Thump. Thump. Thump.

My heart is beating so hard against my ribs I feel like it's about to jump out of my chest on to the kitchen counter.

I've managed to keep fairly calm up to this point, but the thought of Lyall making pancakes for me... I want to do a crazy fangirl dance.

Lyall hums quietly to himself while he stirs the batter, and Felix is sitting next to me with his head down on the counter. He hasn't even touched his tea yet.

Alastaire flicks through something on his phone.

There's no reception out here, so I'm tempted to ask what he's doing, but I don't want him to think I'm being nosy.

The guys don't seem to notice how nervous I am, and realizing this helps me to calm down. I clutch my mug a little less tightly.

Everyone's lost in their own thoughts.

Apart from Lyall's softly murmured tune and the clinking of the spoon against the mixing bowl as he stirs, we're in silence.

The sort of easy, comfortable silence you only have with people you’ve known for ages. The kind you don't feel like you need to fill. That fact that they barely know me doesn't seem to bother them at all. It's almost like we've know each other forever.

I'd never in a hundred years have imagined that hanging out with them like this could feel so... normal.

It's not at all like the frantic, over-the-top videos the boys post to their official YouTube Fable channel. Watching those, you'd think every moment of their lives is one wild roller coaster ride, an endless stream of private jets, trashed hotel rooms and parties.

Right now they could be any three normal teenaged boys, making breakfast on a Saturday morning.

Felix lifts his head off the counter and props himself up on his elbows, facing away from me. Lyall is right – he really isn't a morning person. Even though I can't see his face, I can feel the dark mood seeping out of him.

Scary.

He runs his fingers through his dark damp hair and I catch something faintly woodsy, maybe his cologne or shampoo. A sharp, delicate scent.

Hazelnut. Pine bark. Acorns. It's hard to identify, but it's delicious and earthy. He smells like he spent the whole night under a tree in the forest or something.

That’s ridiculous. Totally ridiculous. Why does he have to be so goddam perfect? Why can't he just smell like soap or sweat or Doritos like a normal boy?

There's no way I'm going to be able to relax today with Felix around.

As if aware of my thoughts, Felix snaps his head around to face me. As he turns I notice a little streak of green threaded through the dark tendrils of his hair, just above his left ear.

Before I even realize what I'm doing, I'm pulling it out and holding it up to the light.

It's a pine needle.

Felix's hand swoops over mine, and the pine needle is gone. He's off his bar stool and out the door in seconds. I hear the front door slam closed.

"Don't yer worry," Lyall says. "'Fee'll be back."

Why on earth did Felix have a pine needle in his hair? Maybe he actually did sleep outside last night...

No way. That's crazy.

Before I can ponder further, I'm startled out of my thoughts by Alastaire waving his phone in front of my face.

"Earth to Cupcake," he says. "I've got something you should see."

He's holding his phone inches from my face, and lets it go as it falls into my hands. It takes me a second to realize that the photo on the screen is of Zee's favorite solo artist – Zara Quinn, aka the reigning princess of pop – wrapped up in the arms of none of other than Felix. She's looking towards the camera with a smirk, and he's turned away, but it's clearly him. They look like they're at a house party, judging from the red cups on the kitchen counter behind them.

I shouldn't be surprised.

According to the press, they've been officially an on-and-off couple for the past year. I've seen countless photos of them together before, but those are always of them on the red carpet at award ceremonies, or shows or big press events.

Somehow, this feels more... intimate.

The photo looks recent – her shoulder-length hair is the same light grey she dyed it for her Madison Square Garden concert last month.

I guess their relationship is back on then.

I feel a pang of something – jealousy maybe – and it must be showing clearly on my face, because Alastaire takes the phone back and checks the photo.

"My mistake!" he says, swiping his finger across the screen. "Wrong one."

He swipes a few times and stops on an innocent photo of his beloved pug Charlie curled up on a chewed-to-bits pillow, like a really big ugly baby bird in a nest of feathers and shredded fabric. I've seen this photo like a million times before – it's Alastaire's Twitter and Tumblr profile picture. It's nothing new.

"Looks cute, doesn't he?" Alastaire says, eyes darting between the photo and my eyes, like he's trying to read my reaction. "Don't be fooled. Girls go crazy for him. But he's actually a total monster. He destroys everything he comes across. Everything."

Is he talking about this photo, or the one he showed me before?

Before I can ask him, a soapy sponge flies through the air over the counter and hits Alastaire square in the face.

"Al, I could use some help with de dishes," Lyall says. "These pancakes are almost done. C'mon."

Alastaire hurls the sponge right back at Lyall, missing his head by inches. He mutters something about servant's work before getting up and going over to the sink. While Alastaire and Lyall argue about who's going to flip the pancakes and who should get the plates ready, my mind wanders to the pine needle I found in Felix's hair. Such a trivial thing, but it didn't seem so trivial to him – he looked furious as he stormed out the room earlier.

I wonder when he'll come back, and what he's doing right now. And where the other boys could be.

As if they heard me calling them, Ben and Elliot walk into the kitchen, probably drawn in by the smell of pancakes wafting across the cabin. Ben's wearing a neon pink tee with black skinny jeans, and drying off his shaggy black hair with a towel – while Elliot's dressed in a laid-back white tank and sporty tracksuit pants.

"Hey Ashling," Elliot says as he pulls out a bar stool next to me, "glad you could make it."

"You look waaaaay better than the last time we saw you," Ben says, flashing me a cheeky grin as he settles down on my other side. "Ready to make beautiful music together?"

I nod, unsure what to say.

"Watch it Ben," Alastaire says, smashing a soapy plate down in the sink a little too loudly. "Remember our agreement."

"What agreement?" I ask.

Before anyone can speak, Lyall whirls around, almost knocking over the steadily growing stack of pancakes.

"'How was yer jog then?" Lyall says.

"Good," says Elliot. "We found a lake in the forest. It's just a few minutes' walk from here."

"Like to swim Ashling?" Ben asks, elbowing me gently. "How about the two of us go for a dip later?"

"You'll freeze your butt off," Alastaire says.

"Yeah right," Ben says. "Don't forget who you're talking to. Montreal native right here. With the blood of Hokkaido samurai warriors running through my veins. The cold is my bitch."

"Sure," Alastaire says, muttering about crazy 'jap canucks' under his breath.

"Besides, it's summer," Ben continues. "The sun's out. It's perfect swimming weather."

"Well I for one would prefer it if you don't give our guest hypothermia on her first visit," Alastaire says airily.

Ben ignores him, and leans closer to me.

"I'm not joking actually," he says. "You could borrow a swimsuit from Kitty. She's probably got a bikini or someth–"

"Breakfast is served," Alastaire says as he puts a huge stack of syrup-drenched pancakes down on the counter.

I'm about to remind him that it's actually already afternoon, and technically this is lunch, but the boys are already digging in, piling blueberry pancakes high on their plates.

I gingerly take two, feeling hungry for the first time in ages.

In the time it takes me to take just a few bites of one pancake, Ben's already finished his first round and is going in for seconds.

"Leave some for Kitty," Elliot says.

"Yeah, here's bettin' she'll be real starvin' when she wakes up," Lyall says.

The boys all laugh then, at some private joke.

Kitty was the older girl from the other night. The insanely beautiful one. What's she doing staying in a cabin with five guys? Is she dating one of them?

"What's so funny?" A posh British-accented girl's voice calls from down the passageway. “I heard my name.”

She emerges into the corridor, her dark, chic bob ruffled from sleep, mascara smudged down her cheeks as she rubs her eyes blearily. She's wearing nothing but an oversized black and red flannel, her perfect, long legs on display as she slips into a bar stool at the end of the counter. The flannel is way too big for her – definitely one of the boys'.

But which one of them?

"Where's Fee then?" she asks, not even glancing in my direction as she shovels pancakes onto her plate.

I guess that answers my question. Not like I care though...