‘Mmm, it’s not a patch on St George’s Day,’ she murmured back, prompting him to look over at her quizzically – until he saw her deadpan expression.

He grinned at her quip. ‘Now who’s being controversial?’

They continued to look into the sky, but, too soon, the show was coming to an end, the punk colours and intermittent bangs dwindling.

‘What is it you like about Midsommar so much?’ she asked, not wanting to leave yet.

‘Growing up, my mother used to tell me it was our consolation for all the months of darkness we had to endure –’

Consolation . . . She looked at him and found he was already watching her.

‘– And now, as an adult, I hate the darkness. I would happily never sleep again. I want the shortest night, every night.’

Time contracted in on itself as she looked into those eyes. She was drunk, but they both knew what he was saying. They’d had their dark days; tonight was about grabbing the light . . . Their consolations . . .

She realized something suddenly.

‘You’re speaking in English,’ she whispered, seeing that his gaze was on her lips and feeling the indefinable something that hovered between them – an instinctive locking of spirits – bloom into being.

‘I know. Are you impressed yet?’

Slowly, so slowly, she leaned towards him, stopping with her face just inches from his, his eyes roaming hers for an answer to a question she didn’t yet know. His hand cupped the back of her head, holding her, before his lips pressed gently on hers – softly at first, then firmer – and she sensed the world shifting around them, changing by a single degree.

Chapter Ten

‘Where have you been?’ Tove asked, almost falling out of the chair as Bell opened the squeaky gate, her crown lopsided on her head, her hair particularly bed-headed this morning.

Bell winked as she closed it behind her and stretched her arms high above her head. She felt like she was floating on air.

‘You did not! Who?’ Tove gasped with deep melodrama. ‘You weren’t even dancing with anyone.’

Bell flopped down into the other chair and let her arms and legs splay in straight lines like a stick doll. ‘His name’s Emil, and he’s possibly the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Ever.’ She arched an eyebrow, suspicious that it was so quiet – and tidy. ‘Where are the boys?’

Tove groaned. ‘Running,’ she said, batting her hand dismissively. ‘Bodies, temples, all that jazz. But forget them. Emil. Emil. Tell me everything. Who is he? Where is he? And when am I gonna meet him?’

‘I don’t know, I don’t know and I don’t know,’ Bell grinned. ‘He just took off in his boat. Could have gone anywhere,’ she sighed with an easy shrug.

‘And you don’t know where?’

Bell shook her head with a happy sigh. ‘Nope.’

Tove stared at her like she was delirious. ‘What is wrong with you? Why would you let the most beautiful man you ever saw take off in his boat, without knowing where he was going?’