He catches me staring and we make direct eye contact. I feel the back of my kneecaps prickle with sweat. Suddenly, my heart is pounding, and my throat is dry. I clear my throat awkwardly and look away. I resolve not to let my new-found singleness make me extremely nervous around every hot guy I encounter. I remind myself of my goals – not even perfect Prince Eric noses will distract me.

Before rotating my shoulders to completely face the window, I steal one more look at his eyes, which are a dark, grey-ish blue that reminds me of a rainstorm. They’re not the aquamarine that Prince Eric has. They’re almost the colour of the skin of a dolphin. And he looks angry.

It clicks. He reminds me of Hugh Harris. I dismiss the thought as soon as it crosses my mind. There’s no way. It must be the jet lag.

I almost ask if there is something I can do to help him but think better of it. Maybe he had to sit next to a crying baby on his flight. I look out the window instead. We are passing palm trees that sway in the wind. In the distance are huge, vividly green mountains. Some are shrouded gently in fog. The whole place is lush and breathtaking. Occasionally, water appears in between buildings. It’s bright blue and calm. I’m in paradise.

The bus clanks over a huge pothole, sending his backpack and my bag straight up in the air. I attempt to catch my toiletry bag and fumble, sending it straight into his lap. He looks at me with fury, his eyes even darker than they were a second ago, his brow furrowed.

‘Here.’ He thrusts it into my hands. He has an Australian accent, so it sounds like ‘heeya’.

‘Thanks.’

‘You know they make reef-friendly sunscreen, right?’

I almost point out that he’s so tanned it looks like he’s never used sunscreen in his life, but instead I diplomatically say, ‘OK.’

‘And yet you brought that.’ He gestures to my bag.

I am grateful Australians speak English, but man, this guy is hard to understand. He sounds like he’s trying to talk with rocks in his mouth. It takes me a moment to decipher what he’s trying to say, which is: Why do you have non-reef-friendly sunscreen when you’re at the biggest reef in the world? Instead of thinking of a response, I panic. I stare at him, blinking, thinking, Oh my God, how is this already happening? I’ve barely left the airport parking lot and they already know I’m a fraud.

He raises his eyebrows at me and the space between his eyebrows crinkles. As I clock his disgust, my thoughts shift from embarrassment to annoyance. Is this guy serious? He continues staring at me. ‘I forgot my other sunscreen,’ I say finally, unsure of why he thinks I owe him an explanation.