Page 56 of Enemies to Lovers

‘Which is where getting railed would help,’ points out Laurie. ‘People with a healthy sex life aren’t as grumpy. It’s biologically impossible.’

‘Hence why I am such a relaxed and sanguine man,’ Dad smiles.

And we all collectively gasp, ‘Stop!’

‘I rest my case,’ says Dad. ‘Railing is off the agenda. Shall we talk about what we’re all reading instead?’

Before I can launch into a TED talk on the storytelling merits of Mum’s airport thriller, Mum trills from the kitchen, ‘I’m baaaack!’

‘Oh, wicked,’ Alex says, getting up. ‘She’s done the food-roulette shop,’ he explains to us. ‘Today’s the day!’

I pour more coffee and brace myself. Food roulette is something we do on every family holiday. It’s a stupid tradition, but one of us has to go to the nearest grocery store or market and buy a handful of particularly interesting (and sometimes deliberately gross) local foods.We tend to put it all in the middle of the table and take turns trying to guess what each item is, discovering some terrible things, some so-so things and some outrageously good things in the process. Whatever we like, we buy multiples of, to take home and keep in the cupboard for the rest of the year for when we’re all together, as a tasty reminder of where we’ve been and what we got up to.

‘I love food roulette,’ Laurie says, rubbing his hands together.

‘Remember those chocolate-dipped crisps in Mexico?’ Kate recalls.

‘And basically any of the chocolate in Portugal,’ I remind her.

‘Oh my god,’ Dad says. ‘But the salt-water crisps we had? In Cornwall? Urgh.’ He shudders. ‘I wanted to scrub my tongue after those. Foul, horrible things.’

‘I quite liked those,’ Mum says, delivering two tote bags stuffed with treats to the table.

Alex comes out behind her with extra napkins and a replenished water jug. We know, from experience, that both can be necessary.

‘Right,’ Mum says, unpacking. ‘I don’t want anyone smack-talking me! I get so nervous trying to please you lot, when at the end of the day I’m actually one of the better selectors of local foods. Laurie, yes, I’m looking at you, when I say some of you are downright terrible.’

‘Mum!’ Laurie says, shocked. ‘How rude!’

They bicker, and I make them insist they can’t startwithout me – I’m just nipping to the loo. Kate gives me a thumbs-up. At least she’s heard me.

I pad barefoot through the kitchen and round the corner to the downstairs toilet. As I do so, I bump into Jamie.

‘Oh,’ I say, surprised. ‘Sorry. I didn’t realise you were in here.’

I step one way, as Jamie steps in the same direction, too. We laugh.

‘Sorry,’ he replies. He steps the other way, right as I do.

This time I stand still, so that Jamie can move around me. But he doesn’t. One of us shifts – I’m not sure who – and the gap between us closes. Our bodies lightly touch. I think of last night, of being held by him as I slept. I can’t look up. If I do, what will I say? I feel like somebody has hit the pause button on reality. The metaphorical ground between us isn’t solid. It’s shaky and uncertain, and I hate shaky and uncertain.

Jamie’s chin is lowered so that his mouth is close to my ear as he exhales, tickling my neck with his breath.

Time suspends. It is just Jamie and me. Almost touching.

Almost picking up where we left off, at Christmas.

Am I an idiot for letting myself feel excited for that? Is this what I wanted when I climbed into his bed last night?

I dare to lift my hand and put it to his chest. I can feel his heart beating, too, a steady thud that is almost asquick as mine. His chest is solid, carved from rock. Jamie grabs my waist, his fingers thick and firm on the curve above my hips. And the shock of it, or maybe even thedelightof it, finally forces my chin up to look at him, a million questions in my eyes. But I don’t get any answers. He’s got as many questions in his own eyes – those deep-grey pools of unknowableness. We stand and stare, in a way that is far more open than it was this morning, or maybe ever has been. A genie is leaking out from the bottle, and in two more seconds we won’t be able to get him back in.

Jamie shakes his head, almost imperceptibly, but doesn’t let go of me. If anything, his grip tightens, like he’s worried I might wriggle free. But I won’t. I am glued to the spot. He closes his eyes then, taking a huge inhale, and it’s like he’s resolving himself, steeling himself, for what happens next.

‘See you out there,’ he says, like it pains him to walk away.

I can’t look at him when I go back outside to the others. I had to splash my face with water in the loo, rub my heart and breathe deeply. I thought he was going to kiss me. I thought Jamie Kramer was going to land his lips on mine, right there outside the loo of our Greek holiday house. And I feel all kinds of things about it not happening. Mostly: disappointed. But also, relieved?

I’ve spent so long telling myself I hate him. But I don’t. I never have. I’m scared he’ll hurt me, like he didat Christmas. But I wanted the kiss more than I worried about what would come after it. It’s good he didn’t kiss me, though. Right? Yeah. Right.

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