Deb looks me up and down. ‘And you’re that now?’
I sag. ‘Well, not really, no.’
‘No. You look pretty much the same, aside from the tan.’
‘Please, Deb,’ I beg, as Addie laughs again, lifting a hand to her hair to smooth it back. ‘I messed up. Let me fix it.’
‘All right,’ Deb says. ‘Fine. But don’t keep messing up, will you? You made her happy for a few days in France, I’ll give you that – but since then you’ve made her bloody miserable. Now go hide and I’ll lure her back to our table with alcohol so you can surprise her. If you’re going to do this, you had better do it properly. I want to see my sister smiling again.’
Addie
‘Addie,’ he says.
We’re at the table, pouring out cava from the bottle Deb conjured up from somewhere. I look at my sister before I turn around. She grins at me. She knew he was coming.
‘I missed that happy face, Ads,’ she says, as I turn in my seat, already beaming, and look at Dylan.
He’s swept me up out of my chair before I can say anything.
‘Christ,’ he says, ‘Addie Gilbert, do you have any idea how much I’ve missed you?’
I mean, I don’t, really. He said I miss you plenty on Skype, but he always sounded so flat. If he missed me, why didn’t he come back? But the thought evaporates the moment he presses his lips to mine. This is my Dylan. A flop of brown hair, startling green eyes. Ridiculous as it sounds, he seems to smell of sunshine and vineyards even here in this sticky club. We kiss for so long everything melts away, music pounding around us. We break apart eventually, and he laughs, smoothing his thumbs across my cheekbones.
‘I’m so sorry I took so long to come home. I’m a fool. Forgive me?’
He apologises so easily. I don’t know any other guys who do that. It’s like he’s not got that male ego thing, the pride that’s always getting wounded. I love that about him. But . . . I’m not sure it fixes things. Can you get rid of a mistake with one easy apology like that?
‘Oh, God, Addie, please,’ he says, pressing his lips to mine again. ‘Don’t be angry with me. I can’t stand it.’
‘Where’s Marcus?’ I ask.
Dylan looks surprised by the question – it surprised me a bit too. ‘Home,’ he says. ‘In Hampshire. I told him I wanted to come straight here to see you, so he went back to stay with his dad.’
I nuzzle into Dylan’s chest as my mind whirs. As the months have gone by, I’ve wondered about Marcus. Whether he’s the reason Dylan didn’t come home sooner. I can’t imagine he was in any rush to get Dylan back to me.
‘And . . . you’re here now?’ I ask him.
‘I’m here now. For good. In full knowledge that I should never have left your side.’
‘I’m drinking your cava!’ Deb yells at me. ‘You look busy.’
I laugh and give her a thumbs up, then drag Dylan to the dance floor as Deb knocks back my drink. Me and Dylan dance, pressed so close together every inch of us is touching. The strobes flash. My head’s spinning. I’m giddy with having him back.
‘You know,’ Dylan says, close to my ear so I can hear him over the music, ‘I’m beginning to think my life thus far has been one long string of poorly made decisions and very foolish mistakes, except for the day I knocked on your door.’ He presses his lips to my hair and I hide my smile against his chest. ‘I’m not leaving your side now.’
‘That’s going to be a bit tricky,’ I say, pulling on his hands to get him dancing again. He’s pretty good. I’m not sure why I assumed Dylan would be a bad dancer but this is a nice surprise.
‘Tricky?’
‘Your family live two hours away, don’t they?’
He doesn’t catch it. I repeat the words, my lips against his ear.
‘I’m not moving home,’ he says. He sounds triumphant. ‘I’m moving here.’
‘Here?’ That’s the grand plan he’s spent months coming up with? ‘Here, like, Chichester? What are you going to do for work?’
‘I’ll figure it out,’ he says, and there’s that shadow on his face again. ‘If Chichester will have me.’
The lights paint his hair yellow, green, yellow. The music’s so loud it’s more buzz than noise.
‘What, you’re going to rent a flat here?’
‘Or buy one. Dad’s always on at me to get on the property ladder.’