he points out. ‘Both the pillows are at the top of the bed.’
I laugh. When Leo and I shared this room last time, it was after we’d put our little summer romance on hold, at the request of my sister, who was worried my sex life might ruin her wedding for some reason. In the interest of keeping things platonic, I’d slept with my head at the top of the bed and Leo with his at the bottom.
‘None of that business tonight,’ I point out, running my hands up the front of his body before hooking them behind his neck. I press my body against him and gently place my lips on his, teasing him with my tongue. Usually my eager boyfriend reciprocates but tonight he feels stiff – and not in a good way.
‘You OK?’ I ask.
‘Yeah,’ he replies. ‘Just a bit tired, I think.’
‘You’re never tired,’ I point out.
‘I work long, gruelling shifts as a firefighter, and when I’m not doing that, I’m working on the house – trust me, I get tired,’ he laughs.
‘You’re never too tired for sex,’ I point out, narrowing my eyes.
‘Tomorrow,’ he says, kissing me on the forehead before diving onto the bed.
I nod gently as I think to myself for a few seconds.
It’s funny. When you start dating someone, you try to spend as much time with them as possible, trying to work out whether you like them before you sleep with them – all while they’re trying to get you into bed. But then, once you’re actually a couple, and they can have sex with you whenever they want, it gets to a point where you’re having to practically beg them. At least that’s how it feels sometimes. I suppose life just starts getting in the way, especially when your boyfriend works shifts.
‘OK. Well, I think I’ll take a walk. It’s not even really dark yet,’ I say.
‘You want some company?’ he asks.
‘No, you rest up,’ I reply. ‘Save your energy for tomorrow.’
I walk out, closing the door behind me. I bite my lip, like I always do when I’m thinking. I’m not saying I’m irresistible to men, but I know my boyfriend. Something is definitely up here.
In preparation for renovating the house we just bought, Leo made me sit through a lot of TV shows about buying houses, fixing them up and decking out the interior. While it wasn’t exactly my favourite way to spend time, I have to admit I learned a lot. I learned that, when it comes to your home, one thing is very important: location, location, location.
My house in LA was in the Hollywood Hills, and it didn’t matter how many times I took in the view from my floor-to-ceiling living room, it took my breath away. This beach house, with its beach for a back garden, is also in a truly amazing location. The house I just bought with Leo, well, let’s just say the location isn’t exactly anything to write home about. We were bound by a few factors, like Leo needing to live close to work, and our financial limits, so when he found us a house that wasn’t tiny or expensive, it seemed like the perfect fit. The reason it wasn’t expensive is because it used to be a student house, situated in the heart of the student village. I didn’t realise a few things when we bought it: one was that the renovations would take so long and the other was that living in a house surrounded by students would be so noisy.
It isn’t noisy here, unless you count the lapping of the waves and the light breeze dancing around on the sand. I used to walk this beach back in the day, when everyone was stressing me out and I wanted to clear my head. There’s a little café down here called Shell’s that I used to go to, but I don’t suppose it will be open at this time in the evening.
I don’t get too far down the beach before I spot something else familiar: Chris, the lifeguard I met while he was working here four years ago. Not only is he still living here, but his golden retriever, Jay, is still helping him keep the shores safe. They’re jogging along the beach, getting closer by the second, and suddenly I feel so self-conscious.
The first time Chris met me I was wearing a tiny nightdress – or maybe it was a tiny bikini. Either way, I had a lot of flesh on show and he had to pick his jaw up from the floor. My long blonde hair was flowing back then and so was my confidence. Now, I no longer have the perfect beach body and the one I do have is hidden under a pair of trackies and a baggy, off-the-shoulder T-shirt. My hair is shorter, darker and scraped up on top of my head, and my easy confidence is MIA.
As Chris approaches I try to psych myself up. So what if I look different? Chris was just some guy I met on the beach who I fancied – I have an incredibly gorgeous boyfriend who loves me now.
I glance up at Chris as he jogs past me with a blank nod of acknowledgement – the kind you’d give to any stranger on the beach. I can’t believe it. He doesn’t recognise me. I don’t look that different, do I? I know I’m a bit out of shape, and fully clothed, which isn’t a state I think he’s ever seen me in before, and my hair is different, but I’m still me and I feel like he spent enough time with me that he should recognise me if he saw me again.
That’s twice I’ve received the cold shoulder this evening and it’s hard not to take it personally. Chris doesn’t recognise me as the girl he knew back then and, now we’re back in the beach house, maybe Leo doesn’t either.
I consider talking to Leo about how I’m feeling but by the time I get back to our room he’s fast asleep. I climb in next to him and close my eyes.
I exhale deeply as I wait for Leo out on the decking. When we woke up this morning he told me we were going for a walk, so I scraped my hair back up on top of my head, slipped on my scruffy outfit from last night and sleepily made my way outside to wait for him.
My attention flits between admiring the ocean, playing with the sand with my toes, and picking off the remains of my blue nail polish as I wait for Leo to appear.
‘Look at you,’ I squeak as he steps outside. ‘You look amazing and I look like trash.’
Leo laughs.
‘You look great – you always look great,’ he tells me in a way that makes it sound like a reminder, rather than a general compliment.
‘But you’re dressed up,’ I point out.
His hair is perfectly blown back, he’s wearing a crisp white shirt and he smells delicious, like the Creed aftershave I bought him for Christmas that he usually reserves for special occasions.
Leo smiles that devastating smile of his. I am weak for his dimples, even after all this time.
‘Come on, let’s go for a walk,’ he says, taking me by the hand.
It’s a beautiful morning, like something fresh off a postcard. The beach is clear, the sea is calm and the weather is just right. It’s not too hot yet, although it’s set to be a scorcher later today. Were it not for my mum’s compulsory lunch, I could’ve got the tan my body so desperately needs.
‘It’s a shame we
