I laughed. ‘I meant the drink. I think sex on the beach is actually uncomfortable.’

She waved the comment away. ‘It’s different with a woman.’

‘You say that about everything.’

‘Have I been wrong so far?’ She moved a little closer. ‘I think the sex on the beach thing is at least worth putting on the table.’

‘Now that sounds like an offer.’

‘As soon as my blood alcohol drops enough …’

I closed what little space was left between us, then, and kissed her square on the mouth. It was a newfound bravery that had slowly unfolded. Between the girls’ logic – ‘Who gives a shiny shit what anyone else thinks?’ – and Fred’s gentle persuasion – ‘Sweetheart, you’ve got a hall pass. Use this time wisely’ – I was well beyond the point of worrying about friends, colleagues, or anyone else catching us mid-contact. Rowan hadn’t been worried – as evidenced by the number of messages I would still get on the average week from concerned (read: nosy) bystanders who had spotted him out and about – so I’d tried to filter out my own concerns. Still, it was one thing doing this with other men. But Rowan’s thoughts on another woman might be—

‘Are you with me?’ Fred squeezed my arm. ‘You looked miles away then.’

‘I’m sorry. The girls were asking questions tonight. I feel like their worries are floating.’

‘About me?’

‘About Rowan.’

‘Ah.’ She took a long swig from her drink and I wondered whether she was buying time. ‘Okay, give me some guidance, lady – do you want to talk about this or …’ She petered out and nodded to the dance floor. ‘Do you want to get your arse over there and have a little grind on me?’ She took another sip. ‘There’s no right or wrong answer, incidentally. Of course, I know which one I would prefer. But if you’re not in the mood to talk about Rowan, then I guess I could stomach a dance.’ Her smile cracked through the final words, and I bit back on a laugh as well.

‘Dance with me?’

She held out a hand, palm up. ‘I would be honoured.’

Fred and I had talked about Rowan, while tangled in bedsheets and tired from the night before – or sometimes the afternoon, only earlier. She was soft with me like that; not always, but when I needed her to be. She hadn’t commented much, other than to say he was mad for risking the loss of a good partner: ‘Mad or very cocksure,’ she’d once added, but she hadn’t expanded.