching me, that lustful look flashing in his eyes. And each time, I feel the pulse of heat that flares between my legs.

As we leave the restaurant, tipsy on wine and free raki, a man selling roses walks towards us with a friendly smile. Lewis immediately takes a flower, handing him way too much money in exchange. "For you," he says softly, presenting it to me with a flourish, and I can't help but giggle. He's turning me into such a sap.

We end up in a bar halfway down the strip: accidentally crashing a pre-organised pub crawl and receiving several free shots before anyone realises we didn't pay to be part of the event and are therefore not entitled to said shots. Laughing apologetically, we settle our bill as soon as we realise, but the other members of the group have already decided we should join them.

"We might as well, eh?" Lewis whispers in my ear. "The night is young, after all." I nod eagerly. Malia is turning out to be fun this time around.

Several hours later, we find ourselves in a club that's pumping out old school R&B, bopping around to classic tunes by Destiny's Child and Sisqo, among others. Lewis proves himself to be a good dancer, although he seems to want to take the piss and throw himself around like an idiot more often than not; I'm finding my sides are hurting from laughing so hard at his antics. He grabs my hand and twirls me directly into his hard chest just as a smooth ballad begins to play.

"Ooh, 'U Got it Bad'! I love this song," I sigh, and Lewis wraps his arms around me as Usher serenades us from all angles. One second, I'm a drunken mass of chuckles, and the next, I'm suddenly feeling very sober as he pulls me closer and kisses me tenderly. (Lewis. Not Usher. Now, that would be quite the plot twist!)

"Have you enjoyed tonight?" he asks as he retreats, and I rest my head against his shoulder. He presses another gentle kiss to my hair. "Did I make the right call bringing us here?"

"Definitely," I murmur. "I no longer hate Malia. Consider the bad memories gone!"

"Phew." He puffs out a sigh of relief. "I did actually have a good reason for wanting to come here, you know."

"Yeah?"

I feel him nod. "When I said my parents used to go out on date nights when we came to Hersonissos when I was young . . . They would usually go to Malia. And they'd always return so ridiculously tipsy and happy, trying to sneak in but making so much noise in the process. They said it kept them young." He takes a deep breath and then loosens his grip slightly so he can pull back, look me in the eyes, his face serious. "I used to always think 'this is what I want someday'."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"I wanted to have someone the way they had each other," he replies, his voice barely audible above the music. (Can you wheesht for a minute, Usher? Lewis is trying to pour his heart out to me right now!) "Someone I could have fun with anywhere, even in a dodgy resort with a bad reputation." He chokes out a laugh. "And honestly, Ruby? You're the only girl I ever seemed to be able to picture in this scenario."

My heart starts to melt like snow. I'm worried it might spread and take the rest of my body with it. At this rate, Lewis will have to go back to Scotland carrying the big pile of mush that was once me and be forced to explain himself to my parents! ("So, it turns out I really did kill her with kindness, Mr and Mrs. Rafferty. Um - sorry about that?")

"So, was this some sort of test?" I can't help but ask, cynic to the end. He shakes his head forcefully in response.

"Not at all. I would have happily gone anywhere you wanted." He brushes another kiss over my lips. "But you have no idea how much it means to me that you're here with me now."

He tugs me closer again, probably unaware I'm practically falling to pieces in his arms. His honesty and the pure sweetness of his words are picking away at those final remnants of bitterness - and, with that, the very last defence protecting my rapidly dissolving heart has finally been breached. Mount Ruby has officially surrendered.

In the meantime, an oblivious Usher continues to inform me that I've got it bad.

I know, Usher. I know.

I really hope you enjoyed this one! Lewis is fast becoming my favourite of my heroes - he's just so damn sweet now we've gotten to know him better!

I mixed together a couple of real-life restaurants again to make this one - San Giorgio and Avli are both wonderful places to eat in Malia's old town. The courgette (or zucchini as some of you may call it) in the former is one of my favorite fried courgette starters, and the feta/pastry/watermelon sauce combo is one of Avli's many delights. Just a heads up if you're ever in the area!

Oh, and I think I finally have a vague idea for an ending now, so I guess I should start getting the story ready for the transfer bus back to the airport. . . Like Ruby, I don't really want this holiday to end, though.

Anyway, I'd love to hear your thoughts!💜