13

The problem with large resorts—too many pools. Was it necessary to have eight swimming pools? It didn't bode well for anyone remotely indecisive. I spent twenty minutes that morning deciding what colour bikini to wear and fifteen more deciding what colour flip-flops best suited that bikini. Now I was expected to choose from eight pools, all with different pros and cons. I would require a notepad, highlighters, colour coordinated sticky notes, and a quiet space with a good vantage point to observe all pools in order to make such a decision.

In the end, I left the choice of pool up to Sarah.

"Oh my God! Look!" Sarah jumped backwards.

I dropped my drink, which I'd discovered wasn't heavy on the alcohol verses soda mix—a mango mojito.

"Shit! What?" I squealed.

I watched the drink dribble down my sand covered legs, just when I thought my body couldn't get any more disgusting. We'd chosen the pool with a man-made beach, and I regretted allowing Sarah to choose.

"Look—" Sarah edged towards the bush. In between the large green leaves—I think it was a Swiss cheese plant, but I couldn't be sure. There was a rough spiny tail poking out from beneath its sheltered position.

"Is that a lizard?" I said excitedly. I almost forgot all about the sticky mango and sand combination forming an undesirable substance on my sunburnt skin .

"It's a big ass lizard is what it is," Sarah replied.

"That would be an iguana. They're native to hot and dry areas like Mexico," Billie chipped in.

"He's cute." I carefully moved the giant leaf to get a better look.

"A reptile the size of my arm is not cute," Sarah disagreed. She took one large step back towards the sunbeds.

"I think I might call him Frank." I proceeded to make the tut tut tut noise I made at Lady whenever I wanted her to come inside. Yes, it was a cat noise, and the giant reptile was probably big enough to eat a cat, but I figured it was better than the number of farm animal callings I could've used.

"Very Mexican," Billie said sarcastically.

"Nasty." I hissed.

Frank was bigger than I anticipated. If he started clawing his way towards me at speed with his giant chest and scaly feet, I'd scream and run the other way. The reaction to flee was human nature when a small dragon-looking species looked like it wanted to attack you. However, I was confident Frank wouldn't do that; he had kind eyes.

"Frank is better than Alan," Sarah chimed.

Alan was the first iguana who I had the pleasure of meeting on day one. He was tiny, calm, and just wanted to eat his leaves in peace; he looked like an Alan.

"There's nothing wrong with Frank or Alan. They're cute reptile names," I contested.

"Okay," Sarah scoffed.

"Come here Frank; I have some cookie." I reached into my beach bag for the leftover snack from breakfast. Why did I have leftover snacks when it was an all-inclusive resort? For moments like this I carried a small tissue filled with bread, especially at home, in case I saw a one-legged pigeon that looked hungry. God, they made me sad.

"Iguanas don't eat cookies." Billie, aka the sarcastic encyclopaedia, liked to sprout knowledge at any opportunity. I found it fascinating how she retained so much information. I barely remembered an email I'd sent at work an hour after sending it. I did put that down to eating gravel and sticking it up my nose as a child. I was pretty confident if I had an MRI, I would be told there were small rocks wedged in some lobe or another.

"How do you know?" I sassed.

"They feed on leaves, fruit, and flowers. Although, they will occasionally eat a human toe if they're hungry."

My head spun to face Billie. "You're kidding, right?"

"Yes." She laughed.

"Oh good." I had on open-toed flip-flops, and my feet now smelt like mango mojito.

"They're quite particular anyway; you have to have nice smelling feet," Billie added.

Rude.

"That's mean. My feet are cute." I wiggled them through the bottom of my sliders. They were swollen to twice their normal size, but regardless I thought the manicure elevated their appearance.

"If you say so."

I wasn't one to have my feet manicured, my fingernails yes, but someone touching my feet made me uncomfortable. Billie convinced me to have them done for the holiday, mainly so she didn't have to go to the new nail salon alone. The last time the Chinese man spent thirty minutes longer on her nails than his coworkers did on their clients .

"It's nice to see you out and about again." Sarah smirked.

I'd been waiting for the grilling since I strolled back into the apartment at nine that morning with sunglasses on and bed hair.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I watched Frank ignore my cookie and slither his way to the opposite side of the flower bed. Bye.

"You've been hauled up in that hotel room for the past twenty-four hours," Billie confirmed.

"It has not been twenty-four hours." I turned to observe Frank once more, mainly to hide the smirk. I was a terrible liar. I knew damn well it had been twenty-four hours. It had been twenty-eight. I was depressingly counting every hour I spent with Julia in the hopes it would make time go slower; It didn't.

"One of your best traits is also a major downfall for you—you can't lie," Sarah pointed out.

"I so can," I said it like a ten-year-old does when they're friend says they can't beat them at something.

"Okay." Sarah patted me on the knee. They both knew how much I hated being patronised, so they did it on purpose.

"Was the sex good? That's all I care about," Billie asked.

"It was really fucking unbelievable."

Billie climbed from her bed to mine and sat cross-legged like we were about to commence a reading group.

"That good?"

"Better than I could've imagined." My face burned scarlet. I covered my face with a towel. The embarrassment was magnified tenfold.

"Julia is obsessed with you." Sarah smirked.

"She's not obsessed. "

God, I hoped she was.

"Do you think she is? Surely not? Can you imagine if she was? What do you think? What makes you say that?" I needed help.

I curled my knees to my chest in a seated foetal position; it made me feel more comfortable. I pulled nervously at the hairband on my wrist. I desperately wanted my friends to tell me mine and Julia's whole interaction wasn't the biggest most glorious mistake I'd ever made.

"She looks at you like I looked at the giant slice of cookie dough cake we had in Manchester," Sarah confirmed in between large sips of melted strawberry daiquiri.

"She looks at me like I'm a warm gooey piece of cake?" I laughed. "I'm not sure that's a compliment."

"Are you kidding?" Sarah frowned. "It's the biggest compliment. Food is the most essential requirement of human life. I'd love for someone to look at me like I'm a delicious piece of chocolate cake."

"Okay, if you say so." I laughed.

"Sounds like she ate you like you were a delicious piece of cake," Billie pointed out, wriggling her eyebrows unnaturally. There was major emphasis on the ate.

"Billie!"

"Is she wrong? Or did Julia eat your vagina like it was the best thing since my grandmas 2005 Sunday dinners?" Sarah chipped in.

"I'm not sure it's appropriate to use my vagina and your grandmas Sunday dinner in the same sentence." I cringed.

"What was so good about your grandmas Sunday dinners? And why 2005?" Billie asked.

"That was the year before my dad fell out with my uncle, so my grandma cancelled Sunday dinners because all they'd do is argue over what Beatles album to play and who should inherit the majority of the house." Sarah shrugged. She had family issues that were unnecessarily complex. They were the kind of stories you save until you're three bottles of wine deep on a quiet Saturday night in.

"That was a very specific comparison, but okay, I'll take your word for the quality of Sunday dinner." Billie stuck out her hand. "Pass me your phone."

I shook my head furiously. "Nope."

"Pass me your phone, Harps."

"Absolutely not. I don't trust you."

The last time Billie had my phone she texted Julia; that was mild. The time before, I was trying to figure out the best way to let someone know I didn't want to date them anymore. Billie texted the girl saying, I don't think this is going to work out. Will you pay me back for the drink I bought you last night? I think it's only fair . She proceeded to send her my bank account details. The girl never replied.

Billie had a way of cutting things off with the simplest of messages. It came from years of unsuccessful dates and the knowledge gleaned from dating men on Tinder who only wanted sex, marriage, or someone to accompany them to their high school reunion.

"I'm not going to text anyone, I swear." She crossed her heart.

"Fine." I placed my phone in her hand and hovered over her whilst she clicked onto my photos—

"What are you doing?"

"I knew it!" Billie clicked on the photo I'd taken of Julia that morning on the balcony, right before we'd established our time was almost up, and proceeded to use every surface of the balcony as a prop in our sexual episode. The edge of the giant bathtub was the perfect soft surface. It was just the right height for maximum penetration, one foot in, one foot up on the glass railing, and—I was horny again.

"Let me see." Sarah leant over. "Well, well, well—"

"Give me that." I snatched my phone back.

"This is a new development." Billie looked at Sarah.

"It is indeed; this has cracked our theory wide open." Sarah looked at me.

"I am so confused. What the hell you two are talking about?" I looked between them and their stupid grins.

"You're in love," Sarah said.

"I am not!"

"I think you might be a little bit in love," Billie agreed.

"I am not in love! That's absurd."

Did Julia make me feel on top of the world? Yes.

Did I crave her like I craved my favourite food? Yes.

Did she consume my every thought? Yes.

Regardless of the above signs, it could never work.

"Okay, maybe you're not in love , but you're like falling into a sort of kind of love," Sarah reworded.

"That sounds complicated." Billie grabbed my hand. "What you need to ask yourself is, does it feel right?"

That was a fully loaded, eight-sided question with more potential answers than my brain could process.

"How am I supposed to know that?"

The feelings swirling around my body changed daily. Hourly, they went from intense to subdued, from chaotic to calm, from unrealistic to foolishly plausible. I had no idea how to make sense of it .

"You just know. Does it feel right? It's a simple question. Don't let your brain overcomplicate it. We know you, and we know you're calculating finances, genetics, what your children would look like, how married life would treat you, where you'd live, and where you'd vacation. Is there room in your new house for us to move in?" Billie winked at Sarah. "The last question in particular is extremely important and should be at the top of that list, but I didn't want to be too pushy so early and jinx anything."

Wow. It wasn't a simple question.

A simple question would be, Shall we go to lunch today?

How do you feel about a girl you met just over a week ago, initially hated, ended up liking, proceeded to spend three wonderful days with culminating in a desire filled twenty-four hours of passion? It was not a simple question. Is that a person you could see a future with? That's what they were asking; does it feel right? Can you see a future? It was the same thing.

It was the least simple question I'd ever been presented with. It was more complicated than my GCSE maths exam where I was forced to give the reason why two triangles were congruent. I still had no idea, and like much of my GCSE maths exam I stuck to my strategy of circling the answers in this order, A , B , A , C , A , A , C , and repeat. Don't ask me why; a guy told me it would work 90 per cent of the time, and I did only just fail as opposed to failing miserably.

"Jesus, how am I supposed to look at this rationally when you two are already planning your move into my hypothetical American home."

"Woah, I don't know about moving to America." Billie reached for her phone. "I'd have to think about that, like what's the crime rate like in Long Island? Can I easily get a job?" She started typing something into her phone. My mouth was hanging wide open at their insane leap forwards.

"Yeah, I mean, that's a big decision. We're going to have to think about it. We have jobs in England and friends. Technically us three are the only friends we need, but there's family. Technically, I don't like a great deal of my family, so that wouldn't be too much of an issue," Sarah was deadly serious.

"Nobody's moving to America!" I yelled. "This whole thing is crazy. I barely know her."

"I don't think that really matters in today's world. There are reality TV shows where people get married after speaking through a wall for three days," Billie confirmed. She had a point. Love is Blind was legendary.

"What the hell are you Googling?" I asked.

Billie snapped her head up. "Nothing."

"Seriously. Tell me."

Billie turned her phone to show me her search: H ow easy is it to move to America? .

"I'm asking for a friend."

"Honestly, you two are the best kind of crazy. I love you because I know if I was about to do something completely insane you'd support me 100 per cent, no questions asked, but—"

"I don't like buts," Sarah said.

"But—sometimes I need you to come back down to earth with me, separate yourself from the rom-coms, and help me figure this whole thing out."

My head hurt.

"Okay." Billie put her phone down. "Serious now."

Oh dear.

"Does it feel right?" Billie asked.

We were back to that question again. There was nothing else to do other than answer honestly.

"Yes."

"There's your answer," Billie claimed.

"The answer to what?" The state of confusion hung over my head like a cloud of doom trying to spoil my summer sun.

"It's just the answer. Whatever the question is that is the answer."

"Okay." Her answer was disturbingly vague, which was pretty unhelpful. "Why so cryptic?"

"I get it." Sarah shrugged. "Billie, spell it out."

"Okay." Billie took one long slurping sip of her cocktail. I watched the contents diminish before my eyes. She then made me wait a few seconds whilst she cured her brain freeze before delving right in.

"There is no hard-and-fast rule with this stuff, Harps. You don't need to have everything figured out right away. There just needs to be some strong indicators it's headed in the right direction. The strong indicator is the question I just asked."

Huh. I still didn't understand how the conversation turned from Frank the Iguana to me confessing my undying love for Julia.

"I think I'm freaking out a little bit. I need a minute where I'm not discussing very far-fetched, life altering feelings. Can we do that?" I slumped back onto the sun lounger.

"Absolutely," Billie said.

Sarah slapped at my bare stomach. "You got it champ."

The second I closed my eyes, Sarah huffed. "So, about America, do you think—"

Julia

My parents go home in the morning.

Me

Oh really? How come?

Julia

They couldn't stay on for the whole trip. My dad has

work commitments. *rolling eyes emoji*

Me

Kind of like a glimpse into your future, huh?

Julia

I refuse to be as much of a workaholic.

Me

If you were my wife, there'd be a four holiday a year

clause. No work after 6 pm. And phones off on

weekends.

Julia

You've clearly never been married to a doctor.

Me

Not yet. *wink face emoji*

Julia

Ha-ha

Would you all like to join us for a dinner tonight?

Me

The answer is a resounding yes.

Billie and Sarah love your parents.

Julia

Mom and Dad said they enjoyed talking to them by

the pool yesterday.

Me

Apparently, Billie tried her best to convince them we

were on a day trip and not, y'know...

Julia

Having sex on every surface of my hotel room?

Me

Yes, that. *monkey face emoji*

Dinner with her parents would be fine. There was no need for me to freak out. I'd spoken to them several times, but that was before I developed feelings for their daughter. I needed a rundown of the etiquette from Julia before we attended.

"How's your Julia?" Billie asked.

"She's not my Julia, but she did ask if you guys want to go to dinner tonight as a farewell meal for her parents."

"I'd like that." Billie smiled.

Sarah had her headphones in, so there was zero input from her.

"How are you feeling about meeting the in-laws?" Billie winked.

"Please, don't make it weird. "

"They did say they wished Julia would find a nice young girl like you."

"They said that?" My pitch increased. I straightened up.

"No, but good to know you care."

"I hate you."

"Yeah, you say that a lot." Billie smirked.

My mind had forgotten how to function normally. All I saw were little Julias running around in cropped white tank tops with no bras and the tightest pairs of female Y fronts I'd ever seen.

I was grateful for the middle-aged black couple who entered the pool area thirty seconds later. They instantly eased my mind with their larger-than-life personalities. The guy wore a pair of black Crocs, which he flicked off at the edge of the pool before diving straight in. The woman strolled on down like a lioness stalking her prey; she looked stunning in her leopard print bikini.

"She's trying to kill me ya'll. She's gunna do me like laundry. Watch out. You see a big black man upside down in a pool you go straight to room 2634. She be guilty." He wasn't talking to anyone in particular, just laughing and joking with his wife, but his voice carried. Me and Billie were severely entertained.

"Will you be quiet," his wife shushed him for the fourth time.

I burst out laughing.

"Please, don't encourage him," she joked and laid back on the raised platform at the edge of the pool.

"How do you float like that?" he asked his wife.

"You just lie back. It's easy."

"I can't float. I'm too big to float." He flopped backwards, unsuccessfully holding his body weight above water .

"If I was on the Titanic, I would've been the reason it sunk. I'm the iceberg." He belly laughed.

The man reminded me of a heavyset Will Smith. He said, "y'know" at the end of every sentence, and his laugh was the most infectious noise I'd ever heard.

"You're a grown ass man. You can float," his wife said.

He paddled his way to the edge of the pool where a shallow ledge allowed him to lie back and simulate floating.

"Look at me, baby, I'm floating." He moved his arms up and down like he was trying to take off flying.

"This feels like that time I got suspended from school and I went to the local pool to swim instead. Fun times," he yelled.

The couple eventually made their way to our side of the pool and enquired about our cocktails. It was their first day. The guy introduced himself as Marlon and his wife as Monique. We spent the next hour listening to Marlon describe every single detail of their flight over and their airport experience in hilarious detail. It felt like we'd paid for a stand-up comedian; my jaw physically hurt from laughing. Marlon was exactly what I didn't know I needed in that moment.

Julia's parents chose their favourite cuisine—Japanese.

The traditional signature restaurant was the one fine dining experience we were yet to enjoy due to its popularity. The outdoor patio seating provided us with a table beside a large square fire pit. The black wooden chairs were close to the ground and topped with thick straw cushions. The theme of the restaurant matched the rest of the hotel, black windows, beige fabrics, and wooden accessories. All of the décor worked as an extension of the grand reception area, but each space created its own unique experience.

The waiter recommended a set menu that included all of the restaurant's most popular dishes, from Tempura Moriawase, to Chicken Karaage, to Kakuni Ramen. The dishes sounded incredible; the concoction of ingredients made my mouth water before the food even made its way to our table. Julia sat to the left of me this time on a circular table.

"You look beautiful," she whispered.

"So do you." I blushed.

She wore a grey vintage tee and a pair of Levi's jeans. Her hair was poker straight and parted precisely in the middle. She tucked it behind her ears on both sides; her ears were so well-proportioned I took a moment to examine them. I felt comfortable having gone for a more casual look in my oversized white shirt and baggy jeans.

Bob carried the conversation for the next twenty minutes, as he told us all about his most complicated surgeries, the judicial system in the United States, and almost missing his own wedding.

"How did that happen?" I asked. Julia rolled her eyes; she'd obviously heard the story a thousand times.

"I was a medical resident; we only got two weeks' vacation, and I had to utilise my days as best I could. To make sure we got enough time for a honeymoon, I worked right up until the day of the wedding. I had to catch a flight that morning after a forty-eight-hour shift to be back in Long Island for the ceremony." Bob's voice was the most soothing thing I'd ever heard, even when he was describing a frantic situation .

"He is making it sound all heroic. In reality, he fell asleep on the train to the airport and missed his stop," Jill added.

"I did do that, yes." Bob laughed. "It was technically my own fault, but I was sleep deprived. Anyway, I had to catch a different flight, and I made it to the courthouse three minutes before we were due to get married, still dressed in my scrubs."

"And she still married you?" Sarah joked.

"I know. He was already on thin ice for missing our anniversary two weeks before, so he's lucky," Jill said it with love in her eyes. She looked at Bob like she would've scaled every mountain in the US to marry him.

Bob took a sip of his whiskey on ice. "Don't worry, Harper, my daughter is much better at timekeeping."

I almost spat the contents of my margarita across the table. The ice cube I'd been toying with underneath my tongue lodged in my throat for a second until it melted.

"Seriously, Dad?" Julia's eyes widened.

"I didn't mean . . . erm . . . marriage or anything . . . I just meant . . . erm," Bob fumbled his words.

"Quit whilst your ahead. Honey." Jill patted him on the arm.

I burst out laughing once I managed to regain full control of my breathing.

"I'm sorry," Bob apologised.

"Oh God, don't worry." I think Bob was forgetting I lived in the UK, and the chances of me and Julia continuing our holiday romance were nonexistent.

Julia reached over discreetly and squeezed my thigh. It felt strange knowing I only had a few days left with her. The bond we'd created in such a short period of time felt unique. I would miss her, and that gut-wrenching feeling when I thought about never seeing her again truly hurt my heart. I didn't know what any of it meant. I didn't foresee a way we could remain in each other's lives. It was never meant to be something more. Billie and Sarah had encouraged me to "get back in the saddle", to enjoy another woman with no strings attached without the fear of a turbulent future; that's what I'd done.

Except, I hadn't managed to remain emotionally disconnected. It took three hours of being in Julia's presence on that first trip to the turtles to realise she was different, and if I wasn't careful the capability to walk away unscathed was going to diminish.

I needed a sign. I needed someone to tell me what to do or a crystal ball to predict my future, and to see if someway somehow Julia was in it.

You're an idiot .

It was a pipe dream. A slither of my favourite human emotion—hope—trying to worm its way in and sell me a dream. There was no world where me and Julia became anything more than what we were in the four walls of her hotel room, right?

Bob reached for his glass. "I'd like to propose a toast." He held his arm in the centre of the table. "I speak on behalf of my family when I say we enjoyed getting to know each of you. You're a wonderful group of young women with so much to offer this world. This might be our last night on this trip, but it won't be our last trip. Cheers."

A collective cheer broke from the group.

It won't be our last trip .

It was a beautiful sentiment.

Maybe, there was a world where we would meet again in the future. Another resort. Another time. Another wonderful experience to be had.

Billie flicked her shoes off underneath the console table that now doubled as an unofficial shoe rack. I liked to keep my things as organised as possible. Billie liked to spread small parts of herself across every surface of the room.

"Will you be sneaking over to Julia's tonight?" She unbuttoned her trousers, left them in the middle of the bathroom floor, and proceeded to splash her face with water in small sharp spurts, like she was conscious she might be allergic.

"No."

"Why not?" she muffled through the hand towel.

"I think it might be a good idea to take a step back now." I flopped back on the bed. I didn't feel like getting undressed. It seemed like too much effort, but I unhooked the top button of my jeans because my stomach was threatening to burst through after five courses of Japanese goodness.

"Says who?" Billie rounded the corner from the bathroom.

"Me."

"Okay, well, no offence, but—" She pulled her top over her head; it got stuck midway, but her head pulled through at the end.

When anyone said no offence, it was 1000 per cent likely offence would be taken, especially when those words exited Billie's mouth.

"Taking into account your recent lack of love life, quite frankly your judgment sucks."

"Thank you so much," I said sarcastically.

"You're welcome. Look, just go over there and tell her how you feel."

"Why would I do that?" I asked. Surely that was NOT a good thing to do considering a giant 737 was waiting to take her home in less than three days' time.

"Bottom line, because you'll regret it if you don't." It was hard to take her seriously whilst she pranced around the hotel room half naked looking for wherever she threw her pyjamas.

"It seems like a lose-lose to me."

"Nothing is ever a lose-lose, Harps." Billie finally settled at the bottom of the bed. "You like her, right?"

"Well, yeah, obviously." It was hard not to.

"So go tell her." Billie made it sound so easy.

"You're supposed to be the realistic one. You're supposed to tell me it's a stupid idea, and I couldn't possibly have developed feelings for someone after so little time, and I'll get home and be like, ‘Julia who?' after a few days." I folded my arms across my chest.

"Is that how you feel?" Billie asked.

"No." I sulked.

"You can always count on me to give you some sarcastic words of wisdom, knock you down a few pegs, embarrass you until you're red in the face, and exploit your naivety for my own personal benefit." She reached out to grab my arms.

I was waiting for the but—

"But you can also count on me to be truthful and real when it matters."

"I know." I smiled.

"Listen, I can't tell you what you feel, and I can't tell you what Julia feels. All I can tell you is I see how electric you are together. Your energy has been on a different level since you met her. I want all the happiness in the world for you, Harps, because you deserve it, and I should probably be more sceptical and say it could never work, so it's pointless, but today I have decided I want to believe in romance, love, and all that is magical in the world." Billie didn't even smirk. She didn't laugh. There wasn't an element of sarcasm in her tone.

"Who are you, and what have you done with my best friend?"

"I think someone must've put a spell on me at the Japanese restaurant. Did you see a fortune cookie in the vicinity?"

"Okay it's not Freaky Friday, and you're not Lindsay Lohan."

"I wish I was." Billie rolled her eyes. "Seriously though, go get your girl," she encouraged.

"I don't know."

I wanted to. God, I wanted to more than I'd ever wanted to do anything in my life. As a kid, I was sure I wanted to ride the Waltzer at the local fair, but this felt more significant.

"She can't be my girl, Billie." I sighed.

"How do you know? Stranger things have happened. Maybe we're short of neurosurgeons in England. Maybe they're short of realtors in America. And maybe, you were always meant to meet her, here, in this resort, on this holiday, at this time." She pulled me up by my arms and started to button up my jeans.

"Are you insinuating this is fate? Also, I can do that." I whacked her hand away and sucked my stomach back in. "The last time we spoke about fate and destiny, you said the concept is a comforting idea which allows us idiot humans to relinquish all responsibility for our actions because we believe what's meant to will be, regardless of whatever choices we choose to make. "

Or something to that effect.

"That does sound like something I'd say, but I'm more impressed you remembered it." Billie smoothed out the back of my hair. It took fewer than thirty seconds lying down to create bed head.

"I remember it vividly because I disagreed."

"I know you did. You've always been a sucker for a love story."

Billie pulled me towards the door. She adjusted my top, passed me my handbag, and added a squirt of perfume as we passed the bathroom. It was like a very low-budget makeover show.

"Trust me." Billie smiled. "Nobody knows what the future holds, but the last thing you want is regrets."

They were the final echoing words I heard as the door softly closed in the frame behind me. I was on my own.

What was I supposed to say?

I edged closer to her room. I took four steps forwards and three back, pacing the small seating area in the middle of the seventh floor. I walked into the corridor of the stairwell. I considered running down all seven flights and not coming back. I could walk the full length of the resort, return to my room, and pretend to Billie that we'd had a conversation, and it didn't work out. I could chicken out, take the easy route, and go on with my life like I hadn't just experienced this amazing connection.

A saying came into my mind like it had been amplified through a megaphone.

Be comfortable—

Be uncomfortable—

Be something being uncomfortable.

Get comfortable being uncomfortable . Bingo .

It was the one quote I could remember because it wasn't too long-winded. I knew in my heart nothing worth having ever came easy. It was a fact of life.

What did I have to lose?

I spent the next five minutes giving myself a pep talk.

All you have to do is tell her you like her. Tell her she's beautiful, wonderful, and you don't think you'll ever be able to forget her. No, scratch the last part. Tell her you want to spend the next three days handcuffed to her body so she can't leave. No, absolutely not; that's creepy.

I edged closer to her room.

"Julia, I want to tell you something," I whispered.

"Julia, I really like you. Do you like me?"

Jesus. My brain stopped producing meaningful words the closer I got to the giant wooden door that separated us.

"Julia, I don't think I can spend the next three days with you. If I do I run the risk of falling in—"

Nope. No. I couldn't say that. This wasn't a rom-com. It was real life. There was no way, categorically no chance, come hell or high water, that I was falling in love with Julia Hanlow. So what if I craved her like I craved my favourite food? So what if she made me more sexually adventurous? And so what if the thought of never seeing her again was panic inducing?

All the subtle clues were there: nausea and stomach butterflies so intense it felt like my insides were being eaten. My heart was racing so fast I feared my veins might burst and the blood would start oozing from my pores—dramatic, I know. My cheeks were flush, palms sweaty, and my head hurt. This feelings business was too extreme. It was exhilarating too, in a weird way, but terrifying .

I stood outside her door.

One deep breath. Two. Three.

You can do this.

I reached to knock on the door and noticed it was slightly ajar.

"Julia,"

Wait.

"Julia, just listen to me."

That wasn't my voice.

My eyes widened. I leaned in closer to the doorframe. Was my mind playing tricks on me?

"Natalie, I can't do this,"