Problematic Summer Romance (Not in Love, #2)(96)

“And then I realized that I simply hadn’t known what love was supposed to feel like, but I still couldn’t accept the risk of being with you and screwing up your life, so I told myself that love wasn’t enough. I kept moving the goalpost. I kept drawing new lines. And…you asked what changed between last night and this morning: you made me realize that some lines should be left where they’ve been drawn. And if we move past them…” His fingers curl around my cheek, thumb brushing back and forth. “Then so be it.”



* * *





The city center is beautiful, even if overrun with tourists. A rabble of unique objects everywhere I turn, mosaics and churches, fountains and vistas, religious shrines covered in flowers and the most gorgeous foods. Stray cats nap on their windowsill perches. Hand-painted signs beckon us toward trattorias and stores selling jewelry made of dark, volcanic stone. After lunch, Conor buys me marzipan and lemonade, and a dozen new trinkets with the tripod flag on them.

“It’s my new favorite thing,” I explain. “I’m going to bring back one for everyone I know. And five for Jade.”

“You are…”

“What?”

“A deeply weird person,” he says, and then he’s kissing me again, one hand on the small of my back, the other at my nape.

“My friend Des taught me how to haggle,” I offer. “I could get it cheaper.”

“Absolutely no.”

“But it’s fun.” He nods when I gasp, point at a street performer, say, “I love this piece. Do you have any cash?”

I drop a few euros in the girl’s violin case, then run back to the side, sinking into that one-armed hug that’s no older than this morning, and yet already feels indispensable. Life-sustaining.

“It’s by one of my favorite composers.”

“Ludovico Einaudi?”

I frown up at him. “You know Ludovico Einaudi?”

“I know of him.”

“You. Mr. Industrial Techno. Clang clang, kablam.”

“I contain multitudes.”

“You do not. You contain one genre, and it sounds like bobcats mating on top of a land drilling rig. How do you know about Ludovico Einaudi?”

He sighs. Stares at the graceful push and pull of the bow. “You know that music app you made me download just a couple of weeks after we started talking? You wanted us to listen to a podcast about rowing. Together.”

“Oh, yeah. I do. I had to guide you through linking our accounts. I remember thinking you were a bit senile, after all.”

His glare is contemptuous. “I may be senile, but you never realized that the app required a subscription. I signed up for it and put you on the plan. Basically, a joint account.”

I blink. Because I use that app frequently. Every day, in fact. “Huh. Have you been paying for my music, in addition to my birth control?”

“Apparently. But the way the account works…It sends me alerts. Tells me what you’re listening to.”

“Please, tell me you disabled push notifications.”

“I could tell you, but…”

“Oh my god.” I cover my mouth. Laugh into my palm. “Why?”

“I…It was nice. Sometimes I’d put on the same songs as you, and it felt almost like being together.” He shrugs. The shift of his muscles vibrates through my entire body. “I kept telling myself, ‘I’ll disconnect it tomorrow,’ but…”

I think about the past three years.

All the times I resolved to get over him.

All the times I told myself that the next guy who asked me out, I’d accept.

All the times I never did.

“Yeah,” I say, and then I’m stretching up, pressing a kiss to his cheek, safe in the knowledge that we’re both here to stay.





Chapter 40




Conor and I walk inside the living room hand in hand, and that’s when I realize that I’m not yet ready for the world—at least, this world—to have an opinion about us. The midafternoon light streams through the gauzy curtains. I squeeze his fingers before freeing mine, flash him an apologetic grin, and decide to pretend that we got here at the same time by chance. After all, Eli just summoned us all via text.

Fate, and all that.

Conor sits next to Minami, bouncing Kaede on his knee, remarkably patient as she fists her little fingers around his ears to keep her balance. From several seats down, I blow silly faces at her to make her giggle, Nyota’s feet on my lap.

“So,” she asks, “where were we this morning?”

I meet her eyes. Smile, and watch her do the same.

“Well played, Killgore.”

“Thought you might be proud of me.”

“Oh, I am. I’d buy you a new car, if I wasn’t sure that Daddy’s already on it.”

When Eli and Rue arrive, they sit on the stool in front of the grand piano. “So,” he starts, “short story short, we spent the past forty-eight hours trying to figure out how to get thirty-something people here. Catania is not the only airport in Sicily, and we explored the possibility of boats and buses. But the domino effect of thousands of people rescheduling travel was too much. It may even be difficult to get you guys out of here—”