After a glass of wine, I stop thinking about the past and the future, about what this dinner with Max might mean and whether we're here as collaborators, friends, or something more. I just enjoy our time together. He doesn't even bring up short film ideas, but seems more intent on entertaining me with outrageous filming stories, mostly disasters, or outrageous set designers and make-up artists.

Throughout dinner I laugh so much my stomach hurts. At one moment I have tears rolling down my cheeks and literally have to beg him to stop his imitation of a costume artist, trying to persuade a director that Max should wear a dress for the climax scene where the happy couple finally kiss.

"Are you sure you want to give up the romance films?" I say, leaning back in my chair, cradling my aching stomach. We've both finished our meals and I'm enjoying how openly and freely I can absorb his company and communicate with him. "Maybe you just need better roles. One's that are less conventional."

"What about you? Are you sure you want to get divorced? I mean, you haven't actually signed the papers yet. Any chance of getting back with your husband?"

I bite my lip, aware of how smoothly Max has shifted the conversation to my marriage. It strikes me that maybe he's been building up to this. That he needs to know about Pierre as much as I needed to know about Sophia.

"I spent most of my marriage changing myself so that it could work. And then one day, I stopped. I realized I had to start thinking about what I needed."

"And what did you need?" Max asks, leaning forward, his question and everything about the way he asks, sending a shiver down my spine.

"I needed breathing room." The irony that I can barely breathe as I say this isn't lost on me. "I needed to make my own decisions without his influence or pressure. I needed to be free of his expectations."

My whole body feels like it's on fire as Max gets the bill and we say goodbye to Colette. We leave the restaurant, the world fading into the background. All I see, all I'm aware of, is him.

I breathe in the fresh air, buzzing with a primal desire to entangle my limbs with his. My thoughts have shut down, replaced by the heady emptiness of lust.

As we move side by side into the street, a group of drunken revelers head toward us. Max grabs my hand to pull me closer, a protective move that spikes my adrenalin. My legs are wobbling and I can barely catch my breath. Once the party-goers have passed, I whisper to him to wait, and we stop.

He turns to face me, still holding my hand. My chest is exploding. I feel glued to the spot, heart pounding, his warm, firm hand wrapped around mine. His chest unbearably close, but not close enough. I lean in, unable to resist the gravitational force. Slowly, I look up to meet his eyes. In the darkness, his gaze is a mirror of the desire rushing through my veins.

I force myself to move slowly, giving him time to pull away, if that's what he wants. Instead, his free hand moves to rest lightly on the center of my back. I look down, savoring the agonizing deliciousness of this suspended moment, where we've jumped, we're mid-air, and I know I'm going to fall.

His hand presses more firmly into my back, a slight gesture but enough to inch me forward and close the gap between our lips. The taste of him sends a wave of pleasure through my body. I arch so that my chest presses against his chest. His hands stray into my hair, pulling and twisting. Our kissing grows deeper, and how much I want him dissolves all sense of space, time, and self-control.

"Louise," he groans after what may be seconds or minutes. "We should go."

We cling to each other during the walk back to the cottage. I'm holding tightly because I'm terrified if I let go, I might somehow fly away, or he might vanish, or I'll wake up.

The air is cool, and the streets are empty. I focus on the space all around us, so much empty space. It's as though my cells are on high alert, sending out signals and discovering how much distance is between me and the wall, me and the houses, me and the sky, me and Max.

When we reach my street, there's a woman standing beside my white picket gate, smoking. Max's hand tightens in mine. I glance at him and realize he recognizes her. As I look at the late-night stranger, the silhouette registers, and an enormous knot forms in my chest.

Blossom.

Did Max tell her he was coming to see me from the airport? What is she doing here? Max's jaw hardens and his grip tightens on my hand. No, from his reaction and the look of shock on Blossom's face, they hadn't expected to see each other.

"I thought you were in Hollywood," she says, stubbing out her cigarette with her high heel.

Max stops, pulling up to his full height and subtly positioning himself between the two of us. "What are you doing here?"

The smell of cigarette smoke and Blossom's Jasmine perfume makes me feel sick. "I was having dinner with someone and I thought I'd drop by and say hi to Louise."

"Really?" Max asks, sarcasm and hostility oozing through his voice. "Why would you do that?"

"I think you know why, Max." The tension between them is electric. A sort of toxic electric that I don't want any part of.

Blossom smiles, as though she's enjoying getting under Max's skin, even if his response is one of disdain.

"You have to stop this," he says. "You need to leave me alone."

"You don't want to be alone, Max," she challenges, pushing up towards him seductively. "Poor Max. You can't be single, and yet you can't commit."

Her words hang in the cool night air, each one laced with barbs meant for Max, but somehow, they find me, too. Max is a coil, wound tight, and I wonder if this is how it always is with the two of them. Blossom provoking, Max defending. I can feel the tension running through him. He lets go of my hand, but not before giving it a slight, almost imperceptible squeeze. He crosses his arms to stop her encroaching on his personal space. "Just stop with the games."

Her eyes flick across to me, and doubt flutters across them. She steps back, her confidence beginning to disintegrate. "Max," she laughs, as though it's all been some kind of joke. "Lighten up. I just came to say hi to your girlfriend."

His jaw tightens, but I catch a hint of hesitation. "Well, I think you've done that, so now you can go."

"Can I, please, come inside to wait for my cab? I'm desperate for the toilet."

I squeeze Max's arm and dip around him to push through the two of them. Unlocking the front door, I turn on the living room lights. The warm glow of the cottage spills out onto the pavement.

"Max?" I ask, because Blossom is his territory, and he's a better judge of what's going on here, and whether we invite her in.

He stands, jaw clenching, those grey eyes undoing me, even when he's angry. Without thinking, I cup my hands around his cheeks. Not because I want to claim him, but because I want to show him I know what it's like to have someone you care about emotionally manipulate you, twist things around, and make you feel like your viewpoint isn't valid. I want him to know that it's up to him what he does now about Blossom, but I'm here.

He relaxes, hands coming up over mine, his fingers gently brushing my skin. Then he leans in, kissing me softly, tenderly.

Everything else falls away. It's so heartfelt, I feel confused when he pulls back, as though he's just revealed something I need longer to interpret. We stare at each other, and I'm lost in the lingering sensation of his lips on mine, the tingling warmth of his mouth on my mouth.

Blossom clears her throat, reminding us of her presence. "Oh Max," she whispers. "I didn't believe you two were really... I'm sorry." All of her earlier brutality vanishes, replaced by a woundedness that, despite everything, makes me feel for her.

Hooking her handbag higher on her shoulder, bottom lip wobbling, she nods at me and then gives Max a look of absolute heartache.

She turns and starts walking. Her strut falters before she recovers, holding her chin high. As she opens the driver's side of a parked car, she stops to look back at us. Max glances at me and I know he wants to go to her. I nod, showing him I'm okay with whatever he decides.

He catches her up and the two of them exchange words in low voices. I wait, feeling a little vulnerable. That look she gave him, like she'd never get over him. Was that where I was heading? Was that where this thing with Max would end? Was I strong enough for that?

After a minute, she gets into her car and drives off.

Max returns to where I'm standing. "Sorry about that." He seems awkward and uncertain of things between us now, and I'm not quite sure myself, anymore. "Maybe I should go."

I can't answer. Maybe he should. Because I'm torn. I can't end up like Blossom. Every step I take closer to Max is going to make how it ends that much worse.

'But isn't a little of extraordinary worth the pain?' a voice within pips up. Isn't that what we're all doing here? Do I even have the right to give up the possibility of amazing, just because I know it'll end? Life ends and we're all still here, trying to make the most of it.

Max nods, stuffing his hands in his pockets and sighs. "Good night, Louise."

He suddenly looks shattered and I remember the traveling and how much he's been through in the last few days.

"Do you want a quick tea before you go?" I ask. "I've brought some decent stuff. I promise it won't be awful like the last one."

He smiles wanly. "You bought new tea?"

"I did," I say, thinking of our first proper conversation in the kitchen when Max helped me return my things from Annie's, and worried about me surviving Etretat without decent tea.

"In that case," he says. "How could I say no?"

* * *

Max sinks into the couch while I put on some music and tell him I'll just be a minute. In the kitchen, I fill a pan of water and get the teapot and the mugs down from the cupboard. As I stand staring at the blue gas flames, waiting for the water to boil, I start worrying about him seeing me naked. After two emergency caesareans and a belly stretched big enough to house my kids in hotels during my pregnancies, my mid-rift is a mess. And what if we sleep together and tomorrow or the day after, he realizes it's just a rebound thing, a way to get over Sofia, and feeling guilty, he wants to put distance between us? The short film idea will be thrown out of the window. I'll have blown the career opportunity of a lifetime in a rushed whirlwind of attraction and sex.

The water bubbles. I turn off the gas, scoop tea leaves into the teapot, and pour the water over them. I shouldn't have kissed him. He's just split up with his fiancé. He's jet lagged, and vulnerable.

God, what am I doing right now?

Right, I need to reestablish the ground level between us. We'll drink tea and I'll clarify we should keep things simple, and focus on collaborating for the short film.

I walk back into the living room in a fluster. The mugs clink against the teapot as the tray wobbles in my hands. I take in Max and stop in my tracks. He's fast asleep.

Thank you for reading! Hope to post again Friday to make up for last week. Hope you're all well and enjoying the book... Vote if you can xx