"I can't believe you wore that."

Alicia looked at her younger sister skeptically. Tess smiled, taking an innocent bite of her pancakes. She was dressed in the red dress with the slit, her dark hair pulled up in a nest of curls to reveal her slender neck. She was also wearing six-inch stiletto heels, Alicia noted wryly: a statement at any time of the day, but especially at 10 o'clock in the morning.

"It's in fashion," Tess said mildly.

"For brunch?"

"For any time of the day."

"Ah," Alicia said dryly. "And it has nothing to do with the fact that a whole horde of press are just outside the window?"

"Oh, no." Tess waved a hand. "Nothing at all."

Alicia exchanged a look with her mother. They were sitting at a snug restaurant on Market Street, crammed into a booth made of patchwork quilting. The wooden table groaned under a variety of dishes: saffron and feta eggs, fluffy buttermilk pancakes, crisp, salty bacon, and a selection of rocket and roasted tomatoes.

Outside, photographers clicked their cameras. But it didn't bother Alicia as much these days; the press had snapped a picture of her taking out the bins in her rabbit onesie with a fluffy tail on it. It didn't get worse than that.

"You know," her mother said, "Oliver sent a car to bring us to the airport today." She scooped up a forkful of eggs. "And he paid for a security team to accompany us."

Her head snapped up. "He did?"

"Mmmm."

"And he upgraded us to first class," Tess added smugly. "We get free champagne and everything."

Her mother set down her fork. "I wish you'd give Oliver another chance, mija. He's such a lovely boy."

"Mum," Alicia said in exasperation. "Just a few weeks ago, you were telling me not to trust Oliver. Now you want me to date him?" She shook her head, stabbing a piece of bacon. "Anyway, Ollie doesn't seem all that bothered. He didn't even come to see me after the tournament."

She couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice. Her mother pursed her lips.

"Maybe he's been busy."

"For six days?"

"Maybe he's a secret agent," Tess suggested. "And he was on a mission in Greece where he had to assassinate a beautiful princess."

Alicia decided to ignore this.

"Promise you'll call me when you land," she said, changing the subject. "And when you get home safely. And when you unpack."

"We will."

"I'm going to miss you." Alicia's throat was tight. "Both of you."

She reached her hand across the table. Her mother placed her hand on top of it. They both shot a pointed look at Tess, who huffed, flinging her hand on top of the pile. "Yes, alright," she sighed. "I'll miss you too, Leese."

"You'll be fine." Her mother squeezed her hand. "You always are."

Alicia smiled. Normally, she would privately disagree with her mother, but this time, she felt that she was right. That was the amazing thing about slowing down, Alicia reflected: it helped you see the things that you were busy missing.

Brooks lay on the sofa, a book propped open on his lap.

This week's selection — a high-stakes Western drama with a kidnapped princess, a rakish cowboy and his plucky horse — was doing nothing to improve his mood. He spooned more chocolate ice cream into his mouth, looking glumly at the page. He had reread the same paragraph three times and taken nothing in.

Across the room, Oliver looked up from the telly. "We're a pathetic pair, aren't we?"

Brooks took in Oliver's surroundings. "One Tree Hill" playing on repeat. A half-empty bottle of merlot with a straw in it. Percy Pigs scattered across the table. He sighed.

"We're worse than pathetic, mate."

Oliver lifted the bottle. "Want some?"

"I'm on duty."

"It's not like we're going anywhere."

"Still." Brooks closed his book. "I can hardly take on a crazed, knife-wielding fan if I'm pissed, can I?" He swung his legs off the sofa. "No word from her yet?"

Oliver picked up his phone. "No." He chucked it on a pillow. "Has Hattie returned any of your messages?"

"Well," Brooks said sheepishly, "I haven't actually sent her any."

Oliver sat up. For a moment, he merely stared at him. Then he picked up a Percy Pig, pelting it at his head. Brooks scowled. "Ow!"

"Call her, you idiot."

"No." Brooks set his jaw. "It will only make things worse."

He could only make things worse, Brooks thought sadly. The more he thought about a relationship with Hattie, the less it made sense. Even if she did want more than friendship — and that was a reach — what could he offer her, really? A life of moving around to various places with no home base? An existence of worrying about him taking a bullet for someone every single day?

No.

He couldn't do that to her.

"Call her." Oliver's voice was dangerous. "I mean it, Brooks."

"No."

Oliver stood up. There was a gleam in his eye that Brooks didn't like. And sure enough, Oliver darted forward, seizing his phone. Brooks gave an almighty cry, stumbling to his feet. His training made him fast, but not fast enough; Oliver had already clicked on Hattie's contact. The phone rang.

Brooks froze. "I'll kill you, Oliver. I don't care if I get fired."

Oliver smiled smugly, handing him the phone.

For a moment, Hattie didn't answer. Brooks was torn between disappointment and relief, and he was just about to set the phone down when the speaker crackled.

"What?"

"Hilo." He swallowed. "Er, I mean, hi. Hello."

"Hi."

There was a long, terrible pause. Brooks closed his eyes. "Listen," he said. "I'd like to see you. Today, if you're free."

"You took your time."

"I know." Brooks clenched the phone. "Look, I'm not very good with words; you know that by now. But I did want to call you." He could feel sweat beading his palms. "It's just that every time I picked up the phone, I didn't know what to say."

There was a pause.

"Alright." Hattie's voice softened. "The Sinner doesn't open for a few hours; why don't we meet there in fifteen minutes?"

Hattie had been on some odd dates in her time.

There had been the bartender that brought along his pet frog. And the fireman with the cheese fetish. And there had even been the magician that had vanished halfway through the meal, leaving Hattie to foot the bill (the irony of which was not lost on her).

This, however, was by far the most unusual.

She looked up from her glass of fizzy water. Across the table, Brooks was fidgeting awkwardly with a paper coaster, sliding it over the sticky table. And beside him, Oliver was slouched on a bench, drinking wine with a straw.

Now, Hattie knew why he had to be here, obviously.

But still.

Couldn't Oliver have sat at any of the other ten empty booths?

"Look." Brooks cleared his throat. "I want to begin by apologizing. I should have told you the truth about who I am, Hattie. My contract be damned."

"Yes," she said. "You should have."

"And I'm sorry."

"Good."

"But it wasn't just the contract." Brooks began to shred the coaster. "I guess... I mean, if I'm being honest... a part of me was scared that you wouldn't want me anymore." His eyes were fixed on the table. "You're so charming. And gorgeous. And a brilliant designer. And you thought I was this genius that got into St Andrews." He set down the coaster. "I didn't want you to think any less of me."

She softened. "Brooks, I—"

Oliver knocked over the bottle of wine. Hattie gave a shout, leaping back as merlot seeped all over the table. Oliver smiled sheepishly.

"Oops." He waved a hand. "Sorry. Carry on."

"Right." Hattie eyed the wine nervously. "As I was saying, I never cared about the student part, Brooks. Don't you get that?" She shook her head. "I like you, you idiot. I like that you read romance novels and put peanut butter on your scones." She swallowed. "What I'm trying to say is that I really—"

"Can you pass me a napkin, mate?" Oliver stage whispered.

Hattie gritted her teeth. She didn't care if Oliver was a celebrity; she was going to murder him, right here in this pub. And not even Brooks could stop her.

Brooks seemed to be thinking along the same lines. "Ollie, mate." He clapped him on the shoulder. "Could you go sit somewhere else?" His voice was pointed. "Maybe a booth or two over?"

Oliver paused in cleaning up the wine. "You want me to leave?"

"Only for a moment."

"Oh." Oliver crumpled a napkin. "Right. Well, I'll just..." He scooted out of the booth, gesturing awkwardly to a table. "I'll be over there."

"Good."

They waited until Oliver left. Then Brooks leaned forward, taking her hands. His white jumper landed squarely in the puddle, and she yelped, trying to pull back. "Your sleeve," she said, alarmed. "Brooks, the red wine—"

"I don't care." His voice was firm. "I don't care about any of it, Hattie. Did you mean what you said just now? About liking me?"

"Yes."

"Oh, thank god." He grinned. "Because I really like you, too."

She felt her face split into a smile. She had spent her whole life trying to take odd textiles and scraps of cloth and shape them into something beautiful. Something worth wearing. But now, sitting here with a man that was happily letting red wine soak into his jumper, she wondered if there wasn't some charm in the textiles themselves, too.

For the next few hours, they talked about the book that Brooks was reading, and the clothes that she was designing. Hattie told him about her family. He spoke about training to be a bodyguard. Time slipped away like so many grains of sand on the beach, falling through their fingers.

It was only when Hattie glanced at her watch that she stood. "I should go; I need to run to Tesco and grab courgettes before dinner." She hoisted her bag over her shoulder. "I'd text Leese to do it, but she doesn't have a phone at the moment, so—"

"She what?"

Oliver's face had drained of blood. Hattie frowned.

"She doesn't have a phone," Hattie repeated. "Her phone stopped working after she jumped into the North Sea after the golf tournament. You didn't know?"

One look at Oliver's face told her that no, he didn't know, and he was kicking himself for it. He stumbled to his feet, almost knocking over a candle.

"Where is she?" he demanded.

"What?"

"Where's Alicia?"

"I don't know." Hattie wracked her brains. "She said something about going to the beach, I think? West Sands. But Ollie, I'm sure the press will have followed her there. I don't know if you should just—"

But it was too late; Oliver was already sprinting out of the building. And he was moving with impressive coordination for someone that had just polished off a bottle of merlot, Hattie thought in amusement. If being a musician didn't work out for him, maybe he really should consider dance.

"Come on," Hattie said. "That's our cue to follow him."

Brooks rose to his feet. "You don't mind?"

"Witnessing Oliver humiliate himself?" Hattie waggled her eyebrows. "Definitely not. Anyway, Brooks, we have one thing in common." She gave a contented sigh. "There's nothing I love more than a happy ending."

Alicia kicked off her shoes.

She waded into the frothy sea, dipping her bare toe into the water. Salty air kissed her skin, nestling in the folds of her white dress. She pushed a lock of dark hair behind her ear. It was unseasonably warm for June in Scotland; even the sea felt like a popsicle on a summer day. Nothing could ruin today.

Not even the press.

She was dimly aware of the three photographers camped out on a sand dune behind her, scrolling through their phones. Most of them had lost interest by now; the most interesting thing Alicia had done lately was go shopping in town, and even that had just been for new postage stamps.

She tipped her head back, reveling in the warm sunshine on her face. This was it, she realized sleepily. This was what it felt like to be alive. Not just living. Alive.

"Alicia!"

She paused. Good lord, she was imagining things now; for a moment, she almost thought that she heard—

"Alicia!"

She turned. "Oliver?"

He was sprinting across the beach, kicking up sprays of sand. His dark hair was wild. Almost crazed. "Thank god," he panted. "I thought I might miss you."

She frowned. He sounded breathless, but there was something else in his voice, too. An almost imperceptible slur. It was only when Alicia saw his stained red mouth that it clicked. "Oh, my god. Are you drunk?"

"No." Oliver paused. "Yes. A little. But I swear that I would say this sober, too." He took her hands. "I love that you golf. I could watch you do it all day. You get this little face when you're concentrating — you kind of tip your head to the left — and I think it's the sexiest thing in the world."

"And I like that you make fun of me," Oliver continued. "And do crazy shit like run into the sea at night. And I like that you look at stars like you could pluck them out of the sky with your hands." His eyes were a startling cornflower blue. "And I just want to be with you, Alicia. I really, really do."

"Then you should have called." She stared at their joined hands. "Or texted. Or attached a letter to a seagull."

"I did call." Oliver's gaze was steady. "And I did text. Admittedly, I didn't think of the seagull, but they're notoriously tricky birds to get hold of." He squeezed her hands. "You didn't have a phone, remember?"

Alicia paused. Oh. Shit. Well, that was embarrassing. "You still could have visited," she pointed out. "You know where I live."

She couldn't help but sound slightly miffed. After all, Alicia had been lying unconscious for two days; Oliver could have at least made an effort to ensure that she wasn't dead. To her surprise, he grinned.

"Alicia," he said. "Don't you see? I didn't want to lead the press to your home."

Pieces clicked into place. Oliver, assuming that she was ignoring his texts. Oliver, who couldn't visit her in person. And then Alicia, who had been too embarrassed to go to his suite, thinking that he had rejected her.

God, what a mess.

"So you do like me?" she clarified.

"Yes."

"And you want to be with me?"

"Obviously."

He tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear, his warm fingers brushing her skin, and she shivered. She was dimly aware of several figures by the dunes — photographers, Hattie and Brooks — but she couldn't concentrate on them. Couldn't see anything but Oliver.

"There's no going back," Alicia whispered. "This will be all over the papers tomorrow." She touched his hand on her cheek. "I come with a lot of baggage, Ollie; things won't be easy. If you want out, now's your chance."

"I don't want anything but you." His voice was steady. "And you? What do you want?"

"Eres mi media naranja."

He looked bemused. "What does that mean?"

Alicia smiled. She didn't use her Spanish often, but sometimes, there were phrases that just couldn't be translated into English. They lost their shape, somehow, like sunlight refracted through water.

This phrase was one of them. The literal translation meant "you are the other half of my orange," but it was more than that. No two oranges were the same, Alicia thought; out of the millions of oranges in the world, each fruit had only one possible match. Only one soulmate that could complete it.

But she didn't want to explain this to Oliver. Instead, Alicia reached up to twine her arms around his neck, brushing her lips against his.

"It means you should probably kiss me now," she murmured.

Oliver ducked his head down so quickly that she laughed. His hands slid to grip her waist, pulling her closer to him. She could taste red wine on his lips, and something else. Something uniquely Oliver. She threaded her hands in his hair, and he made a contented sound at the back of his throat.

Her chest filled with warmth. This was it.

This was happiness.

Oliver pulled his jacket around them both, sheltering them from the wind. He had kissed her carefully under that observatory, all those weeks ago, but this kiss was different; it was a silent promise. A beginning of a new chapter.

She clung tighter as the salty air whipped around them, howling across the beach and twining around the spires of St Salvator's Chapel. Up above, beady-eyed seagulls tossed in the breeze, their shrieks nipping down to tear at their clothes. But Alicia wasn't afraid; Oliver was there, anchoring her. A steady, grounding heartbeat.

A/N: Aaaand we're on our way to a happy ending, folks! I usually picture the ending of a novel before I even begin writing it, and I've had Oliver and Alicia's beach kiss in my head since day one. I hope you all enjoyed it too :)

Affectionately,

J.K.