The Holiday Buddies (A Romantic Comedy)

Chapter 21

Sienna

Joe seems a bit off today.

He didn't at first. I'd had a worry there might be a wee bit of awkwardness between us given the last time we'd been together we'd both had no clothes on, but actually my fears over that were unfounded. I can't pinpoint the moment that changed. Maybe he really didn't like me implying he was a secret fan of Fifty Shades?

So now we're in the car and I'm trying frantically to think of something to say that isn't cheese-related, just to break the awkward silence. I can't think of anything.

We pass a church and I grasp onto the first anecdote that comes into my head in relation to that. "Do you know the first thing my family used to do when we went on holiday to a new place? Look for the nearest Sunday Mass so we didn't miss a week." I grin at the memory. "Once we had to travel fifty miles on a Sunday morning, except my dad got lost and we still missed the service. He was furious. "

"Ah the joys of a Catholic childhood," Joe says dryly. "I know it well myself; my parents were very religious." He catches my sidelong surprised glance and interprets it correctly. "Hey, just cos they mostly hated their kids, and each other, doesn't mean they needed to hate God too," he deadpans. I snort, despite myself.

At least that breaks the tension.

He starts to laugh. "What was that?" He asks as I feel my face flush pink. I suppose I should be grateful it was a snort and not a fart. "You sounded like a tiny pig."

"Sorry." I find myself giggling. "Sometimes I snort. I have no control over it."

He glances at me, and there's that look again. Eyes soft, slightly confused smile. "It was cute," he says quietly.

I feel like my insides are curling in on themselves. I want him to always look at me like that. It's sweet and intimate and just makes me feel . . . special. Like he actually likes me, that this isn't just a physical thing.

But it also makes me feel scared.

I came on holiday thinking (somewhat overdramatically I admit) that my life was over and I'd never be happy again. But from pretty much the moment I met Joe I've felt . . . Alive.

I've never really been a fan of the whole "best way to get over a man is to get under another" adage - I'm more the type of person who has to go through a long mourning period before I would even consider another guy or relationship- but Joe has definitely broken through my defences on this occasion.

The problem is, I don't think he wanted to do that. I know he is not looking for a relationship, even though there's no doubt our chemistry is off the chart. He's dropped so many hints about this that I would have to be completely delusional to have missed them. He doesn't see this going anywhere. Which is a bit of a headfuck, granted, but at least I know it's nothing personal to me.

Unfortunately my heart is already getting involved, even while my head is screaming "don't do it!". Was there ever a chance I wouldn't start to develop feelings for Joe? That the lust I felt from that first glance wouldn't grow into something stronger once I started to get to know him?

I'm such a pathetic sap.

And, unfortunately, that sweet look on his handsome face just makes me want him more. Because he looks at me like I'm a secret he wants to keep to himself. And that then makes me wonder if maybe he might actually reciprocate these feelings I'm starting to have.

Thinking like that is edging me into a dangerous territory and I need to back the fuck out of it.

"Hey, do you mind checking Google maps on your phone and making sure I'm going in the right direction for Xi Beach?" Joe brings me back out of my confused brain.

"Sure." I welcome the distraction, pulling the app up quickly. "Looks like we're on the correct road so you're all good."

"Cool, thanks." He nods. "Is it just me or do some of these roads remind you of being in the Highlands?"

"Yes!" I'd been thinking this too. "I mean, it would have to be a rare sunny day in Scotland for them to look completely alike obviously but the similarities are uncanny."

Of course, talk of Scotland reminds me that we only have a couple of days left in Kefalonia and that our time together is finite; and that casts a shadow over my heart again because I'm falling for a guy I can only have on a temporary basis.

It takes less than an hour to reach Xi Beach but by this point I'm more than ready to exit the car; I feel like I need a bit of space to clear my head.

"It's not as red as the photos implied," Joe comments as we spread our towels out on the sand.

I agree. "But it's still pretty."

"Yep." He turns around and squints at me as the sun is in his eyes. A smile warms up his chiselled features. "Really pretty."

A warm glow consumes me. It's clear he's not talking about the beach.

And there he bloody goes again, making me feel all the things. Putting butterflies in my tummy, riling them up so they won't stop anxiously fluttering.

"You want a drink?" He asks. I nod. He wanders away to fetch me one.

I heave a sigh and take the book out of my bag. I was so happy to find it in the bookcase as I'd forgotten about its existence; I used to have a copy of it but I let someone borrow it years ago and it was never returned to me. I can't remember who I gave it to and I suddenly think wouldn't it be funny if this was the same copy, that had found its way back to me all those years later.

I know it's a ridiculous thought but I think it's probably already clear that I am indeed ridiculous.

The book is called "Thought Clouds". Apparently the guy who wrote it actually went to the same university as me. My friend Mel insists we even were in a lecture with him in our second year, although she can't remember which one. Some of our lectures did have hundreds of folk in them so I guess it's possible.

There's something nagging away at me though, as I stare at the book. It's like a tiny piece of a puzzle is missing in my brain and I can't quite find the piece needed to slot it all together.

Then I realise what the missing piece is. It's the author's name, printed in small type on the bottom right hand side of the front cover.

J.P. Quinn.

My brain goes into meltdown. Surely not? I think back to earlier in the bar, trying to pinpoint the exact moment that Joe's whole demeanor changed. It was somewhere around the point when I'd pulled this book off the shelf and started raving about it.

With shaking hands, I open the book and find the "about the author" page.

J.P. Quinn was born in Glasgow in 1987.

That's all I need to read to know.

Joe is J.P. Quinn?

The guy who kissed me senseless last night, who was naked with me this morning, who I'm trying so bloody hard not to fall for, wrote one of my favourite novels?

Fucking hell.

She rumbled him pretty quickly, didn't she? Will she tell him she knows though?

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