We pull into the makeshift car park and it reminds me of the last time we were here; our early morning trip after the first night we spent together. That day was our beginning and the sun was rising. Today, the sun is setting and an unexpected shudder shivers across my shoulders.

A frustrated sigh from Harry snaps me back to the present. The middle of the summer season has brought the tourists flocking, not only to admire the magnificent lighthouse but also to enjoy the spectacular views for miles around. Our luck is in finding a space but I sense from the three fluffed attempts Harry makes before finally parking the car to his satisfaction, he was not expecting it to be so crowded.

He hesitates, sitting in the driver's seat and clinging the wreath to his chest like it is a lifebuoy. I hotfoot around to his door and open it, tugging on his sleeve until he gets out. Despite being taller than me, I put my arm around him and where my fingers rest on his shoulder, he laces his through them.

Heading in the opposite direction from the hordes, we trudge across the gravel that covers our shoes in a light dust. The parking area is replaced with a grassy path, worn away by the trampling of feet over the years. The surface is uneven under foot and narrows and widens, forcing us to separate into single file before we can stroll side by side again.

At one tight pass Harry takes the lead.  His body shields me from the late afternoon breeze that is sweeping in off the sea. It blows through any crevice it can find and whistles past my ear.

Suddenly, he loses his footing on a piece of rock. He grabs onto a clump of grass growing out the craggy cliff face to steady him. In his stumble, the box falls from his grasp and a jerk of his head sends his baker boy hat flying. I manage to catch the hat then retrieve the wreath box off the ground.

He removes his Ray-Bans and rakes his fingers through the top of his hair. I flip his hat back on his head and he peers round at me; my image reflects off his Aviator lenses. Despite the warm weather, he has worn a variety of headgear since having his haircut. He refuses to admit it but it is taking him some time to get used to his short hair.  He is still wearing a hair tie around his wrist!

The path expands out onto a grassy ledge. With no other soul in sight, this affords us the time to pause and look out over the expanse of water towards what could be the edge of the world. I stand behind Harry and on tiptoes kiss the middle of his back before leaving him with the wreath and his thoughts.

During the drive here, he opened up more about Steve; the man who started out as his therapist but ultimately became his trusted friend. Harry confided his deep and darkest thoughts to Steve and their friendship remained confidential to nearly everyone in Harry's life. After Steve's death, Harry never got the opportunity to say goodbye but now is his time to make up for that.

In silent contemplation, Harry remains fixated by the ocean. A few times he appears to be about to launch the wreath but hugs it back to his chest, perhaps having thought of something else important he needs to say. When he finally lets it go, he watches it fly through the air before it hits the water and bobs away on the surface until it is a mere speck in the distance.

He ambles aimlessly back towards me with his hands slumped in his pockets and his head down; the peak of his cap shielding half of his face. His body thuds down on the bench and he pulls his jacket around him as he continues to stare pensively across the bay. I scoot along the seat and gather him in my arms. Not disturbing his eyes from his focus, he flops his head onto my shoulder as though it is too heavy to hold up.

We remain sat on the bench, absorbed in the tranquil surroundings. The occasional seagull swoops down before realising we have no offer of tit-bits and flying off again. Finally, Harry comes back to me with a whispered "thank you."

Hand in hand, we carry on along the path a little more until it begins to meander down towards the sea. The small sandy cove that stretches out before us is strewn with debris swept ashore by the unforgiving waves.

Driftwood intertwined with seaweed rests idly, twisted together from its ocean journey. The years adrift in water and sun have bled the colour from the ridges and grooves, leaving a greyish bleached, aged-look like a favourite over washed t-shirt. Tiny holes reside where the knots once were, now filled with sand and salt.  We gather enough to make a fire and some stones to make a surround. Once the smoke has dispersed, the small dancing flames produce a comforting glow. 

I grab the bottle of Barolo out of the backpack and poor a little into each plastic glass. Steve was the one who piqued Harry's interest in red wine. After each professional session finished, they would often sit over a vintage red and put the world to rights.

We raise a toast to Steve and as I drink, I catch Harry staring into the liquid before he takes a swig. I crawl over to sit in-between his legs and rest back against his chest. He wraps himself around me and we recline against the rocks. The only sound around us is the crackle of the fire and the rhythm of the small waves rushing in across the pebbles then dragging them knocking over one another as the water recedes.

"Thanks for suggesting I say goodbye to Steve. Until I did it just then I didn't realise how much I needed it." Harry admits.

I peer up at him and he nuzzles his chin on my shoulder, sandwiching our cheeks together.

"I'm glad." I smile and rest my hands over his.

"These last few months here, since we met I mean, Lily, they have been-." He stalls, struggling for words but his tightening hug around me needs no explanation. "Why does this," he gestures with his hand off into the waning light, "have to change. I am so excited but it is going to be so different. We are going to be alright?"

Despite the warmth of the embers, a chilly tension dwells. This is my cue to voice all the overthinking that is going on in my head but my mind seizes. Was his 'alright' a question or a reassurance? He definitely raised his tone at the end suggesting a question. Does he think we are not going to be okay?

"Beautiful?" He brings me out of my contemplation.

"Umm, yes, I hope so." I stammer.

"I hope so too." His body sinks a little and he releases me to stand up. "We've got a long drive tomorrow, we'd best be getting back," he states, while kicking sand over the fire and turning the air brisk and the atmosphere shadowy.

Somehow both our 'hope' feels like it should be a more reassuring 'know' but it is not and the moment to declare any concerns is now gone.

Harry's pinkie links loosely around mine on our trek back to the now more deserted car park. Once in the car, he speeds down the country lane towards the main road. The high hedges bash against the wing mirrors; they seem more imposing now that dusk is drawing in. His apparent urgency to get home has me clinging onto my seat. He notices and with a, "sorry," slows right down.

Unfamiliar music fills our void on the way back and it is only when the security lights flood the drive in brightness does it bring me back from my detachment. We do not go inside straightaway; the warmth of the heated car seat and his hand in mine is too cosy to disturb.

Eventually, screwing up his nose and opening one eye, he glances at me and nods his head towards the house.  By way of answer, I lean over and peck him a quick kiss before getting out the car. 

Inside, I pour the final two glasses from the special bottle of Barolo and hand one to Harry. A shy grin digs in his dimples as he gestures with his outstretched hand for me to follow him.

We head into the dining room and settle beside one another on the long piano stool. He places his glass on the instrument's lid before his shoulders hunch over the keys. Trembling fingers hover in anticipation before pressing down to throw notes around the room. His tune is soulful and soft.

"I can't wait to hear your album." I admit, resting my head on his shoulder. I am still a little surprised he has not played any of it to me yet. It felt awkward when his family admitted to having heard some of the tracks but I know Anne is one of the first people Harry would have wanted to share his first solo endeavours with.

All this contemplation is doing nothing for my mood. He finishes the tune and I place my glass next to his.

"Chopsticks!" I demand.

Harry's smile widens, "Ok, you're on. Let's go!"

We play it over and over. Both of us are determined not to hit a wrong note but it gets faster and faster and my fingers will simply not move any quicker.

Harry chuckles at my exclaiming and yells, "she's losing it and I am headed for victory!" His face glistens with the glee of success.

As much as I want to beat his cocky arse, I cannot take it anymore. I raise my hands off the keys and slump my head in defeat. "You win, Handsome."

His laughter is gone, replaced by his husky tone that pulls me to glance across at him. "Yes, I do win."

His hand cups my alcohol-flushed cheek, its caress too warm to deny. Sweeping his thumb across my lips, I part them to catch it between my teeth. He watches as my tongue runs across the skin and sucks on the tip. Dragging it away sharply, he replaces it with his mouth.

The tingle of his kiss lingers richly like the red wine that stains his lips. His tongue is eager for more and his fingers part to cradle my head and thread through my hair. He pulls back and binds our foreheads together.

His words whisper across his caress of my lips. "Tell me what you want, Beautiful?"

His question is simple enough but why then does it perplex me? I part my lashes to find him studying me.

"Just you are enough." I gasp, before shaking my head free of his hands.

I stand and straddle his thighs; my bum presses on the keys sending a muddle of sharps and flats through air. He mirrors me, standing up between my legs and towering over me. His fingers brace my skin when he slides the hem of my top over my head and tosses it to the floor. His lips bury themselves in the crook of my neck and he unclips my bra.

"We won't be needing this," drips lecherously off his tongue.

I claw at his hoodie, tugging it over his head and taking his shirt along with it. Our skin-on-skin embrace is desperate and I hold him against me so tightly the pads of my fingers push into the velvet of his skin. When our lips seal, his teeth grab my tongue sending my body into frenzy.

I pull away from him; my tongue numb upon its release. The back of his hand knocks aside the wine glasses. Their smash across the floor is of no concern to either of us as our eyes do not stray from each other.

He lifts me to sit on the piano lid. I lie back pulling his lips with mine. He tugs at my jeans and I raise my hips for him to peel them off, dragging my underwear with them. He stands between my legs and reaches down to press kisses over my stomach and run his tongue around my belly button.

His fingers reach up to trace my face and he pushes two into my mouth. I bite down hard, wetting their tips. Tracing down my chin, my neck, and around my nipples, waves of pleasure explode, erupting through my entire body.

My heels bang on the keys as his tongue begins its descent, leaving his mark down my torso. His hands grip on my parted thighs and he teases me.

I open my mouth but can barely breathe at the exhilaration pumping through my veins. The drag of his palms over my body arches my back, gasping moans rattle from my throat. I paw the air, trying to grab hold of something, anything, but the hardness of the piano is the only thing to meet my search. I cup my breasts instead and play with my erect nipples, rushing more exhilaration between my legs. 

He brings me to the brink then pulls away to kiss my thighs but I buck my hips up and his snicker fills the air before his tongue resumes its indulging.  He torments me close again before pulling away. Before I can complain, he hauls me to sit up, removes his jeans, and lifts me to straddle him on the stool.

I rest my head back against the ebony.  The ivory keys dig into my lower back causing me to thrust out my chest and expose my breasts to his mouth.  He bites my nipples so hard it is delectable pain before his tongue massages that pain away. 

Repeated cuss words heave from his mouth as his hands are everywhere, leaving his trace all over me.  He bulges hard between my legs and then his hardness is inside of me. His hands squeeze my hips as I roll them around, thrusting harder each time.  I rock on him over and over then he throws his head back and slips his fingers between us. My palms slam down on the keys and holding my breath, I clench around him. My body shudders and stiffens as it rides to its fulfilment.

Once slack, I open my eyes to enjoy his high as he thrusts erratically into me then I sit up sharply and drape myself around him. He holds me as my body after shocks uncontrollably for a moment. Only my out breaths are audible as I struggle to catch my rhythm.

My come down is slow but his fingers remain. He continues to stroke me lightly and I realise I am not done.  He lifts me once again to sit on the lid and pushes me back, before his tongue delves once more. This second time is quicker and not as intense but just as satiating. 

He guides me off the piano to sit on his lap facing the keys. I rest my head back on his naked shoulder and he smooches my cheek. His arms thread either side of my body and he plays beautiful notes. 

I close my eyes and relax, delighting in the heat between us but I am still needy for him.  I grasp  his hand from the keys and guide it between my legs.

"Make me come again."

His lips graze my jaw before he speaks words that I cannot even register. His fingers are on me again.  It takes much longer but he is patient and gentle until he brings me to come a third time; short, sharp and complete.

Leaving the wine stained rug, broken glass and our clothes scattered over the floor, we retire upstairs to the comfort of bed.  Tomorrow is both his return to reality and a new adventure for me.  For now though on our last night at Summer Haze, we tangle perfectly together.

-*-

My name is whispering on repeat far away. It's repetitiveness gets louder and louder until I realise I am no longer asleep.

Harry's crackly voice finally registers through my disorientation and I come round to the darkness of the room. He peers down waving my phone at me. The light illuminates my face with the time and caller ID but it is blurred by the movement of the screen.

My sleepy croak answers the call and then immediately, I bolt upright.

"Just try to remain calm, I am on my way."