Chapter 11

2016

After my most recent awkward interaction with my former guy BFF, I debate what to do next. Go back to bed? Take myself for a walk? Try out the gym . . . or maybe just scream at the sky in frustration for a while?

Okay, perhaps the last option is a little overdramatic. But my unwanted feelings for Ryan are definitely getting to me. Being in close proximity to him is going to be harder than I thought.

But he’s going to have to warm to me at some point, regardless of how he’s actually feeling. It’s going to be impossible to work together otherwise.

Not for the first time, I wonder if I made the decision to come here too hastily. Despite thinking the opposite just five minutes ago.

My brain is already fried. Don’t even get me started on my heart.

I decide to go for a shower and wash my hair. Weirdly, taming my curls always calms me down. It took me a long time to get them back after years of killing my mane with straighteners, and I had to experiment a lot with different products but I finally was rewarded for my efforts. So now I have a routine in place, and a lot of pride every time my hair dries the way I want it to. I’m in control of something in my life at least.

After I’ve smoothed gel through my hair and scrunched it up, I turn my attention to my face. Another bloody minefield. I have wasted way too many hours of my life researching skincare and, to be perfectly honest, I’m still none the wiser. So I do my lazy routine – some cleansing oil followed by a few drops of hyaluronic acid serum – and slather moisturiser over my face and neck, before I arm myself with my make-up bag.

By the time I’ve turned myself into something resembling a human, it’s a little after ten o’clock and now I’m wondering again “what next?” Go to mass? I have to laugh at that random Sunday thought; I think the last time I set foot in a chapel was for a wedding about ten years ago. That would probably be my mum’s suggestion though if she were with me. She likes a good mass.

As I’m pulling a warm jumper over my head, there’s a knock at my door. I’m delighted to see it’s Angus; I’m craving some human contact that isn’t colder than that loch outside appears to be.

His infectious grin immediately warms me up. It’s a soothing balm after the sting of Ryan’s attitude towards me. “You got any plans for today?” He asks and I shake my head. “I was planning on popping up to Ullapool for some supplies soon if you wanted to join me?”

I lean against the doorframe, scrunching my face up in mock indecision. “Do you promise not to drive like a maniac this time?” I’m only half-joking. I also think I might be flirting a bit. Partly because my confidence needs a boost but also because I’d forgotten how bloody hot he is.

“I’ll do my best,” he says, winking.

“Then how can I refuse?”

He tells me he’ll meet me out front in an hour and I watch him as he pushes open the main door to the building and saunters outside. He has a very nice arse, I note.

Wow, I am perving all over the place today.

It suddenly strikes me, out of the blue, that it’s been over a year since I’ve actually had sex. And I’ve obviously not been particularly missing it, or I would have considered this sooner. But now . . . Now, with gorgeous men like Ryan and Angus around, I’m bound to start feeling a little horny.

Okay okay, a lot horny. I will hold my hands up and admit it.

“You do realise he’s only 23.”

I almost burst out of my own skin in fright as Ryan’s voice cuts through the quiet corridor from a few feet away. He’s now, thankfully, fully dressed in a slim fitting blue shirt and black trousers, and I’m surprised that he lives in this staff block too. I figured he probably stayed in the hotel itself but, oh no, of course he’s in the room right next to me.

We share a wall.

“What’s your point?” I’m being snippy. But his caustic comment has set the tone of this conversation. This is all on him.

“Just saying.” He dips his head down slightly, bracing a hand against the wall. He swallows hard and then looks up at me from under his brows. “He’s a lot younger than . . . Us.”

His eyes are exactly the same colour as his shirt. Did he use some sort of colour-matching service? I refuse to let them distract me though. I’m assuming he thinks I’m planning on performing the horizontal lambada with Angus. I mean, it’s a consideration I suppose, but unless it’s against HR policy it’s precisely fuck-all to do with him.

“Good for him. I don’t see why that matters.”

Ryan takes a deep breath and pushes away from the wall, his gaze drifting away from mine. “Just . . . Be careful,” he says cryptically as he draws level with me.

He opens the main door and is about to exit but his hand pauses on the handle. His other hand is clenched by his side and he doesn’t turn around, but I’m surprised by his parting words.

“Your hair looks pretty. It reminds me of . . .” He trails off abruptly. “Never mind.” He shakes his head and stalks away, the door slamming shut in his wake.

What the hell was that? I stare after him through the glass panel and, yes, I am staring at his arse, but I’m also wondering what the end of that sentence was going to be.

After an hour of doing nothing except playing a word game on my phone or Instagram viewing, I pull my coat on and head outside. I probably need a hobby for my free time, I think wryly.

Maybe hill-walking? I could become one of those Munro-baggers. But the idea of climbing a mountain in the cold, with risk of ice and snow, does not appeal, even if it’s worth it for the view from the summit. Perhaps that can be my summer activity, I decide.

“What are you so deep in thought about?” Angus asks me cheerfully as I climb into the car. I shrug.

“Thinking about hobbies. How do you keep yourself busy in your spare time?”

He scrunches his face up. “I mostly just get stoned and watch TV.” I blink in surprise and he laughs. “Just kidding. I cycle a lot. Run a bit. Then I recover by getting stoned and watching TV.” I’m not sure if that’s still a joke. Oh and there’s that wink again. “If you ever care to join me, just say the word.”

“I’ll let you know,” I say dryly. I’m not really a fan of hash. Alcohol is my drug of choice, and I’m not even very good at that. Although I think I’ll stock up on some wine while we’re at the supermarket.

It only takes another 20 minutes of driving and easy banter to reach Ullapool. “Inverness has bigger shops but I prefer coming here,” Angus tells me as we jump out of the car. “Have you been before?”

“To Tesco?” I joke. “Yes, I have some experience of that.” He chuckles. “No, I’ve never been this far north before actually. My grandparents lived in the Cairngorms when I was growing up so we spent a lot of time there on holidays, but we never went further than that.”

His eyes light up. “I love the Cairngorms,” he enthuses as we walk into the shop. “But it’s amazing up here too. You need to go to Torridon at some point. Honestly, it’ll blow your mind.”

We agree to separate in the store to get our own shopping. I throw a few different types of cheese into my basket, along with some nice bread and, of course, wine. Then try to balance the decadence out with some frozen veg, noodles, pasta and sauces. I’m going to try not to be super unhealthy while I’m up here; I’m not actually on holiday after all, although it does admittedly feel a bit like that right now since I haven’t started work yet.

I sneak a few large bars of chocolate in, as if I’m somehow fooling my own brain. I tell myself that’s okay because they’re dark chocolate and organic. Sooo good for me.

I am the Queen of self-denial.

“You want to grab some lunch?” Angus asks after we’ve loaded the bags into the car. I briefly worry about the frozen goods then remember it’s only about five degrees Celsius so they probably won’t defrost. I nod, realising I’m far hungrier than I realised. The last thing I ate was the cranachan.

We find a pub and, given it’s barely midday, I order a Coke, while Angus gets a coffee. “What do you think?” He asks. “They do a full roast lunch here on a Sunday. The works. Should we?”

“You were coming here for lunch no matter whether I said yes or no, weren’t you?” I tease and his smile widens.

“Guilty as charged. Now, are you getting the roast or not?”

So we tuck into mouthwatering beef, perfect roast spuds and probably the tastiest Yorkshire puddings I’ve ever eaten. I do love a roast dinner. Although I’ll have to punish myself on the treadmill later. “You’ll need to show me where the gym is when we get back,” I tell Angus. “I’ll probably have to run for a good few miles to work this lot off.”

Angus’ wide mouth curves up in a grin. It’s slightly crooked and extremely enticing. “I don’t think that’s something you need to worry about,” he says. His voice seems deeper than normal as he briefly scans my body before his hazel eyes settle on my face again.

I don’t even think he means it in a deliberately seductive way. But goodness, something down below twitches in response to the brazenness in that look.

Ryan is probably right though about the age thing. Because I can’t help but think about the fact that while me and Ryan were sitting next to each other in computing, debating Oasis vs Blur, Angus would have been a toddler debating potty vs nappy. Damn, Ryan’s got in my head.

All the same, I feel myself blush at the compliment. I remember that date with John, where he made me feel self-conscious about my body for all the wrong reasons. As we finish eating I find myself recounting the details of the date to Angus, and his eyes narrow in disgust.

“Arsehole,” he spits out. “Definitely sounds like he has issues.”

I nod. “For sure.” I bite my lip. “I’ve – uh – had similar things said to me – and about me – in the past so it’s a bit of a trigger for me.”

“Well, he’s the problem, not you,” Angus assures me. And then he smiles and pulls me to my feet. “C’mon, let’s get back to the hotel before your vegetables get . . . Well, even colder I suppose.”

When we get back, it’s close to three and the sky is already starting to darken. Sunset already isn’t far off at this time of year. Angus finds me an empty cupboard in the kitchen and helps me put my groceries away, warning me that I might want to keep the best items of food like chocolate and wine in my own room as one of the cleaners likes to eat other people’s food. I decide to take the cheese and bread there too. If someone eats my favourite food, they’re at severe risk of murder by fork.

“Right, I need to get changed and head to the bar for my shift,” Angus says, after a quick check of his watch. “Will you be over there later?”

I shake my head. “I think I’m just gonna stay in my room tonight. Get my head in the game for my first day.” And avoid Ryan of course.

“No worries,” he replies easily. “I’ll see you at some point tomorrow then.”

Going back to my room, I run a bath and lie in it until my skin prunes. Then I watch some TV with a glass of wine and, when I get hungry again, I roughly chop up some brie and slather it on bread. It tastes amazing. I decide to have an early night.

And the whole time I’m wondering what it was that Ryan didn’t say earlier.

Chapter 12

2016

It seems to be a general consensus that folk don’t like it when other people tell them what happened in their dreams. They find them boring.

Personally, I find other people’s dreams fascinating. If your dream was vivid and crazy enough for you to actually still remember it once you’re fully back in the world of the living, then I want to hear about it. Hell, even if it’s not that crazy. My dreams are boring. I want to live vicariously through yours. Tell me everything.

Once I had a dream where I was trying to take out my contact lenses and couldn’t. That was the entire dream. Just me trying to extract my lenses from my eyes. Over and over again.

I don’t even wear contact lenses so maybe that’s why I was having difficulty.

Until tonight, that was actually the most interesting dream I ever remember having. Maybe it was the copious amounts of brie I ate? You know what they say about cheese before bedtime and all that.

The dream I have tonight is confusing and, if I’m going to be honest, a total headfuck.

We’re in the hotel setting, and the dynamic is the same in terms of our jobs, but Ryan is somewhere between his Ryan 1.0 and Ryan 2.0 versions in age, complete with glasses, and I’ve of course also regressed back to my teenage years, before I discovered hair straighteners and Sun-In. I’m almost surprised Angus does not turn up as a toddler in a nappy working the bar after my earlier ponderings, but I’m relieved to say he seems to be the same age as us. There’s no confusion around why we’re running a hotel in our mid-teens; it makes perfect sense in the dream. It always does though. It’s only afterwards that you realise how ridiculous it is.

We’re friends, just like we were back then. Not adversaries or whatever the hell someone would label it now. I adore him. When he looks at me, I’m fairly sure I can see something stronger than mere like in his eyes. He then actually tells me he’s in love with me, and it’s easy to say it back.

We decide, again somewhat illogically given that we’re only fourteen or fifteen, to get married. The ceremony takes place in the hotel bar, apparently immediately, surrounded by most of the people I can remember from school. They’re hazy faces, mere background players to my joy that I’m here, in love, with Ryan, and that he loves me too.

I start to walk down the makeshift aisle, a beautiful wedding dress materialising around me. I am delighted. I am radiant. But when I am a mere metre or so from reaching Ryan, who is watching me approach with a massive smile on his face, my bouquet slips from my hands. When I straighten up after retrieving it, another girl in a wedding dress is in front of me, back turned, standing beside him. I reach out and tap her shoulder. When she turns, it’s Ryan’s ex-wife. He turns too and suddenly he’s Ryan 3.0 again. And he looks furious at my presence.

“What are you doing here?” He snaps. “And why the hell are you dressed like that?”

“Oh, you didn’t think he’d be interested in someone like you, did you?” His ex says patronisingly. “I mean.” She waves a hand dismissively up and down in my direction. “You’re not exactly his type.”

They brush past me back up the aisle, without a backwards glance leaving me frozen in horror, all eyes on me. I focus in now on one of the faces, I recognise him. It’s one of Ryan’s friends, Martin. He looks a bit . . . Smug. He always was though. I always liked him the least.

My dream comes to the classic conclusion when I realise my dress has disappeared. I’m standing in front of everyone in my laundry day underwear, sobbing my heart out, and I wake with a start, the jeers from the crowd still ringing in my ears.

While I’m really interested in dreams, I’m not sure they really have hidden meaning. (Although if they do, I guess I probably shouldn’t try contact lenses if I ever experience vision problems.) I tend to think they’re just our brain trying to process memories from our past, and actually the meaning isn’t really hidden at all. In my case this dream has just taken elements of prom night 1999, twisted them, thrown in a new setting and some additional characters from my new life, then added some American soap opera drama to really jazz it up. Oh, and then stripped me almost naked, of course.

Sounds about right.

It’s really unsettled me though. So much so that I actually end up telling Alice about it while she’s training me on how the rotas work.

“Sorry, I know other people’s dreams are really boring,” I apologise. She laughs.

“I disagree. I think that’s a really interesting dream actually,” she says. I knew I liked her. She falls silent and I can tell she’s replaying my retelling of the dream in her head. “So you and Ryan, as kids, you were never . . . In love?”

“Christ, no,” I say emphatically. Probably too emphatically. Her eyebrows shoot up into her hairline at the force of my denial and she chuckles, almost imperceptibly.

“Hmmm. How do you know the other bride was Ryan’s ex wife?” She asks, and at my answering blush she sniggers. “Facebook stalking, right?”

I redden further. “I even thought you might be his girlfriend,” I confess.

“You’re hilarious.” She’s in fits of laughter now. She wipes tears from her eyes as she calms herself. “What’s the significance of this other guy in your dream? Martin, right?”

I shrug. I almost wish I hadn’t mentioned his appearance in the dream. Martin was a dick. He probably still is. He was just one of those boys who gave the impression that he’d never fully grow up, but people let him away with his crap because he was “funny”. His brand of humour was not one I subscribed to though; if you can only make people laugh by bringing other folk down, it’s never been something I want to hear.

I also think he was well aware of the fact I didn’t like him and didn’t find him funny. And guys like Martin, while they feed off controversy, still want to be popular. So in return he didn’t like me much either.

And I was okay with that.

“I’m not really sure why he was in the dream,” I say eventually. Alice’s eyes flicker over me suspiciously.

“You’re a mysterious one, Iona Stewart,” she says softly. “But I will figure you out.”

“Have fun trying,” I say flippantly, adding a cheeky grin to soften my words. “Now, about these rotas?”

And, putting the ridiculous dream to one side – for now, anyway – we get back to work.

Chapter 13

2016

That first week passes quickly, thankfully devoid of any more strange dreams. I’m relieved about that because training is pretty thorough and I really need my sleep to recover.

I’m unsurprised to discover I’ll need to be able to cover the bar, restaurant and reception if necessary, as well as assist with the HR and payroll duties. I’ll also be dealing with the hotel’s social media as part of my role, which I have to admit pleases me. Alice has confessed she can’t really be bothered with that side of things (“I’d 100 percent end up tweeting from the wrong account about pregnancy piles or something,” she’d giggled) but I’m quite eager to get my teeth into that. So much so that I’ve already happily taken that chore out of Alice’s hands.

I barely see Ryan. Obviously our days off won’t overlap since I’m meant to be his cover, but even on the days we are both working we’re like ships that pass in the night. We’re overly cordial to each other when we do find ourselves crossing paths. One time I almost even curtsey, but I decide that is maybe taking our icy politeness a little too far.

Each day flies in and every evening I find myself falling into a routine – 30 minutes on the cross-trainer blasting 90s dance music into my ears, followed by a bath, then whatever I can be bothered cobbling together in the kitchen for dinner. After that I usually wrap myself up in my bed and watch Netflix on my laptop. If I can be bothered pushing the boat out, I’ll chance a glass of wine, but I’m usually half asleep by that point.

I’m always very aware of the fact that Ryan might be on the other side of the wall. On a slightly related note, I haven’t yet used my vibrator. I’m still trying to work out just how thin those walls actually are.

Friday is my first day off and I decide I really should just take it easy and try to recuperate after the last four days. A nice long lie beckons, and I thoroughly embrace the urge to sleep until eleven a.m. I fully deserve it.

I love my room, I think, glancing around contentedly from my comfortable bed. I’m starting to love my job already too, I realise. Because I have so much practical experience working in hotels growing up and in the summers during my degree, I have picked up most tasks pretty quickly, and I’m feeling confident I’ll be able to manage once Alice finishes up and I’m on my own.

Then I remember her last day is Sunday and try not to panic.

Once I’ve dressed and stuffed a few slices of buttered toast in my mouth, I’m feeling calmer again and I head down to stare at the loch for a bit. The water is choppier today and I let the waves hypnotise me for fifteen minutes or so. It’s surprisingly therapeutic.

On the way back to my room, I run into Angus. “Been for a cycle?” I ask him, probably a tad redundantly, taking in his outfit. I know it’s his day off today as well. We’ve been talking (and flirting) quite a lot this week.

“Nah, I just really like to wear skintight shorts to the pub,” he jokes. “Speaking of the pub . . . hey, eyes up here!”

My gaze snap guiltily back to his face. What is with me lately??? He’s clearly trying not to laugh.

“I wasn’t looking at that . . . I mean it. I mean . . .” I cover my face in mortification. “Sorry! What were you saying before I so rudely perved on you?” I might as well own it.

A chuckle escapes his lips. “Fancy coming to the pub in the village tonight?” He asks casually. “We can be locals for the night.”

Is this a date? Do I want it to be a date?

Either way, I find myself nodding. “I’d like that.”

We’ve agreed to meet out front at seven so I have a few hours to stress and then another few to choose an outfit. It reminds me of the night of the barbecue all these years ago, trying to choose an outfit to impress Ryan, and I briefly have to squeeze my eyes tightly together to eject the memory. I decide to stay casual and swap out my baggy jumper for a fairly low cut slouchy black top that really makes the girls look good. And yes, “the girls” are my boobs.

Angus is already waiting for me when I reach our meeting point and I don’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved that he’s not alone – one of the local part-time barstaff, Rory, is also ready to go. So it’s a group thing, I surmise as we walk down the road towards the pub. Probably for the best.

“I’ll get us a round in.” Rory walks off to the bar as Angus leads me to a table. The pub itself is fairly small and already busy, so I guess we’re lucky to get a seat at all.

“Sorry about Rory.” Angus leans over as he sits and says in a low voice into my ear. Goosebumps prick at my skin. “He pretty much invited himself along and I didn’t have the heart to say no. His girlfriend just dumped him so he’s feeling a bit crap.”

I smile. “It’s cool, the more the merrier.”

“Personally, I’d prefer if it was just us,” he says as he straightens back up. He smiles at me and there doesn’t seem to be any guile or agenda there. I have a feeling this is what he does though – it’s his honesty and straightforwardness that pulls in the ladies. And Alice has assured me he’s pulled in many; mostly hotel guests.

This doesn’t really bother me. I don’t really have any desire to be another notch on his bedpost – well, most of the time I don’t think I do – but I want to experience the initial burn that leads to that. The flirtation, the build-up, maybe a bit of skin-on-skin. The anticipation.

For some reason, probably from the intent in his eyes, I have a strong feeling Angus is going to provide me with all of the above tonight. Maybe even more if I want it.

He’s already angled himself closer to me as Rory returns with three pints and plonks himself down opposite us. “Thanks for including me, guys,” he says as he holds his glass aloft towards us. “I really didn’t feel like being alone tonight.”

“No worries,” Angus says easily, as we clink our glasses together. “So tell us what happened with Carrie.”

We’re through the best part of our first drink by the time Rory has treated us to the first act of a lengthy monologue about the ups-and-downs (mainly downs) of his relationship with his now-ex. We “um” and “ah” and “you’re kidding, what a bitch!” our way through our side of the conversation, but I’m barely listening and I suspect Angus isn’t either.

Because he’s slid a warm hand up underneath my top and is tracing shapes on my back.

His touch is light as a feather but holy shit, all my nerves are fizzing over like a bubbling glass of prosecco. At one point, his hand slides right round to my other side, just above my hip and I find myself jumping and letting out a giggle. My sides are ticklish. Angus’ fingers get the hint and retreat to the small of my back, while Rory frowns at my involuntary interruption.

“Sorry, my drink went down the wrong way,” I say in explanation. I realise too late it’s probably been at least five minutes since I last picked up my glass and my explanation isn’t exactly feasible; however, Rory is caught up in his own drama and therefore almost immediately resumes his sorry tale without suspicion.

Eventually he needs the loo. “Gonna get us another round on the way back?” Angus asks him, passing over a twenty quid note. “I don’t want to leave Iona on her own to fend off the old men in here.” He grins down at me, and my breath hitches. “She’s pretty irresistible after all.”

As Rory walks away, I’m almost melting into a puddle of lust. This is what I was talking about. This is exactly what I need.

“Your skin is so smooth,” Angus says softly, looking straight ahead like nothing at all is untoward. “I’d like to find out where else you’re ticklish.” He briefly slides his hand away from me but it’s just to pull my chair even closer to his. Our sides are pressed against each other and we’re both ridiculously warm where our bodies connect.

I’m speechless. My pulse is currently racing to win an 100m sprint. It just outran Usain Bolt.

His eyes are dark when he turns to look at me again. He tucks some of my more wayward ringlets out of the way and brushes his lips across my ear and I stifle a gasp. Then he pulls back and picks up the remainder of his pint to sip, casually. I find myself doing the same, on auto-pilot.

Rory joins us again and with that the curtain comes up on Act 2 of The Story of Carrie. And apparently Angus is not yet tired of stroking my back. I drift off, this time just letting him insert the required platitudes.

There is one point where I register Rory saying “and can you believe she wouldn’t let me put it in there?” and wonder if he’s talking sex or something else, but I can’t quite bring myself to care. My brain has stopped functioning. My whole body is hypersensitive. I’m feeling extremely turned on right now. Far more than I expected to be.

But can I do this with Angus?

I guess, one way or another, I’m going to have to make a decision very soon . . .

Chapter 14

1998

Did I sleep in Ryan Thorne’s shirt the night of the barbecue? Of course not, don’t be ridiculous!

Did I hold the shirt against me and inhale his scent as I drifted off to sleep though? Again, no.

But also, yes.

I debated whether I could get away with keeping it. He might not even notice it was missing. But he’d looked so damn good in it that it felt a shame to deprive him the opportunity to wear it again.

Plus, that devious little voice inside my head reminded me, it would be a great excuse to see him again.

And that, ultimately, was what convinced me to return it. It was the right thing to do.

I was such a good person.

I summoned up my courage. I layered my lashes in mascara. I added a push-up bra (I was already pretty well set in the boobs department, but it was the 90s and Pammy A was our role model back then so it was always a case of the bigger the better. I didn’t know if Ryan was a breast man or not but it felt safer to play the odds.) I obviously added other clothes on top; a short top sporting a love heart logo and a pair of Wrangler Roxanne jeans. Very on-trend for the decade, I can assure you.

You wouldn’t have believed the weather of yesterday had actually happened. The sunshine had been short lived and the rain was pissing it down as I ran across the road. I was glad I hadn’t bothered to straighten my hair after my shower because it was already soaked through.

Lena answered the door. “Iona, hi! To what do we owe the pleasure?” She was just so nice.

I felt awkward all of a sudden. I held the top up. “I just came over to return Ryan’s shirt,” I mumbled. I felt like I was there under false pretences, and who was to say he was even in anyway. “Do you mind passing it to him?”

“Come on in!” She exclaimed. “You can return it yourself in person.” I’m not entirely sure she didn’t have an ulterior motive herself there; there was a strange gleam in her eyes. “Ryan,” she called, leading me up the stairs. “You have a visitor.”

I felt a little sick with nerves, my mouth suddenly dry. He’s your friend, I reminded myself. Just be cool.

Ryan was sitting in the middle of his bed, apparently ignoring the half-unpacked boxes around him while he read a book. He glanced up when we appeared at the open door and when he focused on me that dazzling grin lit his entire face. My heart clenched tightly inside my (slightly inflated) chest. “Hey Iona!”

All I did in response was wave his shirt at him like an absolute fucking moron. “I brought this back,” I eventually mumbled in explanation. His smile didn’t dim. If anything, it got brighter.

“I’ll leave you to it.” Lena headed back downstairs while I took a step closer.

“Sorry,” I belatedly realised. “I should probably have got it washed before I returned it.”

“It’s no bother.” He stood up and took the shirt from my outstretched hand, lifting it to his nose. “It smells like you now,” he observed. And there was that blush edging up his sharp cheekbones once more. How utterly adorable.

It was comments – and reactions – like those, over the course of that year, that would often have me wondering over and over if he did think of me as more than a friend.

“What are you up to?” He asked next. “Do you want to hang out for a bit?”

I glanced around the room. My eyes drifting over the bedside table where his glasses and several other books sat. Scanning the boxes with clothes, and more books, and VHS videos spilling out. “You’re not just trying to trick me into helping you unpack, are you?” I asked suspiciously.

He laughed. “I would chance my arm, but I’d be worried you’d end up unpacking my underwear by accident. Oh good lord!” He clapped a hand over his mouth, his eyes bulging in horror. “Please forget I said that.”

Suddenly I couldn’t stop laughing. Ryan’s handsome face was the colour of a tomato by now. I absolutely loved his lack of filter at times.

Although I was now thinking about his underwear, which wasn’t ideal. I had another quick glance around the room for a distraction. “Argh, you have a PlayStation?” I asked in delight. Of course that was already set up and good to go, in amongst all the chaos. I loved computer games.

“We can play something if you like?” He said eagerly, moving over to the console and TV and gesturing for me to follow. We chose a game, and settled down on the floor on pillows to metaphorically kick each other’s arses.

We must have sat there for at least three or four hours, laughing and joking and competing to see who ultimately was the better player. Eventually Lena called Ryan down for dinner and we reluctantly gave up on our gaming.

“So who won overall?” Ryan asked, rising to his feet and then taking my hand to pull me up too. My hand in his felt so right. I had to remind myself, once again, that he only thought of me as a friend. My palm tingled as he let me go.

“I’m pretty sure it was me,” I said decisively.

“You wish,” he scoffed, but those bright blue eyes were twinkling with good humour. “There’s only thing for it; we’ll need to have a re-match.”

My heart leapt in joy. He wanted me to come back? “You’re on,” I said, forcing myself to sound casual. “When?”

“You free tomorrow?” He asked, and I nodded. Play it cool, Iona.

And I guess that’s how our friendship truly began. Because from that point we ended up hanging out pretty much every day for the rest of the summer holidays. Then, when we returned to school, we discovered we had several subjects in common even though we didn’t share any classes, so it made sense to buddy up and study together too. Occasionally we’d even walk to school together, although Ryan tended to sleep later than me and more often than not had to leave the house in a last minute rush.

I loved the extra time I had with him. I felt like all the other girls saw him as the school stud, but when I was with him in private I got to see the side of him that they didn’t. Part of him, at least, was once again my secret. Around me he was still Ryan 1.0.

My Ryan 1.0.

Whenever we hung out, we spoke about pretty much anything and everything. He confided in me more about his mum and dad and their separation, which was soon to be a divorce. I told him my worries about going to uni and how I was scared I wouldn’t fit in, after years of having the same group of friends. We spoke about our hopes and dreams.

The one thing we never talked about?

Our love lives.

Not until the Valentine’s weekend house party, anyway.

Chapter 15

2016

I’m lying on a bed. The bed isn’t mine. My eyes are wide open and I’m listening to him breathing evenly beside me.

And I’m so very confused. This is definitely not what I expected to happen this weekend.

But let’s rewind a little, back to the village pub. Where were we? Oh, that’s right, Angus had been making his intentions clear and I was definitely enjoying playing along. Those fingers back on my skin were somehow both electric and yet calming at the same time. It had been a long time since I’d been touched by a guy and God, it felt good. Having a gorgeous guy being attracted to me, clearly wanting me, was quite addictive too. Even if I knew deep-down he would probably want someone else by tomorrow.

I didn’t want him to stop . . . but I also really needed the loo, so I excused myself, waiting until Angus had fully shifted his hand out of my top before I moved out of my chair. In the toilets, I took deep breaths, resting my hands on the edge of the sink and slowly raising my head to eyeball my own reflection.

If I do this, I found myself thinking, that’s me definitely saying goodbye to any hope of me and Ryan.

Why in the world I was still somehow thinking this, after everything that had happened, I had no idea. Ryan wasn’t interested in me, he treated me like I barely existed, and let’s not forget I still hadn’t forgiven him for prom night ’99. And yet . . . There was still a gate inside my brain I couldn’t quite bring myself to lock completely, and I wasn’t sure why. The faintest of hopes still lingered.

“I’m so fucked,” I whispered.

When I left the bathroom, Angus was standing outside, leaning against the opposite wall. “I like Rory,” he said. “But I really couldn’t listen to any more of his shite without you there to distract me.” His smile was pure sex as he walked towards me, and I choked on a breath at the determination in his expression.

Clearly Angus had decided he’d had enough with the anticipation aperitif and wanted to proceed to the next course – kissing the life out of me. His lips slid onto mine as he pushed me back into the wall and I melted into the kiss. This guy knew exactly what he was doing and, for the briefest of moments, I was able to switch off and channel all the frustration I had been feeling into the kiss.

The problem was, however, that I was pouring all this emotion into the wrong man. My heart was flashing red warning signs, my brain was malfunctioning, and my libido was all over the place. This wasn’t right.

I couldn’t do it.

I extracted myself from Angus’ lips and pulled back. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I can’t. It’s . . . Too much.”

I expected him to maybe think I was overreacting – it was just a kiss after all – but he studied my face for a minute and then just nodded. An understanding grin spread across his face.

“I should have realised sooner,” he said, almost speaking to himself. I looked at him curiously.

“Realised what?”

He shrugged. “That you’re clearly his girl.”

“Who are you talking about?” I asked.

“Ryan, of course,” Angus replied. Like there was absolutely no doubt in his mind. As if it was completely obvious.

“I’m not . . .” I trailed off, confused. How did he know?

“Your secret is safe with me.” Angus leaned over and dropped a warm kiss on my cheek as he wrapped a solid arm around me. “C’mon, let’s get another drink and see if it really is possible to die of boredom from Rory’s story.”

“So you didn’t shag him then?” Alice concluded as I filled her in the following morning. I obviously gave her a heavily truncated version, avoiding any mention of why I couldn’t go through with it and Angus’ own conclusion. I wasn’t ready to reveal that much yet.

“Nah. It just felt too soon. And I’m not really into casual sex if I’m completely honest.” This much at least was true.

“Plus he’s way too young for you,” Alice teased me.

I sighed. “Don’t. You sound like Ryan.”

Alice’s voice changed tone. “Ryan said that to you too?” She asked. Her voice felt almost too casual. I nodded.

“I saw Ryan earlier,” she said. He was having a rare weekend off, presumably while Alice was still there to provide experienced support. “He seemed a bit put out when I mentioned you and Angus had went out last night.” Her brow furrowed. “Are you sure you and Ryan don’t have a . . . Romantic history?”

“Not like that, we don’t,” I immediately protested.

Alice put down the folder she had been studying and looked me straight in the eye. “Iona,” she said firmly. “Once this baby is out of me, we’re going to the pub and getting absolutely steamboats . . . And I am going to get the whole story out of you. Because I’m finding it increasingly harder to believe you by the day.”

Once again, I could only laugh because I had no doubt she would. If she hadn’t already worked it out on her own by then; I really wouldn’t have put it past her. She probably had a case file on it already.

When my working day was over I went back to my room, originally planning to just cuddle up with something funny on Netflix. But after I ate, and half-reluctantly watched a chick-flick (which turned out to be about a girl that fell for her boss – what the hell is wrong with my life?) I was feeling antsy. I decided a few drinks at the hotel bar would probably be a good idea.

It was busier than it had been the previous Saturday, but there were stools at the bar so I hauled myself up onto one and bought myself a wine. Rory was behind the bar along with Angus but thankfully it appeared he was all talked out after last night, so I mostly just chatted to Angus when he wasn’t serving. Our banter was still flirty, and I was happy to continue to partake in that.

I got the impression that, for Angus, I was unfinished business. He’d thought I was a done deal but I’d never signed on the dotted line. So, even though he’d pretty much worked out that I had feelings for Ryan, he wasn’t going to let that stop him from trying. In fact, he’d actually said to me later on the previous night that if I wanted to “make Ryan jealous” he was more than happy to help out.

I told him I’d keep that in mind. I was just glad we were okay. I couldn’t stand the idea of yet another person not wanting me here.

Around half ten I was three glasses of wine down and had decided it was just about time to make a move (back to my room, not on Angus) when I saw a car pulling up outside. A few moments later, a guy I recognised as one of the barmen from the village pub stuck his head around the door.

“Just wanted to give you a heads-up that I just dropped your boss off. He was insisting on walking back but he’s a bit pissed so I thought it was safer to bring him.”

Me and Angus looked at each other. “I’ll go,” I said after a brief moment. Angus was still on the clock after all, and I’d been about to head back anyway, so I could easily check Ryan had actually made it inside and not ended up in the loch.

And I was hoping if he was drunk he might be a bit friendlier. Although I wasn’t holding out too much hope of that.

“Thanks Iona,” Angus called as I followed the barman outside. The guy looked at me, his eyes narrowed. “So you’re Iona?” He said. The emphasis on the middle word flummoxed me; it was like a penny had dropped into place for him.

I nodded. “Cheers for bringing him back in one piece.”

Ryan had made it to his room. But only as far as the door; he was fumbling with his keys and trying to fit one in the lock when I walked into the accommodation block. I studied him for a brief moment. Outwardly, apart from being slightly wobbly, he didn’t seem too drunk. But when he turned and spotted me, I could see his eyes were slightly too bright and not particularly focused.

“Iona,” he said solemnly, holding up his keys. “I think my room key is broken.”

A nervous giggle escaped me as I walked over to him and removed the keys from his hand. “I think you’re using the wrong key,” I said gently, finding the correct one and opening the door for him. I flicked his light switch on and he stumbled across the room, letting his jacket drop to the ground before flopping onto his neatly made bed.

“Will you be okay?” I asked from the doorway. He rolled over to face me, his expression mournful. “Iona, I think there’s a chance I might puke.”

I came fully into the room at that point, letting the door close behind me, and shook my head at him. “What possessed you to get into this state, Ryan?” I muttered under my breath as I searched around for a suitable receptacle he could use for spewing purposes. I found a wastepaper basket under his desk and brought it over to him. He was covering his eyes with one hand as if the light was too bright so I put the lamp next to the bed on instead.

“Thanks Iona,” he said quietly, opening his eyes and looking directly at me. He seemed to be delighting in using my name for some reason. He stared at me, eyes oh-so-very blue, as if he couldn’t quite believe I was there, before his eyelids fluttered closed again.

Actually, that reminded me…

“Do you still wear contact lenses?” I asked him, shaking his shoulder slightly to get his attention. “Do you need to take them out?” For all I knew, he could have had laser surgery at some point over the years, although I knew he had always been squeamish about his eyes and struggled even with the idea of contacts for years.

He waved his hand dismissively before placing it back over his eyes. “It doesn’t matter,” he said.

It didn’t remotely answer my question but you can’t say I didn’t try. If he had sore eyes in the morning on top of his hangover, that was all on him.

He had a mini-fridge like mine so I rummaged in it and found a bottle of water, which I placed on his bedside table. “I think I’m ill,” he mumbled. “I’m so warm. Touch my forehead, Iona. I’m burning up. “

“You’re just drunk,” I told him, but to humour him, I sat down beside him on the bed and laid my hand on his forehead.

“That is so nice,” he sighed. “So cool.” He reached up and placed his own hand on top of mine. Then, unexpectedly, he pulled both our hands down his face to his stubbly cheek. I sucked in a sharp breath. I could feel him trembling under my touch.

“Iona?”

“Yeah?” My voice was shaking. I didn’t sound like myself.

“Would you mind . . . Just lying with me until I go to sleep?” He hadn’t opened his eyes again. I swallowed hard. He wasn’t making this easy for me.

“Okay,” I whispered.

Clumsily and once again unexpectedly, he managed to manoeuvre my hand to his lips and he pressed his lips briefly against the inside of my wrist. My whole body sizzled in response. “Thanks,” he said softly, releasing me and moving over to give me space on the bed. I gingerly lowered myself down next to him.

And this is where I am now. Lying next to Ryan, listening to him breathing. Staring at the ceiling, my fists clenched. Waiting to ensure he falls asleep. Knowing he’s still awake, but barely.

“Why?” He asks finally.

“What?”

“Why did you do it?” He rolls back onto his side, facing me, and I can feel his drowsy eyes burning into me. “I was gutted, you know. But I would have accepted it.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” I really don’t. His words aren’t making sense. He’s talking in riddles, or so it seems.

“We could still have been friends,” he says, so softly I can barely hear him. “We could have got through it.” He barely makes it through that last mystifying sentence before his eyelids droop again and I’m pretty sure he’s out for the count.

I carefully edge myself back off the bed and creep towards the door. As my hand is on the handle, he speaks again, making me jump.

“Did you sleep with him last night?”

I pause. “No,” I reply finally. There’s no response to that.

So I leave the room.

Chapter 16

2016

I lie awake for a long time after I return to my own room, trying to make sense of Ryan’s words. Why does he think we could still have been friends after prom, after what had happened? Okay, so maybe ghosting him hadn’t been the right decision, but I did what I needed to do at the time to protect my heart.

I can’t help but wonder too why he had gotten so drunk. Based on the last words he spoke, I’m forced to consider that maybe it was because he thought me and Angus had gotten together. But given he hasn’t shown the slightest glimmer of romantic interest in me since I arrived here, I find it hard to believe that he could possibly have been jealous.

Eventually I drift off into an uneasy, unsettled, thankfully dreamless sleep, but I’m wide awake long before my alarm even thinks about making itself heard. When I leave my room, I pause briefly outside Ryan’s but I can’t hear any noise. I’m going to assume he’s still alive though, although I suspect he’ll be so hungover today that he may wish he was dead.

“I hear Ryan was in a bit of a state last night,” is the first thing Alice says when she arrives. I blink at her in disbelief.

“How do you even know that? You’ve literally just walked in the door!”

“I’m psychic,” she explains, deadpan. Then giggles. “Just kidding. My wee brother was in the pub; that’s the only reason I already know.”

“I had to put him to bed, he couldn’t even get his door unlocked,” I tell her, struggling to keep my voice casual.

She raises her eyebrows at that, but passes no comment. “I’ve witnessed him drunk before, but it sounds like he was a whole other level last night. I hope he’s okay.” She leaves it at that, thankfully. I don’t want to have to go into any further details about what was said in his room.

Today we’re expecting a coachload of folk for an overnight stay before they head further North, so we focus on making sure the preparations for that are all set up, and before I know it, it’s midday. One of the many things I like about this job is that no two days are the same.

It’s quiet now as no one can check in until three, and any guest here for the weekend has already left, so I offer to treat Alice to a leaving lunch in the bar. “How are you feeling about finishing up?” I ask her as we wait for our meals to show up.

She shrugs. “It just feels . . . A bit surreal, I guess? Like this is the longest time I’ve had off from working since I left uni, so that makes me excited, but then I remember that in just a couple of weeks I’ll be knee-deep in shitty nappies and probably wishing I was dealing with a moany guest here instead.”

“You paint a beautiful picture,” I tease, and she laughs. Then she glances behind me at the door and her smile widens before she raises her voice.

“Don’t look now, Iona, but Clark Kent has just turned up, and he’s clearly a hungover wreck.”

“Aw, give me a break, Alice,” Ryan says tiredly, dropping into a chair between us. He’s dressed very casually in a black t-shirt, faded jeans and a hooded zip-up top. “I fell asleep in my contacts.” He pushes the dark grey frames he’s wearing higher on his nose, a self-conscious blush staining his cheeks. That’s the only colour in his face at the moment as he’s otherwise pale as a ghost.

“Ouch,” Alice says sympathetically. “Did you wake up thinking you suddenly had perfect eyesight? That’s happened to me a few times. Always gutting when you realise it’s not true.”

“Yeah, for about five seconds before I realised my eyes were virtually stuck together,” he replies dryly. He groans and places a hand on his forehead, triggering recollections of the previous night for me. “My head is killing me.”

“I did try to remind you about your contacts,” I say lightly, and his gaze suddenly sharpens as he looks at me.

“So you did,” he mutters. He looks away, but the colour on his face darkens. He drags a hand across his beard. “I wasn’t sure if I had imagined you being there.”

I wonder how much he actually remembers. It’s clear that last night’s alcohol acted as a form of truth serum for him, temporarily removing the filter he seems to have acquired around me. I don’t think he’ll like the fact he lowered his guard so much.

“Have you spewed?” Alice asks him. He shakes his head.

“It seems inevitable though.” He does look like he’s still on the verge of being sick.

“Sometimes it helps,” I say. “But the process isn’t nice.”

“True.” Ryan stands. “I’m going to go see if I can talk someone in the kitchen into making me a roll and sausage. Figure it’ll either kill me or cure me.” He wanders away and I try not to look at his arse again, aware that Alice is watching my every move.

After a few minutes she excuses herself to pop to the loo and I’m left alone with my confusing thoughts again.

“Iona?” I snap to attention. Ryan’s standing beside me, holding a roll and sausage wrapped in a napkin in one hand. Seems he managed to charm himself a late breakfast after all. I meet his eyes. How can he be so visibly hungover and yet still look this good?

He clears his throat, adorably awkward. “Listen, I don’t really remember what I said last night, so I’m really sorry if I said anything that offended you or was . . . Inappropriate.”

I’m hoping my smile is reassuring enough as he seems worried. “You didn’t.”

“I talk a lot of crap when I’m pissed,” he adds wryly. “Which is one of the many reasons why I try not to end up in a state like that.”

“Honestly, you were fine.”

He actually, finally, smiles at me then. It’s not a full-blown Ryan 1.0 grin, admittedly, but it’s the best attempt at one I’ve witnessed since we were reunited. “Phew,” he says, blowing out a puff of air as he starts to walk away.

But he’s barely taken two or three steps when he hesitates and turns back. “And – just, thanks. For last night. For everything.” There’s a flicker of something in his expression; like he’s trying to tell me something without having to actually say the words out loud.

And, as he leaves the bar, there’s no doubt in my mind that he does remember our entire conversation.

Chapter 17

1999

I don’t think the party at David Richardson’s was meant to necessarily be a Valentine’s related event; it just happened to coincide with the same weekend. And most of sixth year at St Stephen’s, our school, had been invited.

No one got an official invite of course. It was more of a word-of-mouth event: “David’s got an empty this weekend, we’re all going over there to get pissed.” An “empty”, of course, meant his parents were not going to be there. And likely had no clue that their son was planning on throwing a party.

I had actually never been to an empty before. I’d also never been drunk. Or kissed anyone. I was seventeen years old, only a few months off eighteen in fact, and I was starting to feel a bit . . . Boring. I really needed to get a life before I started uni in the autumn.

“You are going tonight, right?” Ryan checked, shooting me a sidelong glance. He’d caught up with me as I was walking home from school. He must have had to run a bit as his cheeks were flushed and his tie askew. I was mildly flattered at the effort.

“I think so. Just need to get around my folks,” I replied. My parents were pretty protective. I didn’t think they’d approve of me going to an unsupervised party. So I’d told them I was going to Lily’s to watch Friday night TV and eat pizza. Her parents were going to some sort of tribute night so hopefully wouldn’t realise we were missing in action.

“Hope you make it,” Ryan smiled and my heart skipped a beat. What I wouldn’t give for him to be my first kiss.

We got ready at Lily’s, singing along to the latest Now . . . That’s What I Call Music album, while trying to decide what to wear.

I found myself enviously looking at my friends’ bodies, not for the first time. Claire and Lily both were so much thinner than me and I coveted the figures that realistically I knew I couldn’t have. I had always had bigger hips and thighs and, as I mentioned previously, my boobs had came in early and pretty big. I had curves where they didn’t. One time, in first year of high school, a mean boy had called me a “fat bitch” and it still stung to think about, although deep down I knew he was just being an arsehole and hitting me where he suspected it might hurt.

My tummy was gurgling pleadingly while Lily straightened my hair. Although I didn’t really have a hang-up about my weight, I did sometimes end up skipping a meal or two before an event or party in the hope it would miraculously make me super-svelte. This was one of those days. I hadn’t eaten since my Rice Krispies at breakfast time.

Claire passed me a bottle of Bacardi Breezer. She had talked her older brother into buying us some booze since we were still underage and not confident we could pull off looking 18 in an off-licence. I think she’d had to pay him a tenner for his services but it was worth it for the delicious liquid courage. This party was definitely going to put me way out of my comfort zone and I had to be prepared.

“It’s just a little crush,” Lily sang along with Jennifer Paige, taking a swig of her drink. “Unlike your massive crush on Ryan,” she segued, meeting my eyes in the mirror as she picked the straighteners up again. “Come on, just admit you’re crazy about him.”

“We’re just friends,” I protested, but I could see my ruddy cheeks were giving me away.

“You definitely want to be more than that though.” Lily pointed the hairbrush at me accusingly. “And who could blame you? He’s so cute . . . And he’s actually nice.”

“And you get to spend all that time with him in his room,” Claire sighed, not without a hint of jealousy. “I’d have jumped on him by now, for sure.”

“Okay okay, I do fancy him,” I confessed. “But I don’t know how he feels about me and I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

“Maybe tonight will be the night,” Lily said dramatically. “Alcohol will be consumed, defences will be lowered . . . The truth might come out.”

Spoiler alert: tonight was not the night and the truth did not come out.

Because when we got to the party, fashionably late of course, the first thing I saw was Ryan snogging Christine Menzies from my Accounting class.

So that was that.

“Shit.” Lily said succinctly, following my gaze. Ironically, the soundtrack to my discovery was the current UK number one, Armand Van Helden’s “You Don’t Know Me”. It seemed fitting at that moment. I didn’t really know Ryan at all. She pulled at my arm. “Let’s go into the kitchen.”

The kitchen is where it’s at. Even now, as a grown-up, I gravitate towards the kitchen at house parties. Easy access to the food and drink, and it’s where all the cool people hang out. I’ve always hoped that might make me cool by default.

And this was a great kitchen. Massive. As was the house in general. David’s parents were clearly loaded. My family’s three bedroomed semi-detached seemed like a doll’s house in comparison.

Claire found us some plastic cups and started pouring vodka and Coke into them. “Mate, are you okay?” She asked sympathetically, patting me on the shoulder.

I was . . . fine. I mean, it wasn’t like I had really been expecting anything from Ryan. Sure, he’d seemed keen for me to come to the party, but that didn’t mean he’d actually wanted anything from me. He probably just fancied hanging out with me in a different location, for once. Or he was just being nice. When it came down to it, he could kiss whoever he wanted.

“Let’s get this one down us fast, and I’ll pour us another before we decide what our next move is.” Claire was a woman on a mission so I gulped that first vodka down. As an inexperienced drinker with an empty stomach, two Bacardi Breezers and a vodka and Coke were already having an effect on me. I was still perfectly lucid but everything around me was slightly washed out. It was . . . Pleasant. Maybe that’s why I’d been so accepting of Ryan’s choice of co-kisser.

Another drink in and yep, I was pretty buzzed. “Tragedy” by Steps came on and we joined a few others in the middle of the kitchen floor to perform the dance. It was good fun, and I’d forgotten to even feel self-conscious. This “being drunk” thing was actually pretty nice, I mused to myself, taking a seat at the breakfast bar to recover from the unexpected exercise. I could definitely see why people did it.

“Iona?” A guy I vaguely recognised from school was standing beside me. I couldn’t quite remember his name, but it was on the tip of my tongue, which was frustrating. “Gary Johnson was wondering if you’d get off with him.”

How very romantic. But that was how it went back then. Claire and Lily were making eager faces at me – they’d both kissed guys before and knew I was feeling a bit left behind. Plus Gary was cute, I remembered. Dark hair, dark eyes, nice smile. I’d known him since primary school, although we rarely spoke. He was probably who I should have fallen for rather than Ryan.

So I took a fortifying breath, nodded and followed the guy to the living room, which appeared to have been deemed the kissing zone and was dotted with snogging couples. Gary was waiting there for me, a tentative smile on his face as I was practically delivered to him. “Hi,” he said shyly. Did he fancy me? I’d never thought so, but then I’d never really thought anyone would like me that way.

“Hey.” I looked at my feet awkwardly.

“You look gorgeous tonight.” Growing in confidence, he took my hand and lead me over to an armchair. Then he pulled me into his lap and started to kiss me.

Inexperienced though I was, I could tell Gary had done this a lot. Probably had a different girl at every empty. He was, I decided, a good kisser. There was probably slightly more tongue than I would have cared for. But his lips were soft and his breath minty fresh with only the slightest hint of beer. He must have frantically chewed some gum while waiting for a decision from me.

I tried to ignore the fact that the song playing during my very first kiss was Chef’s “Chocolate Salty Balls”. I was extremely relieved when it was eventually replaced by an Ocean Color Scene tune.

His eyes were shining when we pulled apart. “I’ve fancied you for ages,” he told me. He had? “I couldn’t believe it when you walked in the door tonight, you never come to these parties. You’re so mysterious.” I was?

We kissed a bit more, then Claire and Lily found me and dragged me back to the kitchen to dance. It turned out it was already pretty late – that kissing sesh had lasted longer than I expected. While I was dancing I’d occasionally catch a glimpse of Gary, leaning against the kitchen counter, drinking his beer while he watched me. At first it felt nice, but then I started to get what I didn’t realise at the time was “the ick”.

I knew that it was just a kiss – okay, lots of kisses – and the party was pretty much in a parallel universe to the real world we existed in. That everything would go back to normal on Monday, there would be a bit of gossip, and possibly some awkwardness, but it would quickly be over with. The kissing would probably never be mentioned again.

But I already wanted out of this universe. I wanted to go back to real world and forget this had happened. Gary was cute and apparently fancied me, but I didn’t really like him in return. And I definitely didn’t want to kiss him again. I just wanted to leave.

“I think I’m going to go,” I whispered to Lily. She frowned at me.

“Why? You just pulled one of the hottest guys in school!”

“Yeah, but I’ve pretty much had enough of him now,” I hissed back. She laughed.

“Say no more. But look – you’re pretty drunk; if you go home right now your parents will 100 percent know we lied about our plans tonight. Have a big glass of water or two first, eh?”

She wasn’t wrong there, I guessed. I filled a pint glass with tap water and started to guzzle it down. “Have you seen Ryan since . . . Earlier?” I asked Lily. She shook her head. Great, I thought, he’s probably away in a bedroom with bloody Christine.

Gary had been temporarily distracted by one of his friends and was no longer watching me, so I grabbed my jacket and drink and let myself out the back door. Although it was February, it wasn’t actually that cold so I wandered out into the middle of the garden to the little fountain in the centre of it – of course they had a fountain.

“Hey Iona.” I jumped and nearly dropped my glass at his voice. When I turned, Ryan was sitting there on the bench behind me, a bottle of beer dangling from his hand.

“You gave me such a fright,” I gasped. “What are you doing out here?”

I took the opportunity to look at him properly this time, without Christine Menzies’ face blocking most of it. Of course he looked good, as always. He was definitely drunker than me though. I sat down beside him.

“Taking a breather,” he replied after a brief hesitation. I noticed he was avoiding my eyes. “So . . . You and Johnson, eh?” He laughed but it sounded forced.

“I had to get it out of the way eventually, I guess,” I said lightly. That got his attention. He whipped around to face me, his eyes slicing through mine like bright blue lasers.

“What do you mean?”

I felt my blush returning. “It was my first kiss,” I admitted.

“You’re kidding!” He exclaimed. “You mean . . . Oh god.” He seemed to be having a conversation with himself rather than me, running a hand over his chin and closing his eyes briefly as if in pain.

“Oh Christ, please don’t tell Gary that!” I said. “I think I did a half-decent job of pretending I knew what I was doing.”

“It looked like you did.” So he’d actually saw us kissing. “Don’t worry; your secret is safe with me.”

A sudden realisation hit me. “Oh shit. Gary’s in my reg class. I’m going to have to see him every day.” I’d forgotten that part. “And he said he really fancies me. If he wasn’t just spinning me a line, that’s going to get so awkward.”

“It wasn’t a line,” Ryan said softly. “He fancies you. Everyone – I mean, they all do.” I glanced up at him sharply but he was looking away again, shaking his head. “You must realise that.”

It was my turn to shake my head. “Yeah right.”

It felt like the silence between us stretched into eternity, even though it probably only lasted thirty seconds or so.

Then he sighed. “You were really late tonight. I thought you weren’t coming after all.” His voice felt thick with meaning, but I didn’t know what he was trying to tell me.

“Oh you know what it’s like, we couldn’t decide what to wear,” I said flippantly. I realised I’d drained my glass. Time to go back for another. “I’m going to head back inside, it’s getting cold.” Of course, Ryan was sitting there in a t-shirt while I shivered in my winter coat.

I stood up. I wasn’t expecting Ryan’s next words.

“Tonight, with Christine? That was my first kiss too,” he said quietly. “I just . . . Thought you should know.”

It took a minute for the shock at this revelation to sink in. Ryan had never kissed anyone before tonight? Surely that couldn’t be the case?

Before my brain could process this fully, more questions formed. Deeper, more confusing, questions.

Was he telling me what I thought he might actually be telling me? That he’d wanted his first kiss to be with me? That he had only kissed Christine because he thought I wasn’t going to be there, in the same way I knew I’d only kissed Gary because Ryan was otherwise engaged? Or maybe he was reassuring me that I wasn’t alone in having my first kiss at nearly 18? Or was he just twisting the metaphorical knife already slightly wedged in my heart?

“Thanks,” I said. Under the circumstances, it was the only thing I felt I could say.

I went inside without looking back. Successfully avoided Gary and left the party.

As suspected, gossip was rife at school on Monday. Gary actually did try to ask me out – actually, he got one of his friends to ask on his behalf, of course – but I kindly turned him down. I don’t think he took it too badly, and I did occasionally spot him eyeing me up over the remainder of the year, so I guess he actually did fancy me after all.

As for me and Ryan – regular scheduled programming returned and we went back to our usual friendship. Our conversation at the party never mentioned again.

But now . . . Now, there was an undercurrent of something else that hadn’t been there before that night. And sooner or later, one way or another, we were going to have to address it.

Chapter 18

2016

After the night Ryan got ridiculously drunk, there’s a definite thaw in his attitude towards me. This is a huge relief, as I worried it would go the other way. It certainly had the potential to do so.

At first, I wouldn’t say that he goes out of his way to speak to me or interact with me; it would be more when necessity – ie the job – requires it. But the frostiness that had lingered that first week is gradually melting, much like the snow on the mountains surrounding us as spring starts to descend. He is warming to me again and, despite everything that had went on between us, that’s all I’m looking for. I want the old Ryan back. Actually, no, I don’t want the boy version back anymore. I’m longing for Ryan 4.0 – the gorgeous man who actually means it when he smiles at me.

And Ryan 4.0, I believe, is starting to emerge from Ryan 3.0’s guarded cocoon.

As the days turn into weeks, and the weeks begin to pass, I’d almost say he actually starts to seek me out. It’s always still work-related, of course, but he’ll appear where I am in much the same way he used to avoid doing so. I find myself cataloguing the interactions in my head, the way I used to do in my diary.

9/02/16 – he actually laughs at a stupid joke I make. I mean, he says “that’s literally the worst joke I’ve ever heard, Iona,” immediately afterwards . . . But he still laughs.

11/02/16 – I catch him watching me while I’m helping out in the bar. He blushes and glances away, just like he used to do at school. But after a second he looks back at me and the shy smile on his face is like being handed a massive bar of Galaxy chocolate after a week on a juice fast. I grasp onto that smile like a lifeline.

12/02/2016 – What I’ll call “the kitchen incident”. Oh good Lord . . .

Will I go into a bit more detail than that? Of course I will. Whether you want me to or not.

Ironically, this is Valentine’s Day weekend. When I check my diary later, I realise it was 17 years ago exactly that I attended that party and had my first kiss with Gary-not-Ryan. These sort of coincidences never fail to amaze me.

Valentine’s weekend is, naturally, a big weekend for the hotel, with lots of couples wanting to escape for a romantic stay. How very cliché – I’d rather go away a different weekend where the room prices are cheaper and I don’t have to eat off a limited “Valentine’s day” menu that costs three times more money. But that’s just me. Cynic, remember? And I’ve never been a fan of Valentine’s Day anyway.

In fact, I was once dumped on Valentine’s day. Right after the guy had just rolled off me in bed.

Yep. There’s so much you don’t know about me.

Anyway, because it’s a big weekend and the hotel is at full capacity, Ryan and I have agreed between us to both work the whole weekend, and stagger our shifts so we’re covering longer days than usual. I’m doing the early shift and he’s on late shift, finishing at ten. And we’ll be on call anyway if required outside of our shifts as we won’t be leaving the hotel site.

You’d think there wouldn’t be much in the way of emergencies in hotels on V Day, that folk would be too loved up to cause any bother. That’s not the case though. Once I worked in a hotel where the wife broke her arm because she had rubbed too much essential oil onto the husband during a pre-sex massage and then slipped right off him onto the floor when they started to actually do the deed. I’ve heard so many similar tales too from other folk I’ve worked with over the years. Lost the key to the handcuffs. Got something stuck somewhere they shouldnt. Some couples go nuts on Valentine’s day, especially when they’re let loose in a hotel room unsupervised; it’s like their equivalent of the full moon, I guess.

Shit, I’ve done it again, haven’t I? I’m meant to be explaining “the kitchen incident”. Sorry about that. Here goes . . .

So after a long day on the Friday, I do pretty much my usual post-work routine, apart from the gym because I’m knackered. Bath, pjs on, throw together a stir-fry, consider a glass of wine and decide I don’t want to risk being a mess tomorrow. Back in my room, I decide to apply a face mask. My favourite are the peel-off type; I find it ridiculously fun to peel things off my skin. This one smells like honey and is a particular favourite.

I pour myself a glass of tonic water in lieu of the wine I’d prefer and prop my laptop on my knees to catch up on some Netflix, but the day has caught up with me and I drift off to sleep, only jolting awake two hours later. My stomach protesting that it’s still hungry is what actually wakes me; I clearly didn’t make a big enough portion for dinner.

“Crisps,” I say out loud. I’m pretty sure I have a big bag of Doritos in my cupboard, the chilli heatwave ones. My tummy growls louder at this word, much like a dog reacting to the word “walkies”. I head to the kitchen, noticing my face feels a bit tight but not really thinking much of it. My brain is consumed with crisps. And dip. And maybe actually I should have a wine . . .

I dig the crisps out of the back of my cupboard just as the kitchen door swings open. It’s Ryan, who clearly has just finished his shift and looks as tired as I feel.

“You done?” I ask sympathetically. “Any notable incidents?” It’s sort of hard to move my mouth.

He shakes his head. “Thank god,” he mutters. Then he does a double take. “In the nicest possible way, Iona,” he says slowly. “What the fuck is going on with your face right now?”

My free hand flies to my face. “Oh holy crap, I forgot about my face mask.” I’m very aware of how this must look to Ryan – I’ll be very shiny and slightly yellow right now, with a few cracks from my attempt at speaking. The mask will have set a long time ago. I’m sure my face flushing in embarrassment underneath will not enhance the overall look in any way.

He walks closer to me, his smile confused as he examines my face. “You look a bit like you’re made of plastic,” he chuckles.

“It’s a peel-off mask,” I explain. “It’s my favourite beauty treatment.”

“Why?” His eyes have brightened and he seems genuinely curious, so I find my mortification fading.

“Do you remember when you were a kid, the first time you accidentally got glue on your fingers?” He nods. “How much fun was it to peel it off when it dried?”

“A lot,” he agrees, laughing. “Sometimes I’d end up deliberately getting some on my skin just so I could peel it.”

“Exactly.” He gets it. “Well, a peel-off face mask reminds me of that. It’s actually kind of therapeutic. Here.” I don’t know what possesses me to do it, but I grab his hand and bring it up to my face, to the edge of my jawline. “Give it a go.”

What the hell am I doing?

His eyes widen in shock, and my skin tingles at his touch, but I can’t really back out of it now. We both freeze like that for a moment. “Just find an edge, grab it and start pulling,” I eventually instruct him, trying to stop my voice from shaking.

Ryan laughs again, slightly nervously this time. “Okay.” His fingers fumble over my skin until he catches a corner of the mask, and then he gently starts to pull. “Tell me if I’m hurting you,” he says quietly.

And suddenly it’s all too much. The room no longer feels big enough for the two of us. The walls are closing in and it’s hard to breathe.

“You’re not.” I lower my eyes, sure my heart-rate must be off-the-scale by now due to his proximity, and his touch.

“I don’t want to rip your skin off,” he continues, his voice husky as he carefully removes another section of mask from my skin. This is probably the least sexy thing I’ve ever asked a guy to do to me.

So why am I this turned on?

“It’ll be fine as long as you’re gentle and don’t try to tear it all off in one go,” I joke awkwardly. “It’s not waxing, after all.”

He winces at the thought as his other hand comes up to rest on the side of my neck. “I promise I won’t do that.” He’s practically whispering now and his warm breath tickles my skin, sending a shiver of delight through me. My entire body is humming with electricity, powered by lust.

After another twenty seconds or so, I realise he’s not even trying to remove the mask anymore. He seems to be just stroking the cheek that he already pulled the mask from. His hand drifts towards my mouth and his thumb snags in the middle of my bottom lip. I still can’t look at him, although my body is betraying me in pretty much every way possible.

“Iona,” he exhales.

My eyes snap upwards to meet his and I’m stunned at how close our lips are; just how dilated his pupils are. Where did the blue go?

And in this moment, I am finally in absolutely no doubt whatsoever that Ryan Thorne is attracted to me. That he wants me. Yeah, I get it, you all saw it already, I’m an idiot, etc etc etc.

But hey, guess what, this is real life and so it will come as no surprise that the moment is interrupted. Suddenly the main door of the building slams, and we hear footsteps heading towards the kitchen. I reluctantly pull back from him as Angus flings the kitchen door open, looking for Ryan.

I don’t really take Angus’ words in. Something about a middle-aged couple, chocolate body paint, a streaking dare, and locking themselves out of their room, I think? Normally I’d be living for this type of gossip but I can barely function right now. I don’t know how Ryan has managed to snap back into work mode so quickly. I’m going to need at least 24 business hours to recover from whatever it was that nearly happened.

Ryan picks up my bag of crisps and hands it to me. I hadn’t even noticed I’d dropped it. “You were right, by the way,” he hisses in my ear, his beard rough against my skin. “That was therapeutic.”

He walks to the door without a backwards glance. Angus grins at me knowingly. “I don’t want to alarm you,” he tells me. “But half your face appears to be hanging off.”

Then he follows Ryan outside while I head back to my room to stuff myself full of crisps and brood over the startling events of the last five minutes.

Chapter 19

2016

One of the reasons I don’t mind working the long hours Valentine’s weekend entails is because, on Monday, the hotel is going to be closing for a few days. The communal areas are getting revamped, and it has been decided it would be easier to do this without guests in the way. So, as soon as the guests check out Monday morning, I am free until Friday!

I don’t see Ryan much after “the kitchen incident”. If part of me had been hoping he might knock on my door after he was back from sorting the body paint/streaking couple crisis on Friday night, that part of me was to be sadly disappointed. About half an hour after he left with Angus, I heard his footsteps walk directly to his own room without any hesitation.

It was probably for the best.

For the rest of the weekend, we work our different shifts and are rarely in the same place when our hours overlap. I’m pretty much always aware of where he is, though. My Ryan radar is now fully enabled.

The staff have all scattered by midday on Monday. Angus has bunged his bike on the back of his car and is headed north east for a couple of days. He did invite me, but I thought it was for the best to keep my distance, for obvious reasons. The few other members of staff who live onsite have also taken the opportunity to explore Scotland further, so it appears I’ll be on my own.

Well, sort of.

Because Ryan is still around, too.

“Are you going away anywhere this week?” He asks me, appearing just as I’m switching off the computer in reception and locking the paperwork away. I’m not sure where he thinks I’ll be going, given I don’t have a car, but he’s probably just being polite.

“Nah,” I shake my head. “Just going to hang around my room and catch up on my sleep, probably.”

His gaze lingers on me slightly longer than necessary, and I’m appalled to feel my nipples hardening in response to the look in his eyes. Hazy memories of Friday night reflect back at me. “Good to know,” he says quietly, before turning and walking away.

I resist the urge to follow him.

I’m meeting Alice for lunch on Tuesday. Despite the fact she hadn’t actually been due to give birth until early February, she had went into labour on the morning of her first official day of maternity leave, and she’s still raging about it. “I never got to enjoy it,” she laments now as we find a seat in the pub. I’ve not been in here since the night Angus kissed me. It’s a lot quieter during the day.

“How much would you have enjoyed it anyway?” I ask, picking up a menu. “You were absolutely miserable at the end. In fact, I’m pretty sure the last thing you said to me before finishing up was ‘I want this devil child out of me already’.”

“You’re not wrong there,” she sighs. “Will we get a bottle of wine?”

“Sounds good to me.” We order food and wine, and then Alice gets her phone out to show me photos of baby Eva. I’m pretty sure I’m missing the baby gene myself, but Eva is absolutely adorable with her curly wisps of dark hair and big blue eyes, and I’m officially in love. “You’ll need to bring her next time,” I say.

“Definitely, but this time, I’m just glad to get a break for a few hours. Allan can deal with her on his own for a change.” Alice pours our drinks and holds her glass up for a cheers. “Here’s to some baby-free time!”

I gladly clink my glass against hers and take a sip of my wine. Refreshing.

“So, are you ready to talk yet?” Alice asks once we’ve eaten our meals and are onto a second drink. “Are you seriously telling me you and Ryan were never together?”

I sigh. I may as well get it over with. “I promise, we’ve never been a thing. There was a time, years ago, where I thought we might be. But . . . It never happened.”

“Why not?” Alice persists. “There’s more to it than that, right?” I shrug in response.

She puts her glass down. “If you think it’s because he didn’t or doesn’t like you, you’re wrong. He might have never mentioned you to me before, but I’ve noticed the way he acts around you. It’s obvious to me that he has feelings for you.”

Apparently, those words turn on some sort of tap in my brain . . . because suddenly, it all comes flooding out. The pen meet-cute, him moving in across the road, the party, the prom . . .

Alice frowns when I get to that part. “That really doesn’t sound like something Ryan would do,” she says. “I mean, I know it was years ago, but . . . I just don’t think he’s ever been that type of guy.”

I nod. “I know what you mean, and I thought so too. But I don’t know what else I was meant to think. Basically, I felt like it was all confirmed for me when I went to find him, and he was actually kissing . . . Her. So if that was true, then the rest must have been too.”

I push the dessert menu away; the idea of sticky toffee pudding is no longer exciting me. In fact, my appetite has completely vanished. I inhale deeply, contracting my stomach muscles as hard as I can, then realise what I’m doing and immediately relax them again.

“Wouldn’t it have been better to just talk to him about it that night? Was choosing to just no longer be part of his life really the wisest decision?” Alice pushes me.

“Hindsight’s 20/20, right? I was 18 and silly, I thought he’d broken my heart. I needed to go away and lick my wounds and get over him. ” I shrug again.

“But you didn’t get over him. Did you?”

Alice is way too perceptive. It’s really fucking annoying.

But she’s absolutely right, too. I didn’t get over Ryan. Deep down, I don’t think I’ve ever really even wanted to.

I’ve held onto my teenage crush and my resentment all these years, practically wearing it like a badge of honour. I’ve wallowed in the misery of that unrequited love. And I’ve genuinely, in all that time, never met a guy I’ve liked anywhere near as much as I liked Ryan Thorne. Which is probably why all my relationships have went tits-up, usually in the space of a few months.

“Better batten down the hatches,” Alice warns as we step outside, staring up at the ominously dark sky. I look questioningly at her. “There’s a storm due tonight.”

I shudder. “I hate storms.”

“Best get yourself mentally prepared then,” she says with a laugh, patting me on the arm. “It’s probably going to get pretty bad.”

That doesn’t help.

I walk as quickly as possible back to the Thorne Inn, but the rain has already started and the wind whipping my hair around before I even make it to my accommodation. I close the main door behind me with relief and head to the kitchen for junk food supplies. If I’m going to potentially be huddling under the covers all night, I need to be ready and armed.

When I said I hate storms, I don’t mean it lightly. I am petrified of thunder and lightning, particularly at night time. I am also convinced that I will be struck by lightning at least once in my lifetime. It’s been a genuine, possibly irrational, concern for me since I’ve been a kid.

My mum has told me that when I was a very young child, barely old enough to walk, I’d got scared when I heard my first clap of thunder, and went running to find her, but I’d slipped and fell down the stairs. Luckily, I’d been unhurt, the way you tend to be when a kid, but I guess that’s the origins of my fear. I’m not a fan of thunder and lightning anyway, but it also must trigger the memory of me feeling helpless as I tumbled down the stairs . . . and that makes it all the more traumatic for me.

To make me feel better anytime there was a thunderstorm after that, my mum and dad would make a pillow fort and we’d all huddle underneath it with a torch and play board games to take my mind off my fear.

I miss those days.

As I walk back to my room with my handfuls of crisps and sweets, I can’t help but glance up the corridor towards Ryan’s door. I wonder if he’s in. If he wants company. If he’d like to partake in some dirty times . . . No, Iona, don’t go there. I shake my head at my own pervy thoughts and put my pyjamas on in my own room.

Now, if you thought cats with cocktails made for cool pjs, then prepare yourself for . . . Dogs playing percussion instruments. Honestly I have the sexiest nightwear. I smile wryly at a dalmation waving a tambourine around before I pull my fluffy dressing gown tightly around me. It’s only 4pm but I want to be as cosy as possible.

I’m snuggled up in bed, a glass of wine in one hand, and a Kinder Bueno bar in the other, watching a terrible film on the telly, when the lightning first flashes. I don’t really see it, it’s more of a sense as I have the curtains closed. But the rumble of thunder that follows five seconds or so later confirms the lightning’s existence, and chills my blood. Clutching my wineglass tighter, I retreat completely under the covers.

And about half a minute later, the power cuts out.

Everything goes black and silent. Apart from the lashing of the rain and the eerie howling of the wind, of course.

Fuck.

This is my worst nightmare coming true. Alone in the dark in the middle of nowhere in an electrical storm… I’m like a character in a horror film. And I’m not even the Neve Campbell of the film . . . I’m Drew Barrymore just waiting to be picked off by the killer. I whimper into my glass, picturing a fork of lightning directly above me, poised to strike . . .

But then, out of nowhere, there’s a knock at my door. And, let’s face it, there’s only one person that can really be on the other side of it.

Well, unless it’s a killer in a “Scream” mask, of course . . .

Chapter 20

1999

Prom was still weeks away but folk at school were already buzzing about it.

What you’ve got to understand here is prom night was a relatively new concept for us; the type of event we’d only really witnessed on American TV programmes (or that I’d read about in my romance novels). It had only been in the last few years my school had caught on and starting throwing one for the graduating sixth year pupils.

I wasn’t sure if I could be bothered going. I didn’t really understand the hype. Even though I loved reading about proms, I wasn’t sure I actually wanted to take part in one. I knew it was never going to be as glamorous as the fictional ones I’d grown up on, for a start.

And I didn’t particularly want to get caught up in the minefield of “who is going with who”. Because, let’s face it, there was only one person I’d want to go with, and if he went with someone else, there’s no way I’d want to see that.

“So do you think you’re going to go to prom?” That same person asked me a few weeks later, his tone offhand. We were studying in Ryan’s room, and the evening sunshine was pouring through his window, bathing him in flattering golden light. It made his eyes flare luminous blue and brought out the light freckles sprinkled across the bridge of his nose, and I don’t think he’d ever looked more irresistible to me.

I hesitated. “I’m not sure.”

“Has anyone asked you to go with them?” He was looking down at his jotter now, but I could see his teeth worrying away at his bottom lip. I couldn’t help but feel like the casual tone was forced, and he actually cared about the answer.

That extra line of tension undercutting our friendship since the Valentine’s party seemed to be fizzing louder than usual in his room that night. For over three months now we’d both been ignoring it. Or maybe I was merely imagining its presence in the first place. But I didn’t think so. Especially while studying the tightness in his face as he awaited my response.

“No,” I said finally. I watched as his expression visibly relaxed with that one syllable, confirming my suspicions. “I’m starting to worry that Gary might be gearing up to ask me though,” I added, only half-joking. “I’m not sure how I’ll turn him down if he does.”

Ryan swallowed, then he looked up at me with a tentative smile on his face. “How about you just tell him you’re going with me?” He said, as if he’d just had a lightbulb moment. “Why don’t we go together?”

Oh, my heart. “You want to go to prom with me?” I asked, trying to hide my delight.

His small smile morphed into a massive grin. “Of course!” He said, as if it was obvious. “Shall we?”

I nodded, my own mouth curling upwards. “Let’s do it.”

“Great!” He opened a textbook. “Going with one of my best friends will make it so much more fun.”

Oh.

Once again, it seemed I’d been friend-zoned. Although at least I had been put in more of a “best friend zone” this time; a promotion of sorts, I suppose.

However, I knew I wasn’t imagining that there was a vibe between us. Even later that same evening I caught him looking at me at least twice, and there was definitely what appeared to be longing in his eyes. At another point, we’d accidentally brushed hands as we both reached for a pencil and he’d nearly jumped out of his skin. To be fair, so did I.

I still had hope.

It turned out Ryan’s timing couldn’t have been better as Gary chose the very next day to ask me to prom. I was able to turn him down without making a lame excuse, and with a clear conscience; he wasn’t a bad guy, after all . . . he just wasn’t the guy I wanted.

At that point, prom was still nearly a month away, and I wondered how I could hold onto my excitement until then. Because, for me, prom would be make-or-break. The point where I found out if Ryan and I were meant to be.

On prom night, I vowed, I would make a move. If he didn’t feel the same way then fine – I would be sad, obviously, but at least I would have put myself out there. And much like the Valentine’s party that had existed in that other universe, slightly separate to the real world, if we addressed this subject at prom, then it should be easier to return to the real world and keep our friendship if my hopes were dashed.

In retrospect, I realise my reasoning was pretty nonsensical. But at the time, it made absolute sense to me. It also meant I got to keep Ryan’s friendship as long as possible without ruining it with pesky little things like “feelings”. Because who was to say our friendship would last beyond sixth year anyway? He was going to Stirling Uni and I was moving in with my cousin in the west end.

It’s only as I recall this that I realise the same could have been true had we decided to give an actual relationship a go. Like I said, my logic was not in fact logical. I was an 18 year old romantic with my head stuck in impractical clouds.

Don’t you worry about me though . . . My rose-tinted view on life was not to last much longer.