Page 71 of Hot Girl Summer

“Off,” he says to Penny, holding a chew stick under her nose.

She jumps off, and he rewards her with the treat. After wolfing it down, she settles on the floor with a toy.

“Are you crying?” he asks.

I couldn’t wipe the zany smile, nor the tears from my face if I try. “It’s the film.”

Sure, Patrick and Jennifer’s legendary performances are partly to blame, but so is the fact that Danny had made the effort to seek out my favourite deli. I open the box and shoved a slice of mushroom, olive and pineapple pizza in my mouth. One bite, and I realise how ravenous I am.

“I thought I’d see what all the fuss is about,” he says, referring to the pineapple. After grabbing a slice and a napkin, he makes a dent on the couch beside me.

I breathe in, and the scent of citrus, woods, and sea water fills my lungs, and all I want to do is climb on top of him and lick the salt from his skin. I dismiss my traitorous thoughts, instead turning my attention to Johnny and Baby’s infamous lift.

“This is a great movie,” he says, pointing the pizza at the screen. I side-eye him, giving an incredulous look. “I’m serious. My mum was obsessed, so I sort of grew up watching it. I must have seen it a hundred times.”

“Me too.”

“I think you and my mum would get along.”

We share a smile.

“The fact that Hollywood cast an actor with a distinctive nose meant a lot to mini me. Obviously, I wasn’t thrilled when I found out Jennifer Grey had surgery afterwards, but I don’t blame her to be honest. I probably would have done the same if I had the money when I was younger.”

“You don’t like your nose?”

“I mean, it’s not Jessica Alba's.”

“It’s perfect.”

We share a smile, and again I bat away the image of straddling him on the sofa.

It doesn’t take long to polish off the pizzas, along with half the box of Italian pastries he had surprised me with. By the end of it my stomach is beyond full, but I'm not completely satisfied.

Along with his adorable canine apprentice, Danny gives me the grand tour, starting with the kitchen. It’s modest compared to the size of the living room, but it’s beautiful and contemporary, with a white brick island, handle less cupboards, and bi-fold doors that open out to a vast back garden, leading straight onto the shingle beach.

The attention to detail is exquisite throughout, right down to the ceiling panels, spot lights and stove fireplace. I desperately want to ask how he could afford such an incredible property, but I don’t have to.

“My parents actually built this place. My mum was an architect working in London, and my dad was a builder. They met working on a project together.”

“That’s so sweet,” I say, following him upstairs while Penny retreats to her bed.

On the landing by the mezzanine is a separate, more relaxed living area, with two small white sofas and a glass coffee table. The décor is almost identical to the downstairs lounge.

Coastal artwork lines the walls, and a tall bookcase stands in the corner filled with travel guides, coffee table books and succulent plants. I zero in on a photo that looks a little out of place amongst the arty prints.

“Is that you?” I ask, inspecting the photo.

Danny lets out an embarrassed laugh. “Sure is.”

The photograph shows a young Danny, around eighteen or nineteen years old, with a long, shaggy haircut, wearing a green parka jacket.

“That look is a whole mood,” I say, sardonically.

“I told you we wanted to be the next Oasis.”

He opens the door to a guest bedroom, which has no more than a bed and a nightstand with a lamp, and bi-fold doors leading onto a balcony.

“My grandparents helped them set up their company in property development just after my brother was born. We would always come down to Brighton when we were kids. When I was five, my mum had a TIA, which is like a mini-stroke, so they made the decision to move out of the London smog—away from all the stress.”

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