‘Fair point,’ he says. ‘OK, well, perhaps our safe word can be “babe”? Like if one of us calls the other babe… That’s natural?’

‘OK, sure,’ I reply. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever called anyone babe (except Ali earlier) in my life.’

‘Neither have I,’ he replies. ‘It’s perfect.’

We’ve been sitting in Coco’s, a coffee bar, for half an hour now, drawing up boundaries. I know, it really does sound like something out of Edge of Eden, but our boundaries are less intimate – but no less physical.

A map of Valentine Island is laid out in front of us. Not only does it show how to navigate the island, but where all the activities are too.

Since we decided to buddy up, all activities are open to us… but we are not open to all ideas.

‘Okay, back to our list of what we want to do,’ I say.

‘I’d love to try the couples’ parasailing,’ he says.

‘Safe word,’ I say quickly.

‘You don’t say safe word, you say the safe word,’ he tells me.

‘Babe, babe, babe, babe, babe.’

‘Not your scene?’ he asks.

‘I’d be terrified, seriously.’

‘It’s just a little water,’ he says. ‘Water is nothing to be scared of.’

‘It’s a no from me,’ I say firmly before draining the last of my coffee.

‘Okay,’ he says. ‘I can’t argue with that. What do you want to do?’

‘I fancy the horseback riding,’ I say. ‘Riding the trail through the woods.’

‘It’s my turn to say no,’ he says. ‘Terrified of horses.’

‘Are you making fun of me?’ I ask.

Freddie shakes his head.

‘Not at all,’ he confesses. ‘Genuinely scared of them.’

‘It’s just a little horse riding,’ I say to him, mocking his earlier comment.

‘Point taken,’ he says. ‘No parasailing, no horse riding. What else?’

I sigh.

‘You know, I’m supposed to be working,’ I confess. ‘I came here with my laptop and the intention of finishing my book. But then I sat down with what I’d written so far, and I just couldn’t bring myself to finish it.’

‘How about I grab us another couple of coffees, and you tell me all about it?’ he suggests.

‘That would be great,’ I say, although I’m not sure about talking to him about my books. I don’t know why, I just feel embarrassed.

Don’t get me wrong, I love writing novels, but talking to someone about them – especially out loud – just feels a little cringy. Even when I talk to my editor about my stories so I always pray she doesn’t call me. I guess because, when you’ve made up a story, you feel a little silly talking about it out loud. You feel as if you’re really putting yourself out there, talking about these characters that are a figment of your imagination, telling people what they’re getting up to, as if you think they’re real – and they do feel real, to the author. They exist in our heads.