“It was funny. And quite sweet.”
He’s looking at me, and there’s something in his gaze that feels different. Both softer, but also more intense. My mind goes back to what he said last night before we got pulled onto the dance floor; that he was thinking about the summer before he left for America.
I miss that time too.
I miss it so much that sometimes it hurts just to be in the same room as him without that closeness.
Is it so bad to want that again? We’re older. And things aren’t as black and white anymore. Sometimes lines are meant to blur.
I know that I want to take the leap, and that part of me will always kick myself if I don’t. Since last night I’ve been thinking that if I wait Sam could end up as the ‘what if’ that haunts me for the rest of my life.
My heart starts to pound and I take a sip of my drink to try and fuel my courage.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” I ask, and he startles at the question.
“What? No, of course not,” he says. “You know I don’t. There’s no one who’s— never mind.” He cuts himself off. “Why?”
“I don’t have a boyfriend.” I watch his face carefully.
“Oh.” His eyes flick down to my bare leg and then quickly back up—like my knee personally offended him. “Why are you telling me that? Is there someone you like? One of the other swimmers?”
For a second, I swear his face twists, but then he schools it back into casual indifference.
“No,” I say. “Nothing on the radar.”
“OK. Cool. Cool. Or… not cool?” His voice is oddly high pitched. “I don’t know. Sorry. My brain’s spaghetti today. Just ignore me.”
“You said some interesting things last night.” I toy with the umbrella in my cocktail.
“You should probably ignore everything I said,” he replies hurriedly. “I was in a deeply philosophical place. Also, beer.”
“You mentioned the summer before you went to America,” I continue, ignoring the way he suddenly goes very still. “I’ve been thinking. Why don’t we just pretend we’re eighteen again? Why don’t we just have fun and see what happens? I want to, Sam. If you don’t, that’s fine. But I think I’d like to be back in that summer.”
There. I said it.
My pulse is loud in my ears. It’s hismove next.
He looks at me and then back down to where our knees are now touching. I can see the goosebumps on my skin. He pauses for a long time. Long enough that I’m just about to withdraw my leg and attempt to recover from this car crash. But then his hand lands on my knee, and it’s like a frisson of electricity climbs up my body. How does he still have this effect on me all this time later? And is this something I would be feeling if someone was truly just a friend?
“Kath.” He puts his beer down and looks straight at me. His eyes are so blue that I could get lost in them. “I’m never not thinking about that summer.”
I gulp. I guess we’re really doing this. His thumb starts to circle gently on my thigh.
“Is this OK?” he asks. And I watch his hand as it inches upwards, slowly moving towards the hem of my skirt. “Because if it’s not OK, and you change your mind about this proposition, we just stop. And everything goes back to how it was. Are you sure you want this?”
“I think we should go back to our room when you finish your beer,” I tell him breathlessly, capturing his hand on my thigh.
“That sounds like a great idea.” He intertwines our fingers and stands, picking up his drink and downing the rest in a few gulps. “It sounds like such a great idea that I think we should do it right now.”
“Someone’s eager,” I laugh as he starts to pull me back up the path to our hotel.
“When it comes to you, KitKat, I'm nevernoteager.”
“Is that the case?” I ask, as he drags me through the foyer and towards the stairs.
“Yes. I’m so eager that I’m at high risk of embarrassing myself.”
“You could never embarrass yourself around me,” I tell him.
