Page 27

Mia rolls her eyes with the practiced patience of a teenager. “Yes, Mum,” she says, in perfect deadpan harmony with Claire.

I narrow my eyes. “I mean it.”

Mia tosses a piece of popcorn at Claire, who catches it in her mouth like a trained seal. “We’ll be fine. We’ve got food, movies, and zero desire to interact with actual humans tonight.”

Claire nods. “We have a schedule.”

Naomi peeks her head around the door, grinning. “They’re more organised than we ever were.”

“No offence,” Mia pipes up, grinning at me, “but you’re the ones we should be worried about. Don’t do anything too cringe.”

I clutch my chest. “I’ll have you know, I am the height of sophistication.”

“Yeah, in like... 2007,” Mia teases, laughing.

I throw a cushion at her, and she ducks, still grinning.

Satisfied—sort of—I step back and pull the door closed behind us, the warm glow from the windows spilling onto the porch.

Naomi slings an arm around my shoulders as we head toward the path leading down to the beach. “Ready to party like we’re twenty-one again?” she asks.

I laugh, shaking my head. “We were barely functional then.”

She shrugs. “Still iconic though.”

And just like that, we walk into the night, the sound of the ocean pulling us closer.

The beach is alive by the time we wander down toward the sand.

It’s only a five-minute walk from the cabin, but something about the quiet trek through the trees makes it feel like stepping out of one world and into another. I carry my flip-flops in one hand, the soles knocking together as I pad barefoot down the weathered path.

Music thrums low in the air, carried on the sea breeze. A lazy, acoustic vibe that seeps into your bones without asking permission. As the sun sets, the sky slips toward navy, with streaks of orange fading at the horizon, revealing the stars that blink into view.

The bonfire is the heart of it all, flames licking toward the sky, casting everyone in soft golds and deep shadows.

Around it, the crowd moves in loose circles.

Couples swaying to the music, groups huddled around coolers, and battered beach chairs.

String lights zigzag between weather-worn poles, their glow warm and inviting, like someone bottled up the last gasp of summer and strung it across the night.

The air smells like salt and smoke, and frying dough. Someone’s juggling marshmallows near the fire, and someone else is attempting to start a beach-wide game of rounders with a small bat.

Naomi bumps her shoulder into mine, grinning like she’s a teenager again. “This is a vibe.” And I have to agree. It’s messy and loud and imperfect, and somehow exactly what I didn’t know I needed.

I curl my toes into the cool, soft sand, its fine grains a soothing caress against my skin. Somewhere, a wireless speaker coughs to life, and the music shifts into a song I half-recognise, something raw and summery.

I glance around, half-expecting to feel out of place. Too old, too stiff, too something. But the energy here demands nothing from you. It just welcomes you in, barefoot and messy and exactly as you are.

Naturally, Naomi fit right in. She’s already clocked the churro stand, a man in a linen shirt handing out drinks in plastic cups, and a knot of girls who are laughing so hard they’re crying.

She throws a look over her shoulder at me. “You coming, or are you just gonna stand there looking pretty?”

I laugh, flipping her off, and follow her into the crowd.

The night feels stretched out ahead of us. Loose, wild, and full of possibility.

Naomi disappears toward the toilets, passing me her drink and promising to be exactly ‘two Beyoncé songs’ worth of time. I linger where the firelight softens the edges of the crowd, holding both cups, unsure where to stand.

I take a slow sip of the drink she handed me. Something cold, sweet, and a little fizzy. I let it settle on my tongue as the air wraps around me. The music shifts to something softer, a lazy acoustic riff that tugs at the edges of my thoughts.

I’m threading my way toward the firelight, drinks balanced precariously in my hands.

I turn. Step forward. And crash straight into someone’s chest.

Solid. Warm. Immediate.

The impact jolts the cups, sloshing cold liquid over my hands. I stumble back, muttering an apology, but firm hands catch my elbows before I lose my footing.

"Shit, I’m so sorry…" I start, my voice already flustered, ready to disappear into the sand out of sheer embarrassment.

But then I look up, and in that instant, the music, the firelight, everything just fades. It’s as though something mutes the world, leaving only this moment.

Ice-grey eyes. Messy dark hair.

For a moment, we just stare at each other, caught in a moment that felt timeless.

His fingers coil around my arms, and it hits me somewhere low and stupid in my stomach, just like it always does.

He blinks once, as if he’s trying to convince himself I’m actually here. “Ellie?” His voice is a little hoarse, a little stunned, like he hasn’t said my name in a long time and doesn’t trust how it feels.

I swallow down the chaos rising in my chest and find my voice. “We really have to stop meeting like this,” I laugh.

Something shifts in his expression. A flicker of surprise. And then, unmistakably… a grin that wrecks me a little more than I care to admit.

Kieran Hayes, smiling at me like the whole bloody beach just disappeared around us.