We sit in silence for a minute, and then he says, his voice so quiet I only just catch it over the buzz of the crowd behind us, “I don’t want to break up with you.”

And I could honestly cry right there. I could just cry with relief.

“Me neither,” I say. “Sorry if I sounded like I did. I really didn’t.”

“Same.” He chuckles. “I have no idea what we were arguing about.”

“Me neither.”

“Sorry I shouted at you. And didn’t drive you home.”

“Sorry I got drunk and made out with you in front of everyone. And cried.”

“Sorry I called you a dick.”

“Sorry I told you to leave.”

“Sorry for talking about uni all the time.”

“Sorry for getting pissed off with you talking about uni all the time.”

He laughs, an amazing, boyish, Nick laugh. He rolls his head on to my shoulder. “Can we stop now?”

I find his hand and take it in mine. I lean against him and he still smells like him, like home. “Yeah.”

“I don’t want to break up with you, ever,” he says.

“Same.”

“Maybe that’s stupid.”

“I don’t care,” I say.

“Me neither,” he says.

He tilts his head up again and kisses me and I haven’t felt this happy for weeks, months, maybe ever, and something is different too, something I can’t quite place. He brings a hand up to my cheek and I don’t think things have gone back to normal – instead, we’ve entered an entirely new era, one where we’re better, surer, stronger together.

Wow. I really am embarrassing.

“Also, I bought you chocolate,” I say, when we break apart after a while. I take the Oreo Dairy Milk bar out of my pocket, hoping it hasn’t melted too much in the heat.

“Oh man.” He grabs it and tears it open. “That’s it. You’ve sealed the deal now. We’re practically married.” He pops a chunk into his mouth and then holds it out to me. “Want some?”

I stare at the chocolate and feel that jolt of fear that I always get, but something, for some reason in that moment, makes me say, “Yeah, okay.”

NICK

We decide to ditch the fete. Oliver will be fine with Tori and their Dad, and there isn’t really much for us two to do there anyway. We decide the beach is a much better idea.

It’s about an hour’s drive to the beach we always go to, so Charlie connects my iPod to the car radio and plays some Everything Everything, then Alt-J, then The Maccabees. There are closer beaches, but they’re always busy and disgusting, packed with loud teenagers and toddlers and people fighting for a spot to lay their towel.