Bliss

eighteen

He kissed me. He actually kissed me.

Or did I kiss him?

No, he definitely kissed me.

It was a good kiss too. Nothing like I imagined it would be. Not that I ever imagined kissing him, but then I couldn't help but expect it to be wrong, awkward, nasty even.

If he was a bad kisser, it would make everything ten times easier. But, as luck would have it, he's a fantastic kisser, with soft, mouldable lips and sure hands. If there was a kissing olympics, he'd totally take gold, leaving everyone else to scramble for a place on the podium.

Thankfully, the Olympics are reserved for real sports like long jump and hundred-meter sprints.

There's a knock at the door. Dad pops his head in and smiles softly as I roll off the edge of the bed and jump to my feet. "Ready?" he asks.

I nod. He ventures further into the room and grabs my suitcase before returning to the hallway and disappearing towards the front door. I follow his lead and sling my backpack over my shoulder. But, as I'm about to cross the threshold and leave the villa behind, my phone rings.

It's Spencer.

Not pretend Jess or even Matt, but Spencer. Clear, unmistakable, truthful Spencer. All the things I wished he was. All the things he promised he could be.

Sighing, I hurry towards the kitchen and crouch behind a counter. I toy with my phone for a second, staring at his name, and then answer.

"Lizzie?" His voice is crystal clear, pleading, pained.

I lick my lips. "Yes?"

"I didn't think you'd answer."

"I don't think I'm supposed to."

He swallows. "I know, I know, but thanks for doing it anyway."

"What do you want?" I sigh, pressing my body against the cold wood of the cupboards.

"Jess said you're coming home today." His voice trails off uncertainly. "Is it...is it true?"

"I'm not sure you get to ask questions."

"Please," he begs. The ice casing that's formed around my heart cracks under the pressure of his words. "Just, please."

"I am."

"You are?"

"I am."

"Okay." He stalls, his breathing quick and shallow. "I want to see you," he says. "I have to see you."

"You do?"

"Yes. I'll, I'll come at eight, to the front door and everything. I'll do it right. I have to do it right."

"No," I hiss, memories of the yacht trip sullying the air. "Come through the side gate. I'll leave it open."

"Why?"

"Henry will be home." With uni over for the summer, he's bound to spend the next few months skulking around, nosying his way into my business and being a general nuisance.

"I can handle him," Spencer says with a mountain of unearned confidence.

"Well, I can't, so come through the side gate or don't come at all...I don't care either way." Except that's a lie, and from the sigh he allows to flitter down the line, I know he knows it too.

"Fine," he says, his smile infecting his voice. "I'll see you in the summer house at eight."

"See you then."