Neville had cleaned the Shack from top to bottom, even rearranging the bookcase by genre, then alphabetical order. He had swept the floor twice, and shaken out the mosquito net, put fresh sheets on the bed, and moved the chair to three different spots in his room. As the clock ticked closer to eight, Neville only got more frantic, not being able to settle even for a moment.

"Harry," Neville whined, as the little green lizard appeared on the windowsill. "She's going to be here any minute. Maybe this wasn't a good idea," he went on. "I mean, I did ask her for a beer and of course I want her to come and have a beer but… well, after last night, maybe it's not such a good idea. I don't know."

Neville rearranged the cushions on his bed, punching them into a fluffed state. "I didn't tell you about last night, Harry," he said. "Oh god, it was such a good night. We danced and we drank – a lot," he giggled. "And then me and Florence we…" he trailed off, remembering it in his mind's eye. "Oh Harry, I can't even say it. We… we said we weren't going to take it any further which I understand. We can't," he insisted. "But –,"

Just then, the sound of a car door closed. Neville felt his heart stop, as he leaped into action. He hurried out onto the veranda and sat at the table, but then realised it might look as though he'd been waiting for her. So, he sat back, relaxed as if admiring the view, but perhaps that looked a bit forced. Before he could correct himself again, Florence rounded onto the veranda.

"Hi," she said cheerfully.

Neville got up. "Hi," he said. Neville noticed that Florence had straightened her hair, having changed her usual shirt and shorts into a lovely summer dress.

They approached each other, unsure how best to greet one another. After a few seconds, Florence got up on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly.

"Yeah," Neville breathed, holding her close to him. She wasn't just asking him if he was okay, of course. She was saying 'hi, I know this is weird, but I want us to be okay and we need to move on from this so this is me asking if you're okay when really I'm telling you we're going to be okay.' Or so Neville deduced. Or so he hoped. "Are you?" he asked.

"Yeah," Florence replied as she lowered her heels.

"Have you eaten?"

She shook her head. "No, have you?"

"Not yet."

"We could order pizza?" Florence suggested.

"We could order pizza," Neville agreed with a smile, delving into his pocket for his phone. "What do you want?"

Florence shrugged. "Hawaiian?"

Neville dropped his gaze and looked at her. "Hawaiian?!" he said in disgust.

"What is wrong with a Hawaiian pizza?" Florence laughed, sitting down at the table.

"Pineapple does not belong on pizza," Neville told her, sitting opposite.

"You live in the Caribbean," Florence told him. "How can you not like pineapple on pizza?"

"You're speaking to the man who eats chicken and chips every night for dinner," smirked Neville.

"True," laughed Florence. "But I can still have Hawaiian unless you want to share?"

"No, you keep your Hawaiian," teased Neville. "With your weird pineapple on your weird pizza," he mocked.

Florence roared with laughter. "I'll get the beers whilst you continue complaining," she told him, getting up from her seat and wandering inside.

He liked that, Neville thought, that she could just go and get some beers from his fridge, that she was familiar enough to make herself feel at home like that. Neville pressed his phone to his ear, listening to it ring. This is how it should be between them. If this was all that they ever were, just two friends sharing a beer and fighting over pizza then he was okay with that. He could put his feelings aside… couldn't he?

ooo

The pizza had come quickly and the both of them sat at the table relishing each slice, watching the sun and moon slowly switch places. The dark of the night looked almost purple as the sea glittered before them, like diamonds on velvet. They chased their pizza with another two beers, followed by another as they paddled in the water, the froth rippling on their toes. Eventually, Neville sat down in the sand, dizzy and light-headed.

"I can't believe I've got drunk two nights in a row," Neville slurred, laying back on the sand. Florence crawled next to him, laying on her stomach. "You are an exceptionally bad influence, Florence Cassell," he teased, turning his head to look at her and poking her in the side.

"Ah!" she cried out with a laugh. "Stop it! You're the one who invited me over for a beer. This is entirely your fault."

"That is defamation of character," retorted Neville. "You didn't have to come."

"I wanted to," Florence smiled down at him.

"Well, that's your own fault then, isn't it?"

"The fourth beer was your fault," countered Florence.

"Okay, I will take responsibility for that," agreed Neville, holding his hands up in surrender. "That part was my fault."

"Glad to see you are taking accountability for your actions," said Florence, who after a beat, slumped her face into the crook of her elbow with a whine.

"What's the matter with you?" laughed Neville.

"I'm so glad it's Saturday tomorrow and we don't have to go into work," replied Florence, lifting her head to talk to him. "We would be so screwed."

"Yeah," Neville said, smiling at her.

Florence looked down at Neville and bit her lip. Neville wasn't sure if it was the beer talking but he was sure she was giving him bedroom eyes. His stomach did a flip. The echo of the waves rolling onto the shore roared in Neville's ears as stars twinkled down on them. He could feel the beer pulsing through his veins as he looked up at her. Every moment he spent with her defied time itself, he thought.

"Don't look at me like that, Florence," he whispered.

"Like what?" she whispered back, not breaking eye contact.

Then, before Neville realised what was happening, their mouths had crashed together, lips moving at rapid speed. Florence was suddenly straddling Neville, her hands running all over his chest and up his neck. Neville was vibrating with urgency, his fingers tangling in Florence's hair as he cupped the back of her neck. He pushed up, rolling her over onto her back and grinding down on her. She gasped a moan into his mouth.

It was at this point, Neville remembered himself, remembered who they were and where they were, and realised what they were doing.

"Florence," he said, slowing to a stop. "We can't do this."

The tip of Florence's nose touched Neville's, chests heaving, hot and heavy. As his words digested, Florence let her head fall back onto the sand with a sigh. "I know," she said, then her eyes flickered to Neville's. "But we're going to do it anyway, aren't we?"

He wanted to protest. He knew he should protest. But all he could see were her eyes dancing before him, the way her skin glowed in the moonlight, and the rhythmic thump of his heart.

Neville licked his lips. "I think so," he breathed, catching her in another hungry kiss.