Page 39 of The Wedding Forecast

‘Luke thinks anyone who sleeps with more than two people in five years is churning.’

‘That’s true. I just assume handsome actors churn through women. My apologies.’

‘I object to the word churn.’

‘But not the word handsome, right?’

‘No, I’ll allow handsome.’

‘I will never say churn again.’

‘Also you were the one who wanted me to sleep with the celebrant.’

‘You’re the one who wanted a list of available women.’

‘That was just for information purposes.’

We smile at each other.

‘You don’t seem like the settling-down, having-a-family kind of guy, is what I meant,’ I say.

There’s a pause, while he considers this.

‘Yeah, I guess I’m not.’ He clears his throat. ‘So you’re making sensible decisions from here onwards, huh?’

‘Yes.’

Mac is looking right into my eyes.

‘Good for you,’ he says.

Still, he doesn’t move his knee. There’s something about his body touching mine that is utterly irresistible in a way I’ve never experienced before. I want to devour him. I can barely contain myself. And that is not a healthy thought. I don’t want to devour Patrick. I want to have a nice Devonshire tea with him. That’s healthy. That’s sensible.

Mac stands up.

‘You’re going in?’ I say.

‘I’m going to lie in the hammock and smoke a joint,’ he says.

I watch him walk back out through the garden, disappearing behind the trees and bushes, and I sit at the table alone, playing on my phone for a while. I should go in and go to sleep. I need to check on Hayley. I need to make sure my bridesmaid dress is not creased. I need to check in with Mum. I need to put on teeth-whitening strips. I need to lie in bed and think of a plot for my next book. But I can’t convince myself to get up and do any of this.

When I do finally stand up, I go in the opposite direction, into the overgrown garden. There’s a full moon, that’s the problem. That’s what is happening here. Because I am drawn to him like I’m in a trance, like he’s a vampire and I’m under his spell (if that’s even how vampires work, I am not well-versed in vampire lore). My legs are walking me to the hammock.

He looks up when I stand in front of him.

I don’t say anything and neither does he.

I hate the smell of weed.

It’s almost like he’s reading my mind, because he leans over and squashes the butt out on the side of the tree and then he stops the hammock with his foot, blowing out the last of the smoke as he looks at me.

‘Let me show you what I was going to do before,’ he says.

‘Okay,’ I say.

11

I STEP TOWARDS him. He’s still in the hammock, and he takes my hand and pulls me close so I’m standing right beside him, and he slides my top up a little. He presses his mouth to my stomach, kissing me, trailing a path towards my hipbone. I close my eyes, leaning into him. His tongue is soft and warm against my skin.