Problematic Summer Romance (Not in Love, #2)(30)

“Shut up and eat.”

It turns out to be crunchier than a slushy, made of little shards of ice infused with sweet espresso. It’s delicious, of course—creamy and refreshing and cloud-fluffy, and: “I’m moving here,” I tell him after two bites, scooping more granita onto my pastry.

He smiles, staring at me in that way that I sometimes wonder if I imagined—enchanted. Sweet, almost. Like I’m precious. Like he cares about me enough to not go ten months without contact.

“No, I’m serious. After I finish scarfing this down I’m gonna throw my passport into the ocean.”

“The jellyfish will rejoice, I’m certain.”

“So, what are the rules? Is granita just for breakfast? Can I have it multiple times a day, or is it like having cappuccino after eleven a.m.?”

“Lucrezia might judge you if you substitute granita for every meal.”

“And since I didn’t drink the E. coli juice, I want to hold on to her good opinion as long as I possibly can. Hmm.” I push my polished-off plate away. “Maybe I’ll find another downtown. I’m going to check out the Greek theater, anyway.”

His eyes narrow. “Who are you going with?”

“Bob,” I say.

“Who?”

I point to the right. “He’s my imaginary friend. Big Shamrock Rovers fan. You two would not get along.”

“Maya.”

“Come on. The only person who feels good enough to take a stroll among the ruins with me is Minami, and she’s sticking around to take care of Sul. You know I’m going alone.”

His scowl deepens. “You can’t.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“Ah, yes.” I push back my chair and rise to my feet, which prompts him to do the same. “You’re right. I absolutely do not have the experience or the ability to take care of myself in a foreign country.” I squint. “Wait a minute…”

“This is different. You don’t speak the language, and—”

“And the forest is thick and dark and terrifying, full of dangerous beasts that will wrestle me to steal my rucksack and the mulberries it contains.”

He gives me a flat look.

“Conor, it’s the middle of the day in one of the most tourist-heavy cities in Europe. I have cell reception. Given the circumstances, I think I can manage to not get trafficked. And if you don’t believe me, just come with me.”

I throw it out like a dare, mostly to get him off my back, but the glint in his eyes, the sudden tension in his fist, they are dead giveaways.

That he’s considering it. He’s considering spending the day with me.

At once, my blood is carbonated.

Because I wasn’t lying, when I told him that he was my best friend, or that I missed him. And even if he disappeared into Tamryn’s room last night, even if it’s obvious that there is no romantic future in store for us, I’m not ready to move on from him.

I step closer. “Come on,” I say. The conifer scent of his soap, the warm notes of his skin underneath, they’re seared in my olfactory memory. “It’ll be fun,” I add, making a point not to sound too eager. Otherwise, his no would be immediate. A hatchet falling between us.

“Will it.” He looks at me sternly.

“We’ve visited places together before. We like the same stuff.”

“Which is?”

“Walking around. Getting lost. Eating. Laughing about how uncultured we are. Let’s go have fun while everyone else convalesces in their little sanatoriums.”

“I don’t think that’s the correct plural.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

His expression slowly softens. Then does something more than that. “Okay,” he says, at last.

“Okay,” I repeat, turning toward the door, trying to stop my body from vibrating with something that feels like hope. I don’t want him to see my happiness and push me away.

He’s my friend. I missed him. If this is all I get with him, that’s enough.

Remember the first day? Edinburgh? Breakfast? Then the rest? Always together? Please tell me you didn’t forget. “You have to go up to your room before we leave?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “You?”

I do the same. We turn. Walk outside, side by side, in step. “So, the Greek theater first. And then there’s a church I want to see.”

“The duomo?”

“Yup.”

He nods. “It’s beautiful.”

“Good.” Our arms nearly brush. Then they do—my elbow against his warm skin. “And after that, I was thinking…”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I heard a lot about this amazing homemade arancello they sell at the market.”

He knocks his shoulder against mine. The heat of it scalds me. “Too soon.”

“No, really, they told me great things about its cleansing properties.”

“Trouble.”

“But it’s so popular right now. Even professional athletes recommend—”

“Hey, you two!”

We both look over our shoulders. Both turn around.

Avery is standing on the first step of the stone porch, wearing a pretty blue sundress that makes her look like a water nymph. The goddess of the sky.