Subconsciously — or consciously, it's hard to tell with how high she is and how much the train is moving — Effy leans into Harry's touch, because while it isn't the first time anyone has touched her tonight, it is the longest, and arguably the nicest. She's not used to it, and she wasn't even before the island, when there was no shortage of physical contact in her life. What's new is that it's just a hand on her hip and nothing more. This could easily be chaste, platonic, well-meaning; he's not trying to slide it up her shirt or down her skirt, and that makes all the difference. That sets him apart.

"I think I'm going to like you," she finally admits, almost thankful for the fact that she's so completely out of it, because she never would have said so otherwise.