IS THIS REAL LIFE? AM I ACTUALLY UPDATING ROOM SERVICE? YES, FOLKS. A MIRACLE HAS HAPPENED.

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            “Jesus Christ, how much further is this place?”

            Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Leon lagging behind, puffing and panting as he struggled to shorten the two-metre gap that currently stood between us. Though the signature black sunglasses covered his eyes, and consequently most of this face, I still noticed the sheen of perspiration across his skin, his lips pursed in concentration as the sun beat down on our backs.

            “Stop whining,” I ordered. “I thought you were supposed to be fit?”

            “I am,” he said. “Sort of. This is in a whole other league. Come on, I’m a singer, not an athlete. What do you expect?”

            “Do I look like an athlete either?” I asked, unable to stop the amused smirk creeping onto my face. “I’m managing just fine.”

            “That’s so not fair. You live here. You’ve probably climbed this bloody hill a hundred times.”

            “Only a hundred?” I rolled my eyes. “Pfft, you’re overestimating the amount of things there are to do in Walden. It’s got to be way more than that.”

            “Exactly!” he cried. “This isn’t a fair competition.”

            I had to laugh. His put-out expression, appearing in sporadic bursts between gasps for breath, was funnier than it should’ve been. Admittedly, the path we were trailing up was the steepest slope in Walden, but that still didn’t make it Mount Everest. I knew what we’d find at the top would make the walk worth it, yet it was proving considerably more difficult to convince Leon of this.

            The Viewpoint was a notorious spot in Walden, and it had been for generations. Even my parents, who’d both lived in town since they were kids, couldn’t remember a time when it wasn’t local knowledge. For us, it was turf as common as the boardwalk, but surprisingly few tourists managed to stumble across it each year. Maybe it was the huge hill that put them off; after all, it was certainly having that effect on Leon. The thing was, once you got to the top of the trailing dirt path, the view had a funny way of overshadowing how much your muscles were aching.

            “Will it be worth my legs dropping off?” he’d asked, the first time I pointed this out. “Because right now they feel like they’re about to.”

            Thankfully, though, we were advancing on the top of the hill, the gradient levelling off enough to give our legs a well-deserved rest. The sea was now coming into view, the vast stretch reaching right out toward the horizon, where the tips of the waves met the line of the sky.

            “See, we made it!” I declared. Leon’s footsteps, I heard behind me, landed on flat ground a few moments later. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

            The retort came quickly, as punctual as ever. “I don’t know about—”

            When his speech trailed off, I turned on the spot. Leon was now rooted in position, all remnants of the previous complaint wiped from his face. His eyes were dragged away by the view around us, darting from place to place as if it was impossible to take it in fast enough. Any minute now, it looked like his mouth was about to drop open. “Whoa.”

            This, in particular, had a smile slipping onto my face. It was an accomplishment, if nothing else, to render him speechless, since he wouldn’t shut up any other time of day. My gaze wandered to follow his, landing amongst the view that had us surrounded on all sides. Waves from miles away crashed at the foot of the cliff, salty spray flying way up into the air, the sun shining bright overhead. From up here, the entire town was visible, reduced to an even more miniature form than usual from such a distance.

            Despite the height, it was strangely grounding to visit The Viewpoint. Living in Walden saw the place fall into a predictable pattern, trapping us all into the mindset of knowing exactly what would happen next. Over the last couple of years, regular visits up here had turned into a way of reminding myself that there was life beyond the boundaries of the tiny village: that on the other side of the ocean was a whole other world, bearing almost no resemblance to Walden-on-Sea.

            “Cool, huh? I told you it’d be worth the walk.”

            Leon had yet to stop looking so awestruck; he’d even removed his precious sunglasses, holding them over his forehead, lips still parted in mild shock. “Yeah, but I didn’t think you actually meant it. You can see for miles up here.”

            I mirrored his steps as he moved forward, approaching the edge of the cliff, which was lined by a sturdy fence harbouring countless warnings not to go any further. The council was constantly worried about it; each year they seemed to bring the railing back a little further, as if unconvinced it would stop daredevil tourists venturing too close to the crumbling edge. I sometimes wondered if their paranoia would ever get the better of them, if they’d close it off completely, before remembering they’d first have to get through the opposition of every Walden resident to do so. For the moment, at least, we were fine.

            “So can you see the hotel from here?” he asked, eyes excitedly scanning the view for a building that resembled The Beach House.

            “’Course,” I told him, already pointing it out. “Towards the left there, you see? On the top of that hill. The white building. And your suite’s on the top floor – that’s why you’ve got such a good view of the sea.”

            “Oh, yeah! I see it!”

            I found myself laughing at the enthusiasm in his voice; it was like he’d become a child again, being lifted onto his father’s shoulders for the first time, suddenly faced with a newfound ability to see so much more. The sound came all at once, cascading from my lips before I had a chance to stop it, though at that point I didn’t see why I would’ve wanted to. It felt as if my whole self was lightening, filling with a new air possessing an intangible quality, as if I could float right above it if only I tried hard enough.

            It was something I hadn’t felt in much too long, let alone during the height of summer, when there was usually no room for anything but stress.

            “Okay, so what else is there?” Leon asked eagerly. “You’re an expert on Walden, and I want the cliff-top tour.”

            We were both at the fence now, leaning onto the wood, our arms brushing with a touch as light as the breeze. Had it not been for the actual wind on my face, I probably would’ve been blushing. “Now that I can do,” I said, steering myself away from the feeling. “So, Beach House up there. At the top of the cliff – the one on the opposite side – there’s the caravan park. You don’t want to venture up there. Death by tourists.” I shuddered.

            “They’re really that bad?”

            “Come back in December when the place is dead,” I said, “and you tell me.”

            “Ouch. You know, you locals are brutal. I’d hate to think what you say about a measly little tourist like myself behind my back.”

            His grin was infectious; with a laugh, I gave him a nudge. “Yeah, you’re right. Day-trippers are bad enough, but they aren’t a patch on runaway teenage pop stars. God, those are the worst.”

            “Really? You’re sure about that?”

            “Oh, yeah. You’ve really got to watch them. I swear, turn your back for a minute, and the next thing you know, you’re being pushed off a pedal boat into the sea. Can’t trust them as far as you can throw them.”

            “Hey!” The returning nudge was slightly more pointed, an adamant jab to my arm. “I didn’t push you. You were clumsy – completely of your own account, I’ll add – and fell out of the thing.”

            “That’s not how I remember it.”

            Shaking his head, the blue-eyed gaze left my face, refocusing once again on the ocean stretching out for miles ahead of us. Glittering fragments of the sun’s reflection bounced off the waves’ surface; the resulting effect was so bright I found myself digging my own sunglasses out of my pocket.

            “Never mind runaway pop stars,” Leon continued. “If you ask me, it’s the locals you’ve got to watch out for. One of them’s more trouble than all the visitors put together.”

            “Watch yourself,” I warned jokingly. “If it wasn’t for me, you’d have no idea this place even existed. You’d still be stuck up in the hotel, probably ordering pizzas by the hour.”

            “And without you,” he added, “I also wouldn’t have been pantsed on a pedal boat. You know, I still can’t believe I didn’t see that coming.”

            The flashback hit me all at once, sending another laugh rising out of my throat. Just the image of Leon’s surprised face as he realised his trousers were round his ankles was enough to induce a fit of uncontrollable giggles. As I cracked up beside him, the reluctant smile on his face began to grow wider, until I could tell he was finding it difficult not to laugh along with me.

            “Are you done with the thought of me in my boxers yet?”

            “God, if only I’d had a camera,” I said, now completely unable to control my grin; it seemed to have found its way across every inch of my face. “I could’ve sold that to the paparazzi and made enough money to get out of this place for good.”

            “Aw, come on. If you’re going to do that, at least let me strike a pose or something.” He stepped back, putting a hand behind his head and dropping his hip, face contorting into a ridiculous pout. Within seconds I’d returned to hysterics, Leon joining me moments later.

            At the time, it didn’t really occur to me how crazy the whole thing was. Two weeks ago, I’d been gearing up for the start of a hectic summer in the hotel, nothing much on the cards outside of my work schedule. And yet somehow I’d ended up here: at the top of the highest point in town, in a fit of crazy laughter with a guy I’d once only seen in Rosemarie’s teen magazines. I could barely figure out how we’d even got here; it was seeming increasingly likely that Leon had stepped right off the glossy pages themselves, straight into Walden.

            “Okay, okay,” I said, struggling to regain my breath. “Beach House, caravan park. Down the cliff, you’ve got the boardwalk right on the seafront. That’s where all the shops are, as you probably know. You got Walden Ice-Cream, which is basically packed for the whole of August. Still, the guy in charge is super nice. I can’t leave the place without him forcing ten free cones on me.”

            “Free ice-cream,” Leon mused. “Your life sounds so difficult.”

            “Oh, come on. Don’t act like people don’t give you free stuff. I’m sure your fans would send you all the ice-cream you could eat if you asked.”

            “True,” he said, “but it wouldn’t be Walden ice-cream.”

            I looked back over at the view. “So, down there you’ve got the gallery. It’s actually got pretty popular over the last few years. The place got a new manager, you see. Flo Bolton. She married the guy with the ice cream shop, actually. They got hitched here last summer.”

            I could see the corner of his lip curling. “A real Walden romance, huh?”

            “Yeah, well. In a place like this, you haven’t got so many options. You either marry one of us or move out. There’s not really an in-between.”

            “Ah,” he said. “Got it.”

            “And then,” I carried on, “you’ve obviously got the pier. The arcade can be sort of fun, if you’re really desperate for something to do. Or if you just fancy being a seven-year-old again for a while. That works too.”

            “Actually, that sounds way more appealing than I’d like to admit.”

            “Still, that’s not where you find the craziest people. There’ll always be more than a few over summer who think it’s a hilariously original idea to jump off the end of the pier. It’s supposed to be dangerous, but I don’t know if that’s true. No one’s died yet. At least I don’t think so.”

            “How reassuring,” he said, his eyes flickering. I noticed then he was looking at me again, his sunglasses propped up on the uplift of his newly-dyed hair, eyes scanning across my features so intently I wondered whether I should feel nervous. “So, come on. Tell me the crazy Walden stories.”

            I gave him a strange look. “What do you mean?”

            “You know. Crazy stories. You must have some.” When my blank look didn’t budge, he deemed it necessary to elaborate. “You’ve lived here all your life. I know you make out that this place is so boring, but I don’t believe there hasn’t been anything a little crazy that happened to you. What do you usually do all summer?”

            “Work,” I answered truthfully.

            He looked like he was about to do a double-take. “You can’t be serious.”

            I was still confused. “Why not?”

            “Because it’s summer! You’re not supposed to work. You’re supposed to go to the beach and hang out with friends and do all that stereotypical summer stuff. Well, you know. When it’s not raining. Not forgetting the fact that this is still England we’re talking about.”

            “That kind of summer,” I pointed out, “doesn’t exist for people whose parents own a hotel.”

            “Well, it should.” There was some sort of final note to his voice, like his opinion was truly solid, impossible to change through the impact of anything or anyone else. “God, if I had a free summer, I definitely wouldn’t be spending it thinking about work.”

            “You do have a free summer. Isn’t that the whole reason you’re here? Because you ran away from work?”

            He sighed, leaning on the fence a little more, the afternoon breeze running right through and ruffling his hair. “I guess. I’m not even sure it’s going to last a whole summer, though. It feels like it’s only a matter of time before my manager or PA get wind of where I am and show up to drag me back. I don’t dare turn on my phone in case they’ve got some kind of tracker on it – I wouldn’t put it past them. Sometimes it feels like the entire company’s watching my every move.”

            I let out a low whistle. “That sucks. Way worse than the hotel.”

            “Oh, I don’t know. Seems like you’ve got enough on your plate. You might not have people watching your every move, but I don’t think I’d deal well with complaining guests for six weeks. I think we’re actually pretty even.”

            I raised an eyebrow. “I’m even with Leon McCarthy? Wow. I’m holding onto that one for a while. In fact, I think that’ll be something to tell the grandkids.”

            When he laughed, the sound rung out only for the briefest of moments, before being carried away on the breeze. “And you say you’re not a fan.”

            “I’m not.”

            “That’s what you say,” he said, “but it doesn’t mean I believe you.”

            “Are you always this arrogant?”

            He held his hands up, but was still smiling. “You know I’m only joking. I do want to do something for you, though. You don’t have to be a fan. You just have to be willing.”

            I quirked an eyebrow.

            “Mind out of the gutter, Coraline! Not like that. I don’t know how long I’m going to be able to stick around here, but hopefully it’ll be for a while yet. Before I go, though, I want to make sure you have some crazy Walden stories to tell the next super-famous celebrity that shows up here.”

            “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

            “Completely serious.”

            He meant it, too; traces of the previous laughter were nowhere to be found, his features fixed in a way that somehow proved he was telling the truth. I forced myself to meet his gaze, trying not to remark internally on the way his eyes seemed every bit as bright as they did in Rosemarie’s favourite poster, despite the swelling urge to look away.

            “I feel like I should be worried.”

            He grinned. “You’ll be fine. So, what do you say? Do you think you’re ready for your summer of Leon McCarthy?”

            “Don’t ever call it that again,” I warned, but the smile was seeping onto my face again, like it was trying to become a permanent feature. “But yes. I suppose I am.”

            “Famous last words,” he said.

            As it turned out, he was right. So, so right.

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Let me start by saying how truly sorry I am that this has taken so long. I'm sorry that writer's block struck for four months, because I know how much it sucks having to wait for a story you like, but sometimes it really can't be helped. I want to thank everybody that's still reading this because you have to be some really dedicated fans to stick around when I update so infrequently.

I'm not sure how long it's going to take to get the next chapter out, so it's probably best not to have any expectations. If I update quickly, it'll be a nice surprise. If I don't, you won't be disappointed. Once again, I am so so so so sorry but if any of you guys are writers, you'll know how much writer's block sucks. Here's hoping it's gone for a while now. Love you all!