Page 73 of That Island Feeling

‘Stay,’ I whisper back. I don’t care if it sounds desperate; I’m not ready to break our peaceful cocoon just yet. ‘We can watch the sunrise together.’

‘Next time,’ she says, offering me a soft smile before slipping out the door.

Chapter Thirty

ANDIE

I told the sunrise about you.

Fuck.

Jack’s message lights up my screen, turning my heart into mush and my phone into a grenade. I fling it down on my towel.

Holiday hook-up rule number six: Don’t catch feelings.

Holiday hook-up rule number seven: Don’t stay the night.

I’ve barely scraped through with a pass on both.

Earlier, I woke to Jack sleeping peacefully, his features relaxed and his chest rising and falling rhythmically. I stayed there, watching him, my heart fluttering with his breath, until he gave a little grunt in his sleep and I was scared he’d caught me staring. By the time I left it was almost 5 a.m. Staying would have meant more bacon and eggs cooked on his hob for breakfast, more intimate, whispered conversations that left me feeling vulnerable yet so alive. I love the way I feel when I’m around him – it’s a sense of lightness and freedom I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced before. But he’s just a casual holiday thing, I remind myself, with an expiration date in three days – which is why I slipped out while it was still dark.

And yet, I’m already dreaming about being back in Jack’s bed.

I watched the sun rise as I made my way back to Moorings, lighting the river with the heavenly colours of the sky, a soft palette of mauves and pinks turning into fiery oranges and reds.

Back at the house, I changed into my swimmers, grabbed a towel and headed straight to the beach, not even stopping to assess the previous night’s damage.

By the time I settled on the sand, the wash of rainbow colours had already faded, replaced by a deep, solid blue.

I leave my phone folded in the corner of my towel and walk to the shore, pretending I know something about the currents, before selecting what looks like a good swim spot. For a blissful hour, it’s just me and the salt water. No Taylor or Hazel or Arthur or Jack. And thankfully no Woof or jellyfish either. The visibility is so good that I have a clear view of the sandy riverbed, its velvety river weed and the tiny fish darting around, playing games of hide-and-seek.

As I kick down to inspect a large shell curled like a wave, memories of my childhood excursions to the beach with Dad flood my mind. We would always end up fossicking in rock pools, eagerly searching for various species of marine life. Thinking back to Jack diving for oysters at Pearl Cove the other day reignited the idea that perhaps my dad, with his love for aquatic creatures, really had come to Pearl Island with a similar quest. Maybe he managed to persuade Mum to use their honeymoon as an opportunity to explore a slice of this unspoilt paradise. I enjoy this version of events. I’ve scoured the Storytime app countless times for any clue as to what brought them here, but found nothing, so this is my best guess. I can’t believe I never asked.

Dad’s rule was always to leave the beach better than we found it. So, before I emerge from the water, I pluck a bright yellow Gaytime wrapper from the shallows. It seems that Brad and his ice-cream boat have even more to answer for than ripping off his customers.

Returning to the sand, my limbs tingle, the delightful sensation of salt seeping into my skin. As I dry off my inner thighs, Jack’s cheeky smirk flashes in my mind and an unexpected shiver runs through me. What on earth has he stirred in me?

Coffee. I need coffee to clear my head.

Back at Moorings, the kettle lets out an urgent whistle as Taylor skips through the front door. I had assumed the girls were all upstairs sleeping. She looks surprised to see me, shock flickering in her eyes before they light up with excitement.

‘OMG. Tell me everything,’ she exclaims, leaning against the bench, arms folded across her chest like she’s preparing for an inquisition.

I hesitate. It took an hour of soaking in salt water to get my nervous system under control, and now Taylor is about to send me up into the clouds again. But she is my best friend. We don’t have any secrets between us, plus it’s nice to have something light to discuss for once, rather than her divorce or my parents.

‘It was good.’ I pause, fiddling with the handle of my empty coffee mug. ‘Very good.’

‘Yes! This is amazing.’ Taylor dives at me, throwing her arms around my neck.

I laugh. ‘Okay, settle down,’ I say, gently pushing her back. ‘It’s just sex.’

‘Just sex! There’s no such thing as “just sex” when you haven’t been getting any.’

I appreciate the enthusiasm, but it also feels like a big reaction – even for Taylor. How many coffees has she already had this morning?

‘Well, luckily I still remember where everything goes,’ I deflect.

‘And where exactly did he go –’

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