Page 110 of High Season

Chrissie turned back toward Hannah.

“Sometimes guys just need that little push, you know? Just to get things over the line.”

“He’ll probably like it,” says Chrissie. “A hot girl just walking up to him and snogging him in front of everyone?”

“It’s adare,Hannah. It’s meant to be hard.”

“Blake’ll be hard when she’s done with him.”

“Oh my god, Olivia, grim.”

“Come on, Hannah. It’ll befunny.”

Hannah had begun to rise to her feet, slowly. There was a small rush of blood to her head, like a tiny explosion of stars behind her eyes.

“Hannah.” Tamara caught hold of her arm. “Seriously. Don’t.”

Of course Tamara didn’t want Hannah kissing her brother in front of everyone. Tamara didn’t think she was good enough for Blake. Across the fire, he was smiling as he talked to someone. Swigging a beer. She had thatthere he isfeeling when she saw him. She was starting to think it might be love.

Phoebe had started to slow clap.

“Do it,” she said. “Do it, do it, do it.”

Hannah walked toward him, one foot in front of the other. She felt like she was floating.

In those last few steps, as the space closed between them, Hannah saw the entirety of their summer together. Lying together at the bottom of her parents’ boat, the sky golden above them. Him kissing her on the beach late at night. The taste of his skin. The way that his touch made something within her spark and shiver.

She saw the next year of her life, and the next. She saw Oxford. She and Blake, together in England, Hannah finally becoming more than a summer fling. As if the changing of the seasons with Blake by her side would make her real at last.

He didn’t see her until the very last second. When he turned, he was still smiling. Then there was a judder of recognition in his eyes, followed by confusion. Surprise.

“Hi,” she said, and she could hear how sexy she sounded. All casual and confident like this was the most natural thing in the world. As if she did this every day. Leaning toward her boyfriend, putting one hand up to rest on his shoulder, kissing him hello.

“What the fuck?”

Blake stepped back from her, frowning. His palms out flat, as if bracing to push her away.

Hannah stumbled, her body misbalanced by the air where she had expected her skin to meet his, the feeling that she was flailing in space. From behind her there was a snort of laughter.

“Whoopsie-daisy!”

Olivia with that singsong voice again. A peal of cackles. Hannah didn’t turn to look at them. She could only see him. The look on his face. Something close to revulsion.

“Blake—” she started.

He was shaking his head.

“Wow,” he said. “You’re pissed.”

Then, an arm was slipping around his waist, and Hannah’s vision expanded. A girl, a bottle of beer in one hand, the other hooking into a loop of Blake’s trousers, an easy sense of ownership. She was beautiful. Long, straight hair. Blue, oval eyes, a petite frame. Skin with theexact right kind of honey-gold tan, the kind that suggested expensive holidays rather than days spent out working on the boat and parents with a laissez-faire attitude to suncream.

This girl and Blake looked good together. They looked right. She looked like the kind of girl who belonged with him. And suddenly, it all made a terrible kind of sense.

The girl’s head tilted to one side. Not threatened, but inquisitive. Because, of course, why would a girl like her be threatened by a girl like Hannah?

“Are you alright?” she said brightly. Loudly, as if speaking to a child. “Do you need something? I could get you some water, if you like?”

She turned her face toward Blake.