Chapter 21

2016

Just in case it isn’t Ryan at the door, I grab my wine bottle to use as a potential weapon and sneak over to the door, flinging it open abruptly so the element of surprise is firmly in my favour. If it does turn out to be that bastard from “Scream” then he’ll be getting lamped over the head before he can even think about asking me what my favourite scary movie is.

However, it is Ryan. And he is surprised. He jumps back, one hand over his heart. “Fuck! You nearly gave me a heart attack, Iona.”

“Sorry.” Apologetically, I lower my bottle. “I couldn’t take the chance in case it was a serial killer.”

He shakes his head, a wry smile turning the corners of his lips up. He’s holding a torch in one hand that illuminates the space around us. “Are you okay?” He asks softly. “I know you were never the biggest fan of storms; thought I’d better check on you.”

I’m beyond touched that he remembers this about me.

“I’ve just been hiding under my covers and trying not to cry, but no big deal,” I shrug. He sees right through me.

“I’m not trying to be sleazy here,” he begins. He seems nervous. “But if you want some company, you can hang out in my room if you want?”

“You mean that?” I ask. I’m not entirely sure how I feel about being alone with Ryan again but . . . I also don’t want to be alone with myself. Another flash of lightning lights up the whole corridor just then, and it’s my turn to jump.

Ryan nods. “I’ve got something in there that I think might help.” He winces. “Why the hell did that sound like an euphemism?” He mutters to himself and I can’t help but giggle. I love how sometimes he still reverts back to Ryan 1.0. He scrubs a hand across his face, shaking his head again. “Will you join me?” He nods at my half-full bottle of wine. “You can bring your ‘weapon’, if that makes you feel safer.”

I take a deep breath. “Okay,” I agree, following him to his room.

I’ve walked almost completely into the room before I take in what’s in front of me. “W-what is this?” I ask hesitantly. But I know exactly what it is.

Ryan has made me a pillow fort.

I honestly want to burst into tears at the sweetness of the gesture. My eyes slide back to him, and he’s rubbing at his face again, looking away awkwardly. “I just . . . I knew you were here alone and that the storm was coming so I thought I’d have one ready just in case,” he mumbles bashfully.

“I can’t believe you remembered,” I breathe. I mean, I must have told him once, in passing, about the storms and the pillow forts. I don’t even know how it came up in conversation.

“I remember everything,” he says quietly. Even in the dim room, lit only by a few torches dotted around, I can tell he’s blushing again. Why does he have to be so ridiculously adorable?

He clears his throat. “Take a seat,” he invites me, gesturing towards the fort. “Hopefully it’s comfy enough, I took all the spare bedding out of the staff cupboard in the utility room.” He holds up a bottle. “Unfortunately I don’t have any board games . . . But I do have whisky.”

My hero. Superman to the rescue. Actually, it’s Clark Kent again as Ryan is wearing his glasses tonight; I always preferred Clark anyway. Dressed in tartan pyjama bottoms and a hoodie, his cheeks still flushed and his hair messy, he looks cosy and huggable and good enough to eat. And, God, do I want to take a bite.

I try to divert my thoughts into safer, cleaner areas as I settle myself into the fort, propping a cushion behind me so I can lean against the bed. “What type of whisky have we got then?” I ask, accepting a fleecey throw from Ryan and wrapping it around my shoulders. I’m hoping it will keep me warm for now.

“Tamnavulin.” He places the bottle on the floor along with two small glasses, and lowers himself to the ground too. I notice he’s careful to leave a good amount of space between us but, still, I can still catch his scent, woody and fresh. He smells like outside. He smells like home.

“So what’s with the power going out? Is this a regular occurrence?”

He pours us each a whisky, brow furrowed in concentration. “It happens. Thankfully not too often. Chances are the wind brought a tree down on a power line. Or the lightning hit something.”

He pushes the glass over to me, raises his. I hold mine up too in a silent cheers, then we sip. The alcohol burns pleasurably on the way down but unspoken words thicken the atmosphere between us . . . Which seems fitting as the storm rages on outside.

Ryan sighs. “Remember how we used to be able to talk about anything?” He says wistfully.

I nod. “It was so easy.”

He raises his eyes to me, his face slightly mournful. “When did it get so difficult?”

I shrug. It’s all I feel capable of. “We grew up?” I suggest eventually. “We grew apart? These things happen.”

His fingers are clutched tightly around his drink, his knuckles white. I’m actually worried he might shatter the glass. “I didn’t think it would happen to us,” he says. I can barely hear him.

There’s another protracted silence.

“Okay, how about this?” He says finally, raking a hand through his hair. “I’ll tell you something real, if you do the same.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, confused.

“Just tell me . . . Something. Anything. From any point in your life. As long as it’s honest. Just . . . Listen, I’ll start.” He stares down into his glass for a long moment, takes a deep breath. “You know I’m divorced, right?”

I grimace, despite myself. I still don’t like thinking about this, especially now that it reminds me of my ridiculous dream. “Yes.”

“No one cheated in our marriage,” he said. “Not physically anyway. But we both may as well have been.” I know there’s a question in my eyes when I look over at him. “We were drifting apart, both caught up in our jobs, and she ended up with a guy she worked with within a matter of weeks of us finally splitting. Apparently she’d liked him for a long time. She was only not acting on it because of our wedding vows. Once we decided to divorce, she felt finally free to be with him. Immediately. “

“And you?” I can’t help but ask. Although do I really want to know who he ended up with next?

“Oh, I never actually moved on in the same way she did.” He takes another sip of whisky and I notice his hands are shaking. “Deep down I think I’d been emotionally cheating on her for a long time, but with a fucking memory. Don’t get me wrong, I did love my ex, I wouldn’t have married her if I didn’t. But as things started to wrong between us, I just started to dwell more and more on what might have been.” He stops abruptly before I can really wonder what he means by this. “Your turn.”

I screw my eyes up, I don’t want to look at him. “I’ve self-sabotaged every relationship I’ve ever been in,” I admit. “They never feel right. And if I don’t break up with the guy first, they end it with me because they think I’m too ’emotionally unavailable’.” I laugh bitterly as I use the airquotes. “I’ve been told that by several exes.”

“I can’t ever imagine someone calling you that.” His voice is serious.

“I’m not the same girl I once was.” I lie down on my back, staring at the roof of the fort. Ryan’s somehow found some battery-powered fairy lights and they’re glowing inside. This pillow fort is by far the best constructed, most aesthetically pleasing fort I’ve ever had the pleasure of being terrified in.

And I’m not even sure how much of the dread I’m feeling now is because of the storm. I’m also scared the weight of my feelings could bring this structure tumbling down around us.

“Is it your go again?” I ask. My voice is wavering.

Honesty, I realise, is also fear-inducing.

Ryan lies down too, but he shifts himself onto his elbow so he’s facing me. “Okay. This is a big one.”

That’s what she said, I think to myself. I resist a nervous giggle. “Okay,” I echo him. Waiting. Tension stiffening my limbs.

“Remember the first day we met?” He asks me. I turn my head to face him, curiously, wondering what is coming next.

And then he speaks again, saying the one thing I really didn’t expect . . .

“I lied to you.”

Chapter 22

2016

I lied to you.

The words seem to fill the room, lingering in the air. I close my eyes and can see the text imprinted behind my eyelids. I wonder if I even want to hear what’s coming next.

“I don’t remember ever seeing you before that day,” Ryan says softly, as if he’s starting a different story. “But that morning, just before school started, I saw you in the school yard. You were in a hurry, and you nearly bumped into one of my friends.”

He hesitates. Another clap of thunder breaks the silence, but I don’t even jump this time. I’m too invested in what he’s telling me.

“I thought you were the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen.”

Those words coat me in sweetness. I may overdose on sugar. I’m happy to expire that way if this the last sentence I hear.

“Oh,” I say faintly.

I’d always felt so uninteresting back then; mousy light brown curls I couldn’t control, boring brown eyes, a body I didn’t feel comfortable in. When I discovered bleach and hair straighteners (which, back then, took at least half an hour to get hot enough to actually straighten your hair, by the way!), I felt like I’d finally became a bit more attractive. But Ryan had thought I was beautiful from the very first time he saw me. My fractured heart starts to reassemble itself.

“And then – fuck – you walked into that class and sat down in the only spare seat right beside me just a few minutes later. It felt a bit like . . . Well, fate.” I chance a glance at him and he’s looking down at the ground and yes, of course he’s blushing once again.

“You lied about the pen, right” I ask, trying not to smile. ” You pretended you forgot it so you had an excuse to talk to me?”

He bites his lip, shame-faced. “Yep,” he nods.

I can’t help but laugh. “I knew that,” I admit.

Sidebar: You weren’t expecting that, were you?

“You did?”

“Your bag was on the floor and wide open; I spotted at least four in there at the end of the class.”

He laughs too, sitting back up. Right now, he looks so much more vulnerable, and younger, and just so . . . Ryan 1.0 with those dimples and his glasses, and it feels like every part of my body is just aching with longing for him.

“Well, that’s embarrassing,” he says. “I thought I’d played that so cool as well.”

I shrug. “Sorry. If it’s any consolation I did believe you until I saw the damning evidence against you.”

As he picks up the Tamnavulin to pour us both another glass, I realise our honesty has chipped away at most of the awkwardness between us. “I guess I owe you another truth since it turns out you already knew that one,” he says after he’s re-capped the bottle.

“Okay. Shoot.” I prop myself back up against the bed, pulling my legs towards me.

Ryan’s eyes flutter closed for a moment as he thinks. “Do you remember when I gave you that purple pen for Christmas?” He asks finally. It’s my turn to nod, warmth flooding my veins as I remember that moment once again.

“I bought it for you, telling myself I was only doing it because I felt like I owed you a pen, but the minute I handed it over to you I realised that it meant far more than that to me. And I just felt like the world’s biggest idiot because you were absolutely going to see how I felt about you.”

“I liked that you’d bought me the pen. I loved that you were thinking about me.”

He screws his face up for a moment. “Really?”

“Of course. And I love that you made me this pillow fort, just in case. A wee ‘Here’s one I made earlier’ number like you’re a Blue Peter presenter.”

I laugh again. I want to keep laughing. The honesty has went from a terrifying concept to somehow freeing. Together, alone, in the dark, the storm still howling around us, I don’t think I’ve ever felt closer to Ryan Thorne, despite the distance that has stretched out between us over the years.

“Well, in terms of showing someone how you feel, I reckon the pillow fort definitely trumps the pen,” he laughs along ruefully. We trail off as we both realise, apparently at the same time, the magnitude of what he’s just said.

Tension begins to sizzle in the space surrounding us. The charged air of the storm has made it inside and breeched the perimeter of our pillow fort.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath, leaning back against the bed too. He takes a big swig of whisky, and it occurs to me we’re somehow physically much closer together now too. I can feel his breath drifting along the side of my face as he turns to look at me.

“It’s your turn, I think,” he says quietly. “Tell me another truth?”

I put my glass down and close my eyes. I can’t look at him for this one.

“I wanted you to be my first kiss. That night, at David’s party. Not Gary. You.”

He sighs.

“I wanted you to be my first kiss too. Then I got stupid drunk and decided you weren’t coming . . . And that I was probably imagining that you might like me back anyway, so I thought I might as well just get it over with. I was so gutted when I saw you kissing Gary. I think I’d been sitting outside moping for about an hour by the time you found me there.” He chokes out a laugh. “How bloody angsty was that?”

Is it wrong I’m that I’m secretly delighting in this information? After all this time it’s almost a relief to know for sure that I wasn’t actually alone in my feelings back then. That I wasn’t completely out of my mind to think Ryan might be attracted to me too.

And it seems that I’m not alone in my feelings now either.

“I’ve thought about you way more than I should have over the years,” I confess, summoning the courage to open my eyes again and meet his gaze. He nods, his own gaze dropping briefly to my mouth.

“Likewise.”

“You broke my heart,” I whisper. I’m embarrassed to feel a tear trickle down my cheek.

He reaches out and gently smudges the teardrop away with his thumb, vivid blue eyes intent on mine, his face unbearably serious. “You broke mine too,” he counters, his voice husky. His hand cups my cheek.

I swallow hard. My head is full of questions but I no longer seem to be able to formulate words to be able to ask them. All I want to do now is let him kiss the heartbreak away.

Electricity sparks like lightning, only somehow more terrifying, as he leans towards me, pressing a kiss lightly against the curve of my throat. I have no control over the low moan that escapes me.

And, the moment his lips brush against my own, I know I’m a goner.

Chapter 23

2016

It’s finally happening; I’m finally kissing Ryan Thorne.

I’ve waited more than half my life for this; and this now makes me feel absolutely livid because, if I’d known how good it would actually be, I’d have jumped on him years ago at one of the many opportunities I now realise we both missed.

His lips are wonderfully soft and warm, and, good Lord, this guy knows how to kiss. He takes his time, though, letting us both savour the initial innocent sweetness of that first kiss – our first kiss – before he gently runs his tongue along my bottom lip and then slides it into my mouth.

Despite the fact I was initially feeling distinctly unsexy in my dog percussionist pyjamas and fluffy dressing gown, I think I’m more turned on than I’ve ever been in my life. Ryan’s touch and kisses light a fire in me I thought didn’t exist. I’m responding in a way I didn’t realise was possible for me. Another moan escapes me. It sounds practically pornographic. Maybe I missed my calling.

He eases out of the kiss, and I whimper in frustration, but he’s just repositioning himself so that he’s properly facing me. “Iona,” he whispers, cradling my face with both of his hands now, his mouth a breath away. “You’re so beautiful.”

“So are you,” I say, without thinking. Ryan chuckles against my lips, and the noise sends an involuntary shiver up my spine. He grazes his mouth over mine again but then almost immediately rears back to pluck the glasses from his nose. “Sorry, these fucking things are getting in the way,” he explains, placing them to one side.

“They’re cute though,” I smile. “I always thought so.”

“To think I spent so long learning to put contacts in because I thought maybe you’d like me better without them,” he laments, but he’s grinning. My icy heart melts further.

And then we’re kissing again. Lips moving, tongues clashing, hearts racing. It’s no longer gentle and sweet, it’s desperate and full of need – I think we’re both trying to inject nearly twenty years of wanting into it. As if it’s a competition to see who wants this more. I reckon we’re probably tying for first.

At some point, many minutes into that kiss, I end up on the floor of the pillow fort and he’s on top of me. I don’t even remember how we got there. His hand has edged into my dressing gown and he’s playing with one of my breasts through my pyjamas as he drops frantic kisses down my face towards my neck. His teeth skim my throat, his stubble scrapes against my skin, and that new pornographic moan of mine makes another cameo.

“That noise is just . . . God,” he mutters into my ear. “I want to hear you make that sound when I’m inside you.”

More words to make me fall apart. What is he doing to me?

We’re both still fully dressed and yet somehow I’ve never felt so naked and so vulnerable. I can’t help feeling self-conscious at the idea of actually being naked in front of him; what if he still thinks that . . . No! I try to push the thought aside. His lips are on mine again, and I relax back into the kiss.

“Iona,” he whispers. “I want you so much. I’ve wanted you for such a long time.” He’s pulled away slightly and is cupping my face again; he looks slightly drunk but I don’t think it’s on alcohol. I suspect he’s high on me, which makes sense because I’m feeling the same.

Unfocused. Off-balance. Confused.

But then he says the words that sober me up. Close me down.

“I don’t even care anymore what happened that night; I just want to move on from it.”

I stiffen.

I know he’s talking about prom night. And with that, it all comes flooding back. The memories. The heartache.

And the anger.

I roll out from under him and sit up. He watches me, his expression puzzled. “Are you okay?” He asks me, reaching for his glasses.

I’m trembling as I stand. I know there’s a risk I’m about to burst into tears.

“You might not care what happened at prom anymore, but I still do. I didn’t just fuck off for an entire summer because of nothing, Ryan. Your actions, what you said, hurt me.”

“I don’t understand,” he begins, but I shake my head.

“I’m going to go. This was a bad idea.” I open his bedroom door.

“So that’s it? You’re just going to walk away from this? From us? Again?” I turn to take one last look at him, sitting alone in the shadows of the pillow fort he made for me. My Ryan 1.0, who I never thought could hurt me. His voice is soft but it has a steely edge of bitterness that I can’t miss.

I shrug, a knife twisting in my heart. “It’s what I do best,” I reply. And I close the door behind me.

Chapter 24

2016

I’m going to need to find a new job.

That’s my first thought when I open my eyes the next day.

I can’t possibly stay here, now. I won’t be able to meet Ryan’s gaze without remembering the fire in his eyes; look at his lips without recalling how sweet his kisses tasted. My whole body is heating up merely thinking about what happened between us last night.

And yet, I promised I wouldn’t leave him in the lurch, didn’t I? I actually said, “You can rely on me.” If I quit now, I will literally have proved he was right not to trust me with this role. I’ve only been here a month, for Christ’s sake. I can’t bail already.

How would I explain it to my mum for a start?

So yeah, it looks like I’m stuck here, for the time being anyway. I’m just going to have to man the fuck up.

The power has already been restored, and sunlight is flooding into my bedroom, hurting my swollen eyes. It feels like the storm never happened. Maybe it was a dream. Maybe all of it was a dream.

But as soon as I come face-to-face with Ryan that afternoon, I know it was all definitely real.

I’ve went for a walk to clear my head, and when I return I run straight into him outside the hotel. I actually consider just walking past and ignoring him; it’s almost too painful to consider talking right now. But he speaks first.

“Hey.”

Okay, in terms of effort, it’s minimal, but it’s a start. Better than how I was planning to act anyway. I force myself to look directly at him. He looks like he hasn’t slept well, if at all. His eyes are dull, dark shadows smudged underneath; his handsome face is drawn and pale. His expression . . . Well, it freezes my heart again as it shows he’s pretty much defaulted back to guarded, taciturn Ryan 3.0.

I’ve broken him.

So what? A little voice inside me spitefully chirps. He broke you first.

I recognise that little voice. It’s the same one that told me to ghost him all those years ago.

“Hi,” I reply, looking away from him again. “Looks like everything’s back up and running again, eh?” I try to add a dose of false cheer to my words, but I doubt I’m pulling it off.

“Seems to be,” he says tightly. There’s a long pause, heavy and strained. I’m about to just turn and walk away when he speaks again. His voice is tense and shaking slightly; I can definitely sense an undercurrent of anger.

“Do you know, I was awake for most of the night, racking my brain, wrecking my head, trying to think what I must have said that hurt you so much? And I’m still drawing a blank.” He sighs and when I chance another peek at him, I realise his shield has slipped again; there’s no way I can avoid seeing the pain glowing in his eyes.

“I’m sure if you dig a little deeper, you’ll figure it out,” I mutter, my hands balling into tight fists.

“I really don’t think I will.” He shrugs, the mask coming back up. He scrubs a hand across his eyes, glancing away from me. “Look, I hope at some point we can talk about this and you’ll explain to me what I’m meant to have said that’s made you this mad at me. But for now, I guess we’ll just pretend last night never happened.”

I nod stiffly and walk away. “Deal!” I toss over my shoulder.

In my room I have another cry. I can’t help myself. How can Ryan claim to not remember? He has to be lying. Or maybe he simply doesn’t know that I was told what he’d been saying. It doesn’t make it hurt any less.

It’s just so very unfortunate that I have ended up doing the very thing I was terrified of doing – falling for him all over again. And the terrible thing is that I’m almost completely sure now that he feels the same way about me. But my hang-ups and insecurities still can’t let me get past prom. A part of my brain is still marinating in that old memory.

Deep down, I know Ryan’s right. I should talk to him about that night. Maybe he could clear it all up so easily. Maybe it was all a misunderstanding.

But then my brain keeps saying “what if it wasn’t?”.

So I choose to mope. I spend the rest of Wednesday and all of Thursday hiding in my room. Sneaking around like a shadow when I need to visit the kitchen. Watching like a creep through my window as Ryan walks down to the loch for yet another swim. I’m guessing he’s trying to clear his head of me again.

And I’m not sure I can blame him.

I’m almost relieved when Friday comes and the hotel re-opens for guests; I’ll have a distraction, even if it means it’ll be more difficult to avoid Ryan when I can’t just hole up in my room.

We’re going to be at full capacity again this weekend but it’ll definitely be more chilled than the previous one. It’ll still be a shock to the system after a few days off . . . but I’m glad to be busy.

I find people tend to show up to The Thorne Inn as close as they can to the earliest check-in time. I completely understand; I always do this too when I have an overnight stay booked. I want to wring out every little bit of my money’s worth. However it means that 3pm is usually all systems go as nearly all the guests arrive at the same time.

Today is no exception. And the usual daytime receptionist is down with food poisoning. Which we suspect is code for “hangover” but we can’t prove for sure as the symptoms can be remarkably similar.

“Iona, are you okay to help me with reception?” Ryan asks me politely, as if I’m a stranger. “If you could check the guests in, I can help them to their rooms.”

“That’s no problem,” I say smoothly, walking past him through to the desk without looking at him. There’s already a number of guests waiting of course, so I get to work processing them and issuing them with their keycards and vital hotel information, before passing them over into Ryan’s capable (oh so very capable – stop it, Iona!) hands.

The queue moves quickly and I’ve reached the last couple checking in for now. “Welcome to The Thorne Inn,” I say on auto-pilot, swivelling around from the computer to face the guests. My face freezes as I take in the man’s face in front of me.

“Iona? Is that you?”

I last saw that face in real life at prom. And I spotted it far more recently just a few weeks ago in my crazy dream.

Ryan’s friend Martin.

I recover myself and hastily force a smile onto my face. “Martin?” I ask in as pleasant a tone as I can force. It turns out I’m a better actor than I thought. “Oh my goodness, you haven’t changed a bit.”

And he hasn’t.

He still looks like an arrogant, smug little bollocks. I still don’t understand how someone like Ryan could ever be friends with him.

“So what brings you up here?” I ask, bringing up his room details on the computer screen. The beautiful brunette with him – who I’m assuming is his other half – is flipping through Instagram on her phone and not paying the remotest bit of attention to the conversation.

“I’ve always meant to come and check this place out ever since my good friend Ryan took it over . . . Finally got around to it! Oh, there he is!”

Ryan is walking back down the stairs, and his expression is one of complete shock. I would have thought such a good friend would have been told in advance about a visit. “Martin,” he says faintly. “What a surprise.”

He doesn’t look happy, I notice.

“Alright, mate?” Martin goes for the classic “matey” handshake/backslap combo. Ryan responds with a decided lack of enthusiasm.

It’s only then that it seems to sink in for Martin that it’s possibly a bit odd that me and Ryan are co-existing in this space together. You can almost see the wheels turn in his brain as he glances between the two of us, his brow crinkling in disbelief. Then he starts to laugh. And it’s not a nice laugh.

“Wait . . . So are you two a thing now?” He smirks at Ryan. “You finally got her after moping after her for all those years?”

Ryan flushes and I’m not sure if it’s anger or embarrassment, but Martin’s mocking tone of voice combined with Ryan’s reaction gets my hackles rising. “Yes,” I say firmly, stepping forward and sliding my arm around Ryan’s waist. I try to ignore his almost imperceptible flinch as I squeeze him towards me.

I also try to ignore the fact my body temperature seems to shoot up the second I touch him.

Oh, and I’m almost immediately regretting this impulsive move of mine.

After a brief hesitation, Ryan’s arm encircles my shoulders. “What can I say, she eventually gave in to my charms,” he chuckles. His voice probably sounds natural to anyone else but I’ve been around him long enough now to tell when he’s being false.

Martin’s eyes narrow. I just know he’s the type of guy who feeds off other’s misery, an emotional vampire of sorts. For some reason he doesn’t like the fact that me and Ryan have found each other again. “Well, I’m so happy for you guys!” he claims but his declaration definitely sounds fake as fuck.

“Thanks.” I smile as widely as I can at him. I hand him two keycards. “So you guys are in room 12.”

“Upstairs, on the right. Big number 12 on the door. You can’t miss it,” Ryan says blandly. Martin hesitates for a moment, obviously expecting Ryan to accompany them and help with their bags like he did with everyone else, but he clearly has no intention of doing so. I’m glad.

“Cool, cool,” the arsehole says, recovering himself quickly. He grins at Ryan. “Let’s catch up for a drink later, eh?”

“We’re really busy tonight,” Ryan calls with faux-regret, as we watch them walk up the stairs. “But I’ll do my best.”

I realise we still have our arms around each other but before I can untangle myself from him, he steps away first. “Thanks for that,” he says quietly. He’s still looking towards the stairs, his eyes practically shooting sparks. “I can’t believe that prick has shown up here.”

“I thought you were friends,” I say lightly, confused.

“Not a chance. I’ve always fucking hated that guy. I can’t believe I’m going to have to play nice with him tonight.” Shaking his head, he storms away into the bar.

Something feels off. My brain is working frantically behind the scenes, trying to process a memory, struggling to make sense of it. But I’m not even sure what it’s plucking away at just yet. I just know I feel uneasy and unsettled and when it reaches five thirty and I’m off the clock, I sigh with relief and retreat to my room.

I gladly pour myself a wine with none of my usual internal debate and sink onto my bed. What is it that’s niggling away at me? I put my glass down, lying back and closing my eyes as I try to remember.

And then it hits me. I sit up so quickly I get a headrush, and fumble for that old diary. My fingers frantically flick through the pages until I find the prom entry. I’ve avoided that one up until this point – literally never read it again after that night – but I know somehow that I need to read it now.

My handwriting is nowhere near as neat as usual for this particular recollection; it would probably not even be legible to anyone but myself. Probably a good thing. The pages are slightly crumpled and the ink is occasionally smudged, from the tears that fell as I wrote. I stayed up late that night, after closing the door on Ryan and my crush for good, transcribing my own heartbreak like the ultimate teen drama queen.

My eyes merely skim across it at first, as if unwilling to commit myself to the memories, but I eventually force myself to read it properly, concentrate on the words. Take myself back to that night. Immerse myself in it.

It’s not an easy thing for me to do.

But after I’ve read it, relived it, all over again, armed with the new information I have just acquired, I’m starting to realise I might just have got it all wrong.

Chapter 25

1999

Prom night.

Ryan was waiting at my door, and I could have drooled at how gorgeous he looked in his black suit. His tie matched my violet dress; he’d made sure of that by asking weeks ago what colour I was planning to wear. His eyes seemed bluer than ever, and I could never resist that sweet dimpled smile, which was out in full force tonight.

You’re going to tell him tonight, I reminded myself as he took my hand and led me to the limousine we were sharing with Claire and Lily and their dates. It’s your last chance.

I was buzzing with nervous energy, a human live wire. I was so nervous and frightened to put myself out there. And I had no idea how he would react when I did reveal my feelings. I hoped, desperately, that he wanted to be with me too. That I hadn’t been imagining the longing looks, the underlying tension, the occasional flirty tilt to our conversation. But what if he didn’t want me back? How would I cope?

I’d prepared myself for that scenario as best I could, thinking I could just shrug it off and accept that platonic friendship was all we could ever have. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but I’d get over it eventually.

I just needed to know, one way or another.

Ryan stopped suddenly at the end of my path before we reached the car and turned to face me. “In case I forget to tell you later,” he said, in a rush of words. “You look beautiful tonight.”

There was an expression on his face I’d never seen before, and it made my breath catch in my throat.

I felt beautiful, too. Earlier, Lily had straightened my hair for me, then elaborately braided parts of my hair and pinned them back into a pretty half-up do. Claire had painted my face with the precision of a famous artist. For a change, I wasn’t even feeling self-conscious about my body. I felt like my dress actually emphasised my curves in a good way.

And so I actually believed Ryan’s words. I could tell he meant it.

My crush deepened even more.

“You look great too,” I replied, blushing and fumbling my words. Oh fab, how was I possibly going to tell him how I feel later when I couldn’t even manage a four word sentence right now?

“Thanks.” He smiled, then bit his lip, looking like he was about to say something else. But then Lily’s date Gerry stuck his head out the window of the limo and shouted at us to “hurry the fuck up” and the moment was ruined.

Once the limo started moving, Claire passed us all miniature bottles of vodka. “To prom!” She cried out, twisting her bottle open and downing it in one. We all followed suit, and pretty much collectively started coughing as soon as we swallowed. Wow, straight vodka burned. I hadn’t realised that before, having only ever drank it with a mixer. What a rookie error. Ryan’s laughing eyes met mine and we both shook our heads.

I had turned 18 the previous month but apart from a couple of glasses of champagne on my birthday, I hadn’t been drunk since the Valentine’s party. Tonight, though, I wasn’t going to worry about that. The prom was being held in school and, due to a lot of the sixth years not being 18 yet, it would officially be a dry event. But no one was letting that stop them, of course. Alcohol had been stashed in various parts of the school in advance. We weren’t stupid.

Or maybe we were.

“Sweet Like Chocolate” by Shanks & Bigfoot greeted the six of us as we walked into the school assembly hall. It had been suitably decorated to befit the occasion but, when push comes to shove, you can’t polish a turd and it was still the school hall.

“I’ll get us all Cokes,” Ryan said, walking towards the makeshift “bar” in the corner.

“We’ll get the vodka,” Claire’s date Kevin said. He and Gerry headed away to procure their hidden booze.

“So . . . When are you going to tell him?” Claire nudged me as we sat down at a table. She seemed more excited than I was about the whole “being honest with Ryan” situation. I suppose that’s because I was too nervous to be excited.

“I think I’m going to wait until near the end of the night,” I replied. “I don’t want to ruin the night altogether if it doesn’t go well. I’d rather have the good memories beforehand, if you know what I mean.”

“That makes sense,” Lily nodded.

Ryan returned then with a tray of drinks and we waited for the other boys to come back so we could surreptitiously add the vodka. Ah yes . . . So much easier to drink when disguised as cola!

We had a few more drinks while we all chatted about our summer plans, and enjoyed such musical gems as “Red Alert” by Basement Jaxx, “No Scrubs” by TLC and, of course, Britney’s “Baby . . . One More Time”. I was feeling pleasantly tipsy around the point I felt Ryan’s arm creep around my waist.

“Iona?” he whispered in my ear. My whole body stilled, and it felt like everything around me slowed down. “Can we talk later?”

I found I couldn’t look at him although I’m fairly sure goosebumps had set up camp on every available part of my skin. “S-sure,” I stammered. What did he want to say to me? Was he planning a similar speech to me? Or was he anticipating my speech and wanted to let me down gently?

I had no idea and it was terrifying. Although I liked to think that the fact he didn’t remove his arm was a good sign.

The drinks I’d had were starting to take effect on other parts of my body too, and I needed a bathroom break. So after a few more minutes of enjoying Ryan’s arm around me, I headed to the loo. I was very reluctant to leave but I also thought peeing myself at the table could potentially be a deal-breaker.

I was topping up my lipstick at the mirror (Rimmel’s “Heather Shimmer” shade, naturally) when Christine Menzies from my Accounting class appeared beside me. “Hey Iona,” she said warmly. “You look lovely.”

In case you’ve forgotten, Christine was the lucky girl who’d ended up being Ryan’s first kiss. However, she was actually also a really nice girl, so I’d never been able to bring myself to hate her for that.

“Thanks, you too,” I replied. And she did. Because she was gorgeous. Always had been. Far taller than me. A natural blonde. Oh so very slim. She was wearing a yellow dress and the colour would have looked terrible on anyone else but she was one of those girls who could have turned up in a bin bag and still looked incredible.

“You came with Ryan?” She asked me, removing the lid from her own lipstick. It was also a Rimmel one, but hers was bright red. I would never be able to pull off that colour, I thought wistfully as I nodded. “So are you two . . . A couple?” She added hesitantly. I realised she was a bit embarrassed.

I shook my head. “No, we’re just friends,” I said hastily. I couldn’t lie, and I also didn’t know her well enough to tell her I wanted to be more than friends with him. So I felt kind of . . . Stuck.

Christine sighed, looking relieved. “Oh good,” she said, smiling at me. “We kissed each other a few months ago and I’ve actually fancied him for a long time. I was hoping to get another kiss tonight, but I didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes.”

Tell her you like him, my brain was urging me. She’ll probably back off if you do. But the words wouldn’t come out.

They’d probably make a great couple, I thought bitterly as I watched her leave the bathroom. Both tall, fair-haired, beautiful. No wonder he’d chosen to kiss her over me at David’s party.

I was feeling decidedly out-of-sorts by the time I returned to my table. “You okay?” Lily asked me. Ryan had disappeared, as had the other two boys so I filled her and Claire in on my conversation with Christine.

“Aw man,” Claire groaned when I finished. “You should just have told her the truth! Now, if you and Ryan do get together, she’s going to feel like a dick, and possibly like you mugged her off a bit.”

“Shite, that’s a good point.” I slapped my hand to my forehead. What an idiot.

My eyes drifted over to the other side of the hall where I could see Ryan chatting to his own group of friends at another table. They all laughed at something he said, and he smiled, shaking his head before he picked up his drink and headed back towards us.

“Do you want to dance?” He asked me. He seemed shy all of a sudden, his eyelashes sweeping shadows against his cheeks as he looked down at his feet.

Of course I did.

I did my best to act cool though. “I mean, it’s Westlife,” I made a face. “But it sounds like the song is almost over so . . . okay.” I chanced a wink at him.

He took my hand and lead me into the dancefloor. Thankfully there were already quite a few couples dancing so I didn’t feel too self-conscious. “Hey, if you’re really lucky, maybe Boyzone will be next,” he teased as he wrapped his arms around me. He knew I wasn’t a massive fan of boybands.

“Don’t even joke about that,” I tutted. I was relieved when the next tune was Skunk Anansie’s “Hedonism” and not another twee track.

“I love this song,” Ryan sighed in my ear.

“Me too,” I murmured into his chest. I tried not to pay too much attention to the lyrics though – “just because you feel good doesn’t make it right” – because being in Ryan’s arms felt both good and right. In retrospect, maybe Skin was trying to warn me somehow?

“Iona . . .” He whispered, and the urgency in his tone caused me to look up sharply at him. Once again, he looked like he wanted to say something else and I realised I was holding my breath.

But someone else got there first.

“Do you mind if I cut in?” Christine asked brightly, materialising beside us.

Fuck.

Ryan looked at me first, a question in his eyes. But I couldn’t exactly say no. I’d told Christine we were just friends, which is obviously why she’d thought I wouldn’t mind her borrowing my date.

“No problem,” I said, stepping out of Ryan’s arms and letting Christine take my place. She threw me a grateful smile and I felt myself start to freeze up. I knew the night was getting away from me, I no longer had control of it. I backed off, unable to look away from the confused expression on Ryan’s face. Then Christine said something to him, and he grinned and slipped his arms around her.

And I was apparently forgotten.

Chapter 26

1999

“Why did you let her have him?” Lily hissed as soon as I rejoined them at the table. I shrugged miserably.

“What was I meant to do, refuse to let her cut in? You know that’s not my style.” I took a massive gulp of my vodka and Coke. “Maybe I just need to accept the fact that I’m not meant to be with Ryan.” The thought made me want to cry.

“You can’t give up that easily,” Claire urged. “You were determined you were going to tell him how you feel; you need to do it, or you’ll go mad wondering what could have been.”

I watched Ryan dance with Christine. He looked perfectly content to be with her. And I had been right earlier when I’d pictured them together – they looked absolutely perfect for each other. I could feel tears welling up. I felt pathetic.

“Why don’t you go and grab some fresh air?” Lily suggested to me. “I’ll get us another drink and come and get you in a few minutes.”

“And, in the meantime,” Claire stood up, her face determined. “I’ve got some cutting-in to do of my own.” She looked at me defiantly. “If you don’t feel like you can do it, I’m going to do it for you.” And with that, she got up and marched towards the dancefloor.

My friends were the best.

I pulled myself to my feet and walked towards the exit, my brain foggy with doubts and my heart exhausted. My pretty purple sandals were pinching my feet, and I felt like my hangover might be starting already.

It was a bit cooler outside, which was a relief. I sat down at the top of the stairs and eased my shoes off, sighing in delight that my feet were finally free. I stared at my toenails, printed a pale lilac colour to compliment my whole ensemble, and took a deep breath.

“Alright, Iona?”

I glanced behind me to see Martin Douglas standing just outside the door. Great. I liked all of Ryan’s friends apart from this one. He was just a nasty piece of work and gave me such bad vibes. I always tried to avoid being around him.

“Hey,” I said unenthusiastically, trying not to recoil when he sat down beside me. Too close. Martin was a creep, although I’m pretty sure a harmless one.

He lit a cigarette and took a drag. “You want one?” He asked, extending the packet towards me.

“No thanks,” I replied. “I don’t smoke.”

He shrugged, exhaling. I suppose at least he had the decency to blow the smoke away from me. “Your loss. So what are you doing out here then? You moping because your date ditched you?”

“Excuse me?” I couldn’t believe how direct and offensive he was being. Even by Martin standards, it was pretty brutal.

“Well, I saw Ryan seemed pretty into Christine. He’s mentioned a few times that he thinks she’s hot. And didn’t they kiss before?” He stuck the cigarette back between his lips.

“He thinks she’s hot?” I asked faintly, unable to halt the question coming out of my mouth. Of course he did. She was stunning. And so very slim.

Martin could sense my weakness. “Obviously,” he said, rolling his eyes. “She’s the hottest girl in school.”

Don’t let him know he’s getting to you.

I had to steel myself. “Good for him. It’s not like I’m in to Ryan anyway. We’re just friends. She’s welcome to him.”

There was an almost imperceptible moment when Martin glanced behind him. That smirk curled at his lips and caused me to look back too, but I couldn’t see what had caught his eye.

“Phew,” he said. “Because I wouldn’t want to see you get hurt.

Yeah, right.

“I’m not,” I insisted through gritted teeth.

“I’m glad. He did say earlier that he wished he’d just asked Christine to be his date instead, that she’s more his type. He prefers them slimmer, you see.” Martin looked me up and down, making sure the point hit home.

And oh wow, did it hit home. And God, did it hurt.

All my insecurities came rushing back like a dam inside me had just burst. All the times I’d been upset about being curvier than my friends. The occasions I’d skipped meals before nights out, so I felt thinner (once again, I’d done that tonight). The hundreds of hours I’d probably spent looking in the mirror while analysing my body’s many flaws.

“I need to go.” I stood up. I felt sick. Dizzy. Disbelieving.

Could Ryan really have said those things about me? Even if he wished he’d asked Christine to prom instead, surely he wouldn’t have said that to his friends? And surely he wouldn’t have body-shamed me like that? I needed to speak to him; I needed to find out the truth.

“See you later,” Martin said off-handedly. He knew he’d already caused maximum damage.

I headed back to the hall. My chest felt tight, and my breathing shallow. Just speak to Ryan, I told myself, trying to calm down. He’ll tell you this is all just bullshit.

But when I reached the doors to the hall, the first thing I saw, practically lit up by spotlight, was Ryan kissing Christine in the middle of the dancefloor.

And, just to rub salt into my open heartache wound, a fucking Boyzone song was playing.

It seems Martin had been right after all.

Ryan didn’t return my feelings.

If this had been a teen movie, I’d probably have dramatically collapsed in a ball on the floor and started screaming. Or walked straight up to Ryan and slapped him in his stupid, handsome face. But instead, strangely numb, I walked over to our table and picked up my bag.

“Iona, are you okay?” Lily asked worriedly. She’d only just returned with our drinks – Martin and Ryan had both wreaked their havoc in a shockingly short space of time – and she was watching the kiss too.

Claire was also watching, her face confused. “I don’t get it,” she said. “He excused himself from Christine and walked away before I even had a chance to cut in. Then he just walked back into the hall there and started kissing her.”

“I don’t want to know,” I muttered, trying to keep my face composed. “I just need to get the hell out of here.”

“Come on.” Claire jumped to her feet. “Let’s go.” She and Lily steered me outside again. I’d left my shoes out there; who did I think I was, Cinderella? I hadn’t even registered I had bare feet. “There’s a taxi rank just down the street.”

We piled into a taxi, my friends bookending me on either side. I relayed to them what Martin had told me, the things Ryan had said about me. About preferring Christine, that I wasn’t his type because I wasn’t thin enough.

“He was talking to all his friends earlier and they were all laughing; what if that was about me?” I asked hollowly. “I’m so glad I don’t ever have to see any of these people again.” I felt so humiliated.

Ryan had never really been interested in me. I’d clearly been imagining it this whole time. It seemed that I’d even imagined he was really my friend.

Maybe boys and girls really couldn’t be friends. Even when you thought they might like you, they were actually slagging you off behind your back to their friends, using you for cheap laughs.

“Maybe you need to talk to him,” Lily suggested gently as the taxi pulled up outside my house. I shook my head frantically.

“I never want to speak to him again.”

“Will you be okay?” Claire asked. “Do you want us to stay with you tonight?”

“It’s okay, we’re leaving first thing for the Cairngorms tomorrow, remember? I wouldn’t want you to have to get up early too.” I nodded at them reassuringly. “I’ll be alright, I promise.”

I could see neither of them were convinced but we hugged goodbye and I got out of the taxi, walking slowly up the driveway to my house. I sat down on my doorstep, unwilling to go inside just yet.

He broke my heart tonight, I thought.

I allowed a tear to fall. But it broke a seal, and more followed. I allowed it to happen. Let the betrayal properly sink in. Tried not to wish I’d been the one kissing Ryan. Tried to forget the things he must have been saying about me.

But I wanted to punish him.

What if I went to my gran’s and just didn’t come back? I pondered. We were only meant to be going for our usual fortnight but if I managed to wrangle a summer job in one of the local hotels or restaurants, I knew my parents and gran would be happy for me to stay there. Then I could just come back when it was time to start uni, move straight in with my cousin as planned, and I’d never have to see Ryan Thorne again.

And, by that point, he should well and truly have got the hint that I no longer wanted him in my life.

By the time the second taxi pulled up, I was composed. I’d touched up my make-up so my parents, if they were still up, wouldn’t be able to tell I’d been crying. And neither would Ryan, I thought, watching him climb out of the taxi with narrowed, spiteful eyes.

I thought about trying to sneak inside without him noticing but I figured any sudden movement from me might alert him to my presence. So I stayed put, hoping he wouldn’t notice me as he started to walk up his path, his head down.

But he paused, halfway up the path, and turned around, his gaze skimming across my driveway and eventually landing on a far more together Iona than the one he would have witnessed ten minutes earlier. And a much different version of me that he’d ever encountered previously. Let’s call her Iona 2.0. Cynical. Guarded.

Done.

After a brief hesitation, he started walking back towards me, and something in my heart seemed to pinch at the sight of him. Tears nipped at my eyes again. Don’t, I urged my body. Don’t betray me like this.

He sat down beside me. “What happened tonight?” He asked after a moment of silence. His voice was husky. “I thought we’d be leaving together.”

Yeah, me too. I thought so many things about that night that hadn’t happened. I swallowed back a bitter laugh. Nearly choked on it.

“I – I wasn’t feeling too great, thought I’d best just head home,” I lied. “And you seemed . . . otherwise occupied so I didn’t want to disturb you.” I shot him a sly look and he winced.

“Oh. Yeah. That.” He rubbed at his chin. I’d noticed scrubbing at his face was his tell that he was feeling awkward or uncomfortable. And so he should.

I couldn’t believe how much this was hurting me.

But I shrugged, met those bright blue eyes, forced my face to stay blank. “No big deal.” More lies. But I was hardly going to tell him the truth now. He didn’t deserve my honesty anymore.

“Are you feeling better now?” Ryan asked. How could he sit here, acting like he actually cared after the things he’d said about me? And he knew I’d saw him kiss Christine, probably knew exactly how I felt about him, and he really didn’t give a shit underneath it all.

“Yep.” I nodded. “I think whatever it was is out of my system now.” The sentence had a double-meaning, of course.

It was just a crush, I thought. I’ll get over it.

I had to.

I just wished I hadn’t began to believe it was actually reciprocated. How very silly of me.

I needed to get away from him. Before I said something I might regret.

I stood. “I’d better go inside.”

He pulled himself to his feet too as I took the key from my bag. He reached out to touch my arm and I tried to ignore the way the hair on my skin quivered at this. It seemed my body hadn’t quite caught up with my brain.

“Are we okay?” He asked quietly. “Still friends?”

“Of course.” I pushed the door open, forcing a grin I didn’t mean. “Friends forever.” There’s a chance that came out with a hint of sarcasm.

Understandably, he didn’t seemed convinced. But he returned the smile, tentatively. “You’re leaving for your gran’s in the morning, aren’t you? Have a great time, yeah?”

“I will. Thanks.” I took one last look at him, committing his face to memory. Chiselled features, dimples, full lips, those eyes. Cataloguing him as the first guy to break my heart.

I vowed then and there to never to let a guy do that to me again.

“See you soon,” he said softly as I closed the door.

“No you bloody won’t.” I muttered, storming up the stairs.

Although, when we were loading up the car at seven a.m. to head up north, I glanced up at his bedroom window and thought I saw a figure quickly moving out of sight. I was probably sleep-deprived and imagining things though, as I’d been awake until 3am pouring my heartbreak out to my diary.

Anyway, I pulled my plan off with aplomb. Found a job in a hotel just down the road from my gran’s house within two days of us arriving. My parents were impressed with my drive and, as expected, more than happy to let me stay up there for the duration of my summer holidays.

And I actually managed to have a good time, despite myself. I enjoyed working at the hotel, made some new friends to hang out with, even eventually had a wee fling with one of my colleagues. Maybe Ryan had inadvertently done me a favour because I ended up going to uni with a lot more self-confidence than I expected to have. I also mostly got rid of my body hang-ups too.

(My growing commitment and trust issues were a whole other story though. Those just got worse over time. But you probably knew that.)

On one occasion, maybe three weeks or so into my big Cairngorms adventure, I got home from a long day at work to a message from my gran. It said “Someone called Ryan phoned. He said could you call back if you get a chance?” His home number was scrawled beneath.

My heart had skipped a beat at the thought that Ryan had tracked me down, asked someone for my number. And had actually called me – I knew he hated phone calls. Mobile phones were only just starting to become big at this point so text messaging wasn’t a thing yet either. You had to – yuck – speak to people.

I’d smiled down at the scrap of paper in my hand.

Then, my resolve hardening once more, I crumpled it up and threw it in the bin.

As far as I’m aware, Ryan didn’t ever try to call me again.

Chapter 27

2016

Martin had made it all up.

The scales have fallen from my eyes and, suddenly, I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. Now I knew that Ryan had never been a fan of Martin either, had never actually viewed him as a friend, I read that diary entry with a completely different mindset. I can now see Ryan wouldn’t have ever said all those things about me, which really I should have realised all along.

But, combined with my own self-doubt, and finding him kissing Christine again, it had all seemed like damning evidence back then.

In effect though, due to me not just being honest with my feelings, I may as well have pushed him into Christine’s arms.

I cry then. At the thought that we might have actually got together 17 years ago, had it not been for my stupid pride and Martin’s vicious lies.

Things could have been so different.

I get my act together. Fix my make-up. Scrunch my hair. Swallow that pride, and go to find the guy who is – who always has been – the love of my life.

“Do you know where Ryan is?” I practically shout, barging through reception and into the bar. I get some curious looks. I probably need to chill the fuck out.

Angus grins at me. “I’m not sure,” he replies. “Office, maybe? You okay? You seem a bit . . . Intense.”

I nod impatiently. “I’m good, I just need to find Ryan.”

“I’m right here,” a calm voice says from behind me and I freeze momentarily before I turn around to face him.

He’s standing in the doorway, just like he was the first time I saw him inside this hotel and, again, he’s looking at me with that inscrutable expression on his face. I have no idea what he’s thinking. This time his gaze doesn’t slide away though; he keeps watching me steadily, bright blue eyes burning into mine.

He’s so beautiful.

“Can we talk?” I ask eventually, my voice shaky, walking towards him.

“Is there anything really left to say?”

I wince at his response. That stung like a bitch, but can I really blame him?

“Ryan?” I whisper pleadingly. Just two days ago he said he’d be there to talk to me when I was ready. He couldn’t take that back now, surely?

Or am I already too late?

He eyes me speculatively for a long torturous moment then nods, relenting. “Come on,” he says, and I follow him across reception and into the office. He doesn’t sit down, just folds his arms and leans against the wall. I eventually prop myself on the edge of the desk.

“So what do you want to talk about?” He asks.

I swallow. “Us. You. Prom.”

Words aren’t coming easily to me today, apparently. Just when I need them the most.

He raises his eyebrows enquiringly, face still impassive. I blurt on.

“You said the other night you wanted to forget prom and move on from it. But I think we actually do need to discuss it because I’ve realised I got you all wrong, and I’m so incredibly sorry about that.” My eyes are brimming with tears and his are now filled with confusion.

“What are you talking about?”

So I take a deep breath and proceed to spill my guts. About how my vow to tell him how I felt that night was ruined by me not just being honest with Christine, and believing Martin’s lies because I found Ryan kissing Christine after coming to confront him.

“Wow,” he murmurs after I’ve finished my sorry tale. “What a dick.”

Ouch.

He sees my reaction. “Not you, Iona. I meant Martin. Always knew he was a total arsehole.” He shakes his head, hurt flickering on his face. “I’m a bit gutted you thought I would say those things about you though. You were the only girl I wanted to take to prom. I didn’t like Christine in that way.”

“But you kissed her. Twice.” I protest.

“And that makes me a bit of a dick, because both times were because I couldn’t have you,” he counters evenly. “When she was dancing with me that night, she said she’d thought you and me might be a couple, but that you’d told her we were just friends. I pretty much abandoned her on the dancefloor to come and find you and that’s when I heard you tell Martin you weren’t bothered about me.”

I remember Martin’s glance over his shoulder and smirk as I’d told those lies. Ryan had been standing there. “Oh,” I say softly.

“So I went back to apologise to Christine for leaving her on the dancefloor. She kissed me and, I guess at that point I just thought I might as well just let it happen. I’d been building up to ask you out all night – I’d been all set to say the words when Christine cut in, actually – but then I heard you say you didn’t like me like that and realised it was all a bit pointless.”

I choke a sob into my palms. “Terrible timing all around.”

“I just . . . Couldnt get you out of my head though, despite everything, but when I ended the kiss you were gone. I wasn’t even sure at that point if you’d witnessed it.” He drags a hand down his face, wincing at the memory. “But when I saw you later, I could tell we weren’t friends anymore, as far as you were concerned. I’d hoped, despite everything, we could at least keep our friendship even if my feelings were one-sided. You meant too much to me to let that go.” He sighs and there’s that steely look again, the one he gave me the night he reluctantly offered me the job. “But then you let it go when you ghosted me.”

I remember back suddenly to what he’d said the night he was ridiculously drunk.

“I was gutted, you know. But I would have accepted it.”

“We could still have been friends.”

It all makes sense now.

“Honestly, I don’t think I could actually have been just friends with you,” I admit. “That was one of the reasons I had to just cut you off.”

Ryan nods. “I actually get it. Looking back, I think I’d have struggled with it too. My feelings were just too . . . Huge.” He hesitates for a moment before unfolding his arms, and pushing himself off the wall. “So you believe now that I didn’t say those things about you, right?” He asks.

“Yeah. I just let all my insecurities get the best of me at the time.” I shake my head at my own stupidity.

He takes a step towards me, eyes bright, one side of his mouth curving up into a half-smile. “And if you ever thought you might be a joke, well, you actually kind of were. But only because it was a running gag amongst my friends that I was crazy in love with you, and that you were the only one who couldn’t see it.”

And I think my heart just completely dissolved.

“Oh, and Martin was absolutely aware of that too, so I guess he decided he’d cause as much chaos as possible just because he could.”

“Prick,” I mumble.

“Yep.” Ryan crosses the room and stops directly in front of me. My heart skips a beat as he reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, pressing his body against me. “Iona,” he says quietly but firmly, his eyes serious. “I’ve allowed you to just walk away from me twice now. I’m not going to let you do that again, okay?”

“Okay,” I agree meekly. If he still wants me, l’ve absolutely no intention of going anywhere.

Then his mouth covers mine and I swallow a sigh of delight as I respond to his kiss. And this time I don’t have any underlying worries or insecurities, and we’ve finally unearthed those truths that can put the past to rest. This kiss seems to seal that deal. I’m Ryan’s and he’s mine.

Finally.

Of course you can guess what happens next . . .

We get interrupted by a knock at the office door. It’s Rory.

“Some guy called Martin is at the bar asking for you, Ryan,” he says nervously. “I said you were busy but he was pretty insistent.”

“Fucking Martin,” we both say in unison, and Rory looks so confused that we both laugh.

“I’ll be right there,” Ryan sighs and Rory leaves. He turns back to me, smiling wryly. “Who the hell is writing this story?” He asks, rolling his eyes. “And why do they keep throwing these interruptions in?”

“Ha, maybe they’re just trying to build up the anticipation,” I giggle nervously.

“Well, hopefully it’s working for you too.” Ryan’s gaze is hungry and full of promise as he takes me in. “Listen, I finish in like half an hour. How about we continue where we left off then?”

“I like the sound of that,” I reply. I can’t stop smiling.

“Right, I’m off to deal with that wee prick Martin,” he says, dropping another quick kiss on my lips before he turns to leave the office.

I watch him go – yes, I can look at his cute little arse all I want now – then remember I haven’t shaved . . . Anything. And I’m wearing my laundry day underwear. I think I probably beat some sort of sprint record racing back to my room.

I need to be prepared, just in case . .

Chapter 28

2016

Since Ryan left me, with the enticing vow of later sparkling in his eyes, I’ve been extremely busy getting myself ready.

I’ve de-fuzzed and excessively moisturised pretty much every part of my body, and now I’m surveying the contents of my underwear drawer to decide what to wear in case I’m getting lucky.

This is when I realise for sure that I’d always harboured the tiniest bit of hope that I’d reach this point with Ryan.

Because otherwise I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have bought that pretty deep purple balconette bra with matching knickers when I went on that last shopping spree in Glasgow. I’d actually forgotten I’d even bought them.

Oh, and I may also have bought a sexy little slip dress in a paler purple shade.

And there might be a box of Durex in there too.

Yep, it seems I had wanted to be prepared. What can I say, I used to be a Girl Guide. Although I’m fairly sure the “be prepared” motto refers to making sure one always has, say, a compass, on them as opposed to a . . . condom. To be fair though, I wasn’t actually a Guide for very long and it was quite a while ago ago – maybe the rules have changed?

For the first time in a long time though, I’m pretty delighted with past Iona’s actions. I snip the price tags off the underwear and put it on, posing in front of the mirror. It looks good. I actually feel confident in my own skin today. It’s nice. Empowering. I add the slip, then cover myself up with my fluffy dressing gown. Ryan will have no idea what lies underneath. My whole body tingles in anticipation at the thought.

I actually still have some time to spare so I log into Spotify and pull up a 90s playlist, choosing the shuffle option. It seems fitting that whatever happens tonight is accompanied by a 90s soundtrack, given that was the last time me and Ryan were in harmony like this. “Lovefool” by The Cardigans blasts out of my laptop.

That song, in particular, seems appropriate.

I sit in the centre of my freshly made bed, and chew on my bottom lip anxiously as I wait for him. The minutes stretch unbearably. And the longer they extend, the more nervous I get.

By the time there’s a knock at my door, I’m pretty sure I’m close to a panic attack and “Friday I’m In Love” is playing. Which, once again, seems apt, given it’s Friday and I am.

(Honestly, Ryan wasn’t wrong . . . Who is writing my life???)

I open the door with a modicum more decorum than I did a few nights before when I thought he was a potential serial killer, so Ryan doesn’t get a fright this time. But I can see he looks nervous too. He’s still wearing his smart work clothes (remember that shirt that matches his eye colour exactly? Sigh.), which tells me he needed to come to me as soon as he could, and that just makes me want him even more.

“Hey,” he says, running a hand through his hair and inadvertently mussing it up. His cheekbones have pinkened adorably. “Sorry I’m a bit later than planned; turns out I had a bit more to say to Martin than I thought.”

Oh dear.

He grazes a kiss against my cheek, setting my flesh on fire, and I step to the side to let him in. “What happened?” I ask, almost glad to have a temporary distraction from whatever is about to take place. To calm my racing heart down even a little.

Even if it’s Martin who is the distraction. Urgh.

Ryan shrugs nonchalantly. “I told him I knew that he’d fucked things up between us at prom, and about the lies he’d told. Obviously, he tried to deny it and twist things.”

“Of course.” I roll my eyes as I close the door and lean against it. I fear Martin could hold masterclasses in gaslighting, and so I wouldn’t have expected him to go down without a fight.

“I said he could stay tonight but I never want him to come near this hotel again.” He seems calm but a bit tense. I know he’s not really a fan of confrontation, so it’s probably unnerved him.

“But are you not worried he might leave you negative reviews everywhere?” I can’t help but protest. He shakes his head firmly.

“Fuck that. I honestly couldn’t care less at this point.” He steps right into me then, tangling his hands into my hair, his eyes blazing, his voice suddenly rough. “His lies cost me you. A bad review is never going to feel anywhere near as bad as losing you did.”

Okay, that’s fucking hot.

And with that, he bends down and his lips burn against my own, hot and sweet as he breathes a kiss into my mouth. He pauses for a moment, sliding a hand from my hair down to my cheek, as if savouring it.

Gentle. Cute. Almost innocent.

Then all hell breaks loose as he pushes me against the door and kisses me like he’s drowning and I’m his last chance lifeline. It seems any element of control he had has finally snapped, and he can’t hold back anymore.

And, oops, my new pornographic moan has just made another guest appearance.

He laughs, pulls back. Runs his hands down my body until he catches my waist then tugs me to him, resting his forehead against mine. “I’m going to have to apologise in advance for what is probably going to happen,” he rasps out.

“What do you mean?” I whisper. He’s backing towards the bed now and taking me with him.

“I’ve wanted this for a long time. A really long time.” He lightly swipes his tongue along the seam of my lips. “And I’m not sure I’m going to be able to hold back.”

My breath catches completely and I swallow hard, trying to recover myself. “Good,” I reply. “Because I don’t want you to.”

With a shaky sigh, he sits down on the bed and reaches for my dressing gown tie, before he looks up at me as if asking for permission. Like I’m a birthday present and he isn’t sure if he’s allowed to unwrap me yet.

“Do it,” I exhale, and he’s catching the knot and pulling on it practically before I get the words out. My gown falls open to reveal the slip dress underneath.

Happy birthday, Ryan!

“Fuck.” He scrubs at his face as he looks at me, eyes hooded, pupils dilated. “And here I thought you’d be wearing pyjamas with mice eating different types of cheese, or something equally ridiculous.”

I can’t help but giggle at that, confidence growing due to the heat in his gaze. “I thought I should dress a bit more suitably for the occasion,” I manage to say. I quite like the fact he’s obviously noticed my crazy pyjama collection. Although I prefer how he’s noticing me now, to be perfectly honest. The hunger on his face is unmistakable.

“To be perfectly honest, you could be wearing a onesie and I’d still be into this.” He admits. “But I’d still be wanting to get you out of it,” he adds, as he pulls at the hem of my dress and urges me to pull it over my head.

“Fuck.” He says again, gulping, as his eyes rove over my body. They snag on my breasts and he hisses in air sharply.

I should feel exposed and vulnerable, dressed only in my underwear while he sits there, fully dressed, watching me. But he’s looking like me like I’m a goddess and, oh my god, I actually feel like one for a fucking change.

No one has ever looked at me like this before.

“Iona?” Ryan says ruefully, his face pained, reaching out for me again. “I think there’s a good chance you’re going to kill me tonight.”

In one swift move he’s got me on my back on the bed, his gorgeous face inches from mine again, breathing me in. His eyes have darkened further. In that moment, I think there’s a strong chance he’s going to kill me right back.

And I’m going to die a happy girl . .

Chapter 29

2016

Ryan is kissing his way down the side of my neck, his stubbly beard brushing against me and creating goosebumps. He groans into my collarbone, biting me lightly. “You’re so fucking soft,” he grits out, sinking his whole face into my skin, virtually inhaling me.

The same can most definitely not be said for him. I can feel his erection pressing solidly against me. Excitement and arousal throbs in my veins.

“You need to remove some clothes already,” I urge him breathlessly. “Tit for tat, and all that.”

“Fine,” he sighs impatiently, straightening up and unbuttoning his shirt. He tugs it off and I get my first ever look at a topless Ryan Thorne.

“Fuck.” It’s my turn to say it now. I mean, I always knew there’d be a good body hidden under those clothes but seeing the reality is a whole different story. He’s lean and sinewy, his muscles well defined, his stomach flat. And I’ve already deduced that he’s packing some serious heat inside his trousers too.

“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” he laughs. I expect him to take off his trousers next but instead he snags his fingers into my knickers and starts to inch them down my legs.

“Hey!” I start to protest but he shakes his head.

“I’ve got other priorities right now,” he hisses, his breath drifting across my now bare clit and sending shivers through me, as he tosses my panties to the side, and presses an open-mouthed kiss to one thigh. He gently dips a finger inside me and I breathe in sharply. “You’re so wet,” he comments, looking up at me, something almost predatory flashing in his eyes.

I feel myself blushing. “Sorry,” I mumble involuntarily, embarrassed. I had a feeling that would be the case. But he’s suddenly hovering over my face again, kissing me hard.

“Don’t be,” he orders, cradling my cheek in his hand as he follows the first kiss with a far softer one. “I love it.”

And then he’s back down between my legs, stroking me with his tongue, manipulating me with his fingers, and increasing the pressure until the world goes hazy around me and I allow myself to fall to pieces.

I’d somehow sensed that Ryan might be a little bit alpha male in the bedroom. Despite that adorable shy guy, blushing thing he has going on, there have been hints that there’s another side to him. Like the way the kitchen incident ended last week. Or the words he spoke on the night of the pillow fort, about wanting to hear me moan while he was inside me.

And my suspicions have definitely been confirmed now. Although I’m inclined to think the way he’s acting is also a way of keeping himself in check, to not fall apart too soon himself. Whatever the reasons, I’m absolutely here for it.

It’s a massive turn-on.

How many versions of Ryan is that now? Have I collected the full set yet?

Anyway, as I’m still recovering from my mind-shattering orgasm, he’s getting rid of his trousers and boxers and helping me out of my bra. Within what seems like seconds, he’s on me again, mouth meeting mine, hands roaming over my body. He pinches a nipple, rolling it between his fingers, and I gasp. I can’t resist reaching down to stroke along the long hard length of him, and the growl that emerges from his mouth is positively primal.

“Condom,” he bites out, when he recovers himself, and I reach over to grab one from the box on the bedside table. When he finally enters me, I moan, I can’t help myself, and he laughs again, his eyes burning with lust. “That’s my girl,” he says huskily, shakily, before he starts to thrust into me, grabbing one of my legs and hooking it around his waist.

My girl. My heart swoops into freefall at the possessive tilt to his tone.

The sex isn’t gentle; it’s hard and fast and even a wee bit rough . . . But I think this is what we both need right now. We’re essentially fucking years of hurt, of missed chances, out of our systems.

He comes with a vengeance, and it’s safe to say his guard is completely down by that point. I look into his eyes as they start to return to their regular colour, and I can see what appears to be vulnerability and fear swimming in there, mixed in with hope. And I’m probably reflecting those same emotions, I think as he tenderly strokes my face and brushes yet another kiss over me.

This feels big. And I’m not just talking about Ryan’s cock.

“I don’t want to be presumptuous,” he says quietly after a few minutes. He’s gone a bit shy again, which seems somehow even sweeter now. “But do you think it would be okay if I . . . Stayed here with you tonight?”

I turn my head to look him in the eyes again, smiling as I watch the blush steadily creeping up his cheeks. “It would be more than okay,” I assure him, and his face lights up.

As he wraps an arm around me to tug me in closer, I’m starting to realise that I’m actually in love with every single version of Ryan Thorne.

Chapter 30

2016

In a remarkably short space of time, we make love again and this time it’s gentle, tender and just . . . Well, kinda beautiful. Sorry, I really am a wee bit sickening. You came here for the bitter cynic, and now I’m just letting you down, big-time. But Ryan has been chipping away at my cynical hard shell since he reappeared in my life, and I finally feel like I’m starting to return to the old Iona, the pre-prom version.

Who would have ever realised she was still in there?

“Have you eaten?” Ryan asks me, after we’ve lay recovering in each other’s arms for a few minutes. I shake my head, my stomach waking up with the question and making an embarrassing gurgling noise.

He rolls off the bed and starts getting dressed. “I’ll be right back,” he says, smiling at me and then leaning over for a kiss. “Don’t go anywhere.”

I don’t intend to.

He closes the door behind him, and I hear him go to his room first before he leaves the building altogether. I slide my slip dress back on and wrap my dressing gown around me, and then I start over-thinking everything, of course.

Does he love me back?

Are we a couple now?

Am I going to end up devastated and alone again?

I mean, I suspect the answers to the above questions are yes, probably, and hopefully not, but I know we will need to have a proper talk at some stage. Bear in mind here that most of my past relationships have been emotionally void clusterfucks, and you can probably understand why I’m spiralling a little bit.

Ryan knocking my door again jolts me out of my confused thoughts, and I open it to find him holding half a large tray of piping hot lasagne, and an ice cool bottle of prosecco.

“The kitchen was just closing up for the night so they let me have the rest of the lasagne,” he explains with that sweet grin, proudly carrying the goodies over to the table in the corner of my room. He’s changed into a black t-shirt and jeans and swapped his contacts for his glasses, and he’s just so adorably cute in this moment; I can’t resist wrapping my arms around him and pulling him in for another kiss.

I love him so much. I always have.

“You okay?” He checks with me. I nod firmly.

“Yep. Everything is perfect. You’re perfect.” I blush. He does too, of course.

“I could say the same about you,” he says softly, easing the cork out of the prosecco bottle expertly so it barely makes a noise.

He retrieves cutlery, plates and wine glasses from the kitchen and we eat in companionable silence. The 90s playlist is still on in the background, and the Spice Girls are currently informing us they really really really wanna zig-a-zig-ah. My mind won’t stop working overtime though.

“You seem deep in thought,” Ryan observes. He puts his fork down and watches me, concern deepening that wrinkle between his eyebrows.

“I just . . .” I sigh. Just say the words, Iona. “Are we on the same page, Ryan?” I ask, before I can stop myself. “I mean, do you want this – us – to be an ongoing thing? Or was I just an itch you needed to scratch?” I can’t look at him.

“What do you think, Iona?” He asks finally. He takes a swig of his drink and a deep breath. “I was head-over-heels in love with you as a teenager, and a part of me never really got over you. For the last three plus years, I’ve had you pretty much constantly on my brain, even though I haven’t saw you in years. To the point that, when I heard from my mum that you’d moved back in with your folks, I decided to drive four hours to Glasgow on impulse on my day off, just so I could possibly see you in the flesh again.” He laughs, clearly embarrassed. “Does that seem like the actions of a guy who just wants to scratch an itch?”

My mouth has dropped open. “But you didn’t even seem pleased that I was there,” I protest, remembering back to that night. I’m struggling to get my head round this.

“Trust me, it was so hard to pretend I didn’t really care,” he assures me. “When I heard you come into the house, I was so fucking nervous to see you. Especially when our mums had already pretty much decided for me that you were going to come up and work here. But the minute you walked through that living room door, I knew for sure my feelings hadn’t changed. It all just came flooding back. I didn’t know how you felt though so I needed to stay in control.”

“I know what you mean,” I whisper. It had been exactly the same for me, really.

Ryan wraps a warm hand around one of mine, blue eyes completely sincere. “I’ve wanted this – us – for a really long time. I want us to be together. I don’t see this as a fling; I don’t want to be with anyone else. This is like endgame stuff for me. Me and you. If you want that too, obviously.”

I let out a shaky breath. “I do.”

He grins, looking relieved. “Then it’s settled . . . Girlfriend.”

I suddenly find I can’t stop smiling. Neither can he. Then we’re kissing, and shedding our clothing once again, and next thing I know I’m back on the bed, feeling him move inside me, hearing him whisper in my ear how much he loves me. I wish I could freeze-frame this moment.

It feels like this is what I’ve been waiting for, since the first minute I realised I had a massive crush on the cute nerd with the bright blue eyes who sat next to me in computing. Obviously my thoughts would have been far more innocent then, but the closeness and intimacy? The love? The way he looks at me? It might have taken us 20 years to reach this point, but this was what I imagined, and is all I ever wanted.

So I guess what I’m trying to say is that I, Iona Stewart, would like to resign my membership from the Society of Cynics, effective immediately. Apparently I’m in recovery now.

And I’m starting to realise that sometimes happy endings do exist after all . . .

Chapter 31

2018

It’s just before midnight on a warm June night when the girl walks out of the hotel. She sits down on the steps and takes a deep breath. She’s exhausted. It’s been a long day, and she was up at 6am to start getting ready.

Her eyes well up with tears. But thankfully this time, they’re happy tears. She swipes them away with a watery giggle.

“Hey.” She turns her head to see the boy behind her. He’s smiling quizzically, that sweet dimpled grin she fell for almost immediately all those years ago. “What are you doing out here?”

“I just needed some air,” she replies, as he sits down beside her and curves an arm around her. She rests her head on his shoulder, and he drops a kiss on her hair.

“No regrets though?” He asks lightly.

“Never,” Iona replies, snuggling in closer. “It was such a lovely day, Ryan.”

He sighs happily into her curls. “It really was.”

It’s been nearly two and a half years since Iona and Ryan finally admitted their feelings for each other, and time seems to have flown by. The day after they became a couple, Alice visited the hotel with her baby and with one look at them she’d known straight away things had changed between them. “Finally you two crazy kids got your act together,” she’d laughed.

Iona is fairly sure Alice is some sort of psychic witch.

Over the following weeks of their blossoming relationship, Iona and Ryan had spent many hours reminiscing about their shared past, as well as catching each other up on the history they’d not been involved in. And with every memory, and every anecdote, they got closer, their bond tighter.

After they’d been together for around six months, Ryan had nearly devastated Iona when he’d said to her one day “This isn’t working out.”

It turned out he’d completely worded that wrongly. (Idiot.) He meant them working together and being together was becoming an issue. Mainly because they were a huge distraction for one another and didn’t get much work done if they were on shift together. On several occasions they’d nearly been caught during their hornier moments while on shift. They were just too intoxicated by each other, still determined to make up for all the years they’d lost.

Ryan had also reached the almost inevitable conclusion that he really didn’t want to run the hotel anymore. It had been an escape for him many years ago but, as we know, he’d never wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps. His heart had never properly been in it.

He’d offered Alice, who was still on maternity leave, first refusal of the role, of course. But Alice was happy to remain as assistant manager upon her return, and overjoyed for Iona to finally achieve her dream of running her own hotel. Ryan took on some freelance marketing gigs, and eventually started his own successful marketing company, based out of the office in the hotel.

And at some point, during a holiday to Greece a year or so into their relationship, Ryan had dropped down on one knee and asked Iona to marry him. She obviously said yes. She’d found the platinum ring set with a pretty amethyst stone in a drawer a few months before so she’d been expecting the proposal for some time. Ryan had just been waiting for the perfect moment and a pretty beach in Corfu at sunset had met his exacting requirements.

So, here we are. Outside the hotel where Iona and Ryan tied the knot just a few hours ago.

The wedding went off without a hitch. Thankfully it was nothing like that terrible dream Iona once had. There was no ex-wife. Martin wasn’t invited. Iona’s dress didn’t magically disappear to leave her standing in her underwear while everyone pointed and laughed.

It was perfect.

Every person they loved was there with them. And their interfering match-making mothers were delighted that their meddling had finally paid off.

“We should go back in, I guess,” Iona says eventually, slightly reluctantly. She could happily stay out here longer, with just Ryan for company. He’s her favourite person in the whole world.

He nods, untangling himself from her. “Tell you what, let’s give the people what they want for ten more minutes and then we’ll make our excuses and go back to the honeymoon suite.”

She smiles at the heat sparking in Ryan’s vivid blue eyes. “I’d like that a lot,” she replies, licking her lips slowly and watching as his gaze darkens. He leans in to kiss her and then stands, pulling her to her feet as well.

She’s on the step above him, bringing her closer to his height, and she throws her arms around him, nuzzling into his neck. “I love you, Mr Thorne,” she says. The words mean more to her than she would have ever thought possible.

“I love you too, Mrs Thorne,” Ryan whispers contentedly against her cheek. “So much.”

And, with one last kiss for now, they slip their arms around each other, and walk back inside.

—The End—