“Should we go explore town today?” Dev asks as he polishes off his second jaffle.
“Actually,” Jules leans back in her chair, “I took the liberty of planning something special for the pair of you.”
It turns out she planned them a Courting Date, minus the cameras. Jules rents them a scooter to drive into town, and they spend the afternoon snorkeling in Jemeluk Bay. They eat dinner at a rooftop restaurant, and at sunset, a jukung takes them out into the Indian Ocean, where they watch the sun dip low beside Mount Agung. Charlie has been on a lot of romantic dates during his time on Ever After, but this date is the most stupidly romantic of them all.
The jukung is narrow, so they sit with Charlie in front and Dev behind him, knees slotted against hips. Bali is religiously conservative, so they have to be careful not to touch in front of their boat guide as the sky ignites fiery orange, dissolves into bright pink. But when it softens to a rose-colored haze, Dev leans forward and props his chin on Charlie’s shoulder. “That, right there,” he whispers, pointing to the sky. “That is the color of your face when you blush.”
Charlie’s heart is hot butter, seeping through his body, warming his chest, his stomach, his arms. In describing the ridiculous dates on this show, Dev once said it is impossible not to fall in love on a boat.
Charlie should have known better than to doubt him.
Dev
“That is the color of your face when you blush,” Dev says, and Charlie blushes, dusty pink splotches along his throat. They have to be careful here, not just because Bali is conservative, but because the town is small. Crew members could be anywhere, could see anything.
But when Charlie melts back into him, Dev can’t help himself. He grazes his unshaved cheek against Charlie’s smooth one, wraps one arm around Charlie’s waist.
“Do you want a picture?” their jukung captain asks in nervous English. “Of the two of you?”
“Yes,” Charlie says before Dev can say no. He hands over his phone, and they swivel their bodies toward the back of the boat. Charlie throws an arm over Dev’s shoulder, and they smile, cheek to cheek.
“You are very beautiful,” the captain says. Dev isn’t sure if you means Charlie, or if you means Charlie and Dev together. He wants to believe it’s the latter.
* * *
“Lady Gaga!” Charlie shouts suddenly as they’re headed back to the villa. He pulls Dev into a restaurant where a trio of young men are singing a pitchy rendition of “Shallow.” Tourists awkwardly dance around the bar, and Charlie—maybe emboldened by the boat captain’s acceptance—grabs Dev’s hand and twirls him around the way they couldn’t dance together in front of Leland Barlow.
Charlie sings along, quite terribly, to the song as they dance. The equatorial sun has brought out new freckles on his shoulders, and the humidity makes his clothes cling to his abdominal muscles, and Dev can’t believe how much he loves him.
“This will be our song,” Charlie murmurs low and close.
“This absolutely will not be our song.”
But when Charlie glares, Dev comes in on the chorus with the Bradley Cooper harmonies despite himself.
Charlie lifts their joined hands and presses a kiss to the back of Dev’s, and the gesture feels so natural, almost like he’s done it a hundred times before. Almost as if they’re a normal couple, not two people playing at happily ever after for three more weeks.
As soon as they’re alone back at the villa, Dev kisses Charlie’s shoulder, swallowing the constellation of new freckles before traveling up toward Charlie’s mouth.
Charlie tastes like peanut sauce, and they kiss and kiss and kiss, until Charlie hooks his hands around the back of Dev’s thighs and hoists him up. Dev scrambles to wrap his legs around Charlie’s waist, and somehow, Charlie holds him there, suspended, like he weighs nothing. “How are you doing this? I feel like Rachel McAdams in The Notebook.”