I can’t. I shouldn’t. Not again . . . not when I need clear boundaries. But what was I thinking, kissing him for the first time in the dark? And now . . . he’s lit up like a Greek god. How am I supposed to resist?

But you’re lying to him, the other voice in my head reminds me.

‘Millie,’ Hugh breathes, ‘how can you pretend like you don’t feel this?’

I stare at him. ‘I . . . I . . .’ My voice catches. There are so many things I want to say that I can’t bring myself to. How did we get here? How did we get from sniping at each other’s grammar to breathless in the ocean? ‘I thought we were supposed to hate each other,’ I say dumbly, my thoughts jumbled and my words not making much sense.

‘Maybe,’ Hugh says, his voice low. ‘But I don’t hate you. I hate how we are sharing an impossibly tiny room that now smells entirely of your shampoo, but that you’re sleeping as far away from me as possible. I hate how you beat up on your curls when you’re worried about something.’ He looks at my hand, which is tugging on an errant curl. I gulp.

‘I hate how you always know just what to say to get under my skin and how determined you are to find a fish I don’t want to be found, but I don’t hate you.’

‘Don’t you when-Harry-met-Sally me,’ I say, although my words lack conviction. Our faces are still inches apart. Our bodies bob up and down with the waves. If I leaned in two more inches, I could taste him again.

‘When-Harry-met-Sally you?’ His eyebrows knit together in confusion, forming a wrinkle. I want to smooth it out with the pad of my finger.

‘You know . . . that movie . . . when he lists all the things he loves about her and makes her love him too.’ I can hardly form a sentence, I’m so distracted by the proximity of Hugh’s jawline.

Hugh shakes his head back and forth. ‘But I said all the things I hate about you.’ A lopsided grin forms on his face. He pauses, then says with a smile, ‘So it worked in the movie?’

I am frozen with indecision. Somewhere in the back of my brain, my body is making me kick to stay afloat. I open my mouth to speak, but I don’t know what to say. It did work in the movie. And it’s working on me.

‘Millie,’ Hugh says again, his voice deeper, thick with emotion. ‘Honestly, you’ve always intimidated me.’

‘Me?’ I scoff. Then I remember he’s really talking about Millie, and she can be quite intimidating.

‘But meeting you in person . . . you’re . . . you’re different. Softer . . .’