"Come to Greece with me."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because you're annoyingly persistent, and I like paying my own rent."

Ah, the usual start to all our heartwarming holiday plans.

I leaned against her kitchen counter, holding a coffee I made badly just to annoy her. “You work too much. You barely go outside. Your idea of a vacation is switching from your work laptop to your personal one.”

She didn’t even look up. “That’s because my personal laptop doesn’t have spreadsheets. It has peace.”

“I’ll pay for everything,” I said.

“Exactly,” she replied. “That’s the problem.”

I groaned. “You’d rather suffer in London drizzle than let me buy you a plane ticket and some overpriced gelato?”

“Correct. Suffering builds character.”

“You already have character! Too much, even. Give some to George Russell.”

She raised a brow. “…Did you just roast George to win an argument?”

“Yes. And I’d do it again.”

Pause. She looked at me like I was a madman. Which, to be fair, I kind of was.

“Fine,” she said eventually. “But if you so much as say the words ‘private infinity pool,’ I’m staying home and watching Mamma Mia alone out of spite.”

I saluted. “Understood, commander.”

Victory. Earned, not given.

~

We land in Greece, check into the villa — it’s got a lemon tree, a sea view, and exactly one cat that I’ve already named.

Now it’s sunset. We’re on the terrace. She’s curled up on a lounge chair, wearing a bikini under my hoodie, because of course she is — holding a drink she made herself because, in her words, “I don’t trust you not to make something with Monster Energy in it.”

We’re tipsy, sun-warm, and playing a very chaotic game of “Would You Rather.”

“Okay,” she says, eyes sparkling, “would you rather fight one horse-sized pigeon, or a hundred pigeon-sized horses?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Answer the question, Norris.”

I squint at her. “Are the horses angry?”

“They are furious.”

I sip my drink. “Pigeon-sized horses. No question.”

“Coward.”

“Strategist,” I reply. “I could just… build a fence.”

She throws her head back laughing, and something in my chest physically lurches. Like a bad rollercoaster drop, but emotional.

I watch her for a second too long. Then say, probably too casually:

“You know you’ve ruined me for normal friendship, right?”

She raises a brow. “Why, because I beat you at every game we play?”

“No. Because I’ve been in love with you for about three years and you somehow haven’t noticed.”