Page 12 of The Suitcase Swap

‘That usually only makes it worse,’ Sophie pointed out, surprised that her voice sounded normal. Sitting next to Michael was . . . well. She didn’t know how to describe what it was. Their legs weren’t touching, but she swore she could feel the heat coming off him nonetheless. The subtle spice of his cologne teased her nostrils. She wanted to lean in, like he was a flower in full bloom, and take a sniff.

‘I know,’ Marisa said cheerfully, continuing to smack Tom’s back.

‘You’re hilarious,’ Tom wheezed. ‘Now please stop.’

She laughed, her pounding now replaced by soothing circles. Tom turned to her, kissing her cheek.

Mike leaned close to Sophie, dropping his voice. ‘Is this okay? If I’m intruding, we can swap the suitcases now and I’ll get out of your way.’

He started to stand, but Sophie stopped him by placing a hand on his arm. ‘What were you going to do for dinner?’

He opened his mouth, made a face, then closed it. ‘I would sort something out.’

Sophie shook her head. ‘We’re already here, in this nice restaurant. The food smells amazing. Why not eat with us?’ She dropped her hand. ‘Unless you’ve changed your mind?’

He gave a sharp shake of his head. ‘No, no, of course not. If you’re sure.’

Sophie smiled at him. ‘I think today has been very long, and sometimes very bad, but also very good, and I think a nice dinner would put it more squarely into the good column. I don’t know about you, but I could use some more of those kinds of days.’

Michael seemed to accept this, taking the napkin off the table and placing it across his lap.

The waiter stopped by the table, dropping off two delicious-smelling dishes as he took Michael’s drink order.

‘We ordered a few appetizers for the table,’ Sophie said, picking up her spoon and a small plate. ‘I hope that’s okay.’

Michael picked up his own plate, relief on his face. ‘Thank you. I haven’t eaten anything except a handful of mixed nuts since I left the airport.’

‘We got burrata and thedátiles, which are dates stuffed with cheese and wrapped in bacon,’ Marisa said. ‘Are you a Michael or a Mike?’

‘Mike, usually.’ He filled his small plate before nudging it towards Sophie. ‘This all smells delicious, thank you. Have you been here before?’

As Tom and Marisa launched into a discussion of their favourite dining spots in the area, Sophie put a few things on her plate, trying very hard to pretend that she wasn’t watching Marisa. Tom was doing the same thing, both of them waiting to see if Marisa was eating. Tom had said she hadn’t been very hungry, more just nibbling at things than eating proper meals. He didn’t want to make a big thing out of it, as she was stressed enough already, but he’d also been concerned because she’d started to lose weight.

Marisa continued to chat with Mike as she put one of the dates on her plate. Tom’s shoulders relaxed, and he turned his face to his own plate to hide his relief. In the short time that Sophie had been with them, she’d noticed severalinstances like this – Tom wanting desperately to take care of Marisa, but stopping himself out of apparent fear of becoming smothering.

‘I’m very sorry,’ Marisa said suddenly, snapping Sophie back to the conversation. ‘About your wife.’

‘Thank you,’ Mike said, his voice rough. ‘It’s been a long time, but . . .’

Marisa dropped her eyes, picking at the date with the tines of her fork. ‘It stays with you, doesn’t it? Losing someone.’

‘It does,’ Mike said softly. Then he handed Marisa his napkin.

Sophie had been so focused on those fork tines, the ones slowly and systematically tearing apart the bacon, that she’d missed the quiet tears sliding down Marisa’s cheeks.

Marisa took Mike’s napkin, holding it to her face. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t— I’m sorry.’

Tom put his arm around her, pressing his lips to her hair. ‘It’s okay, Risa. It’s okay.’ He closed his eyes briefly, and Sophie was certain she could see his heart breaking for the hundredth time with not only his own pain, but Marisa’s too. She wished she could wrap them both up in soft blankets and hold them tight until they’d weathered the worst of it.

‘Why don’t you take her home?’ Sophie said gently, knowing that Marisa wouldn’t be comfortable with her grief and pain out there for all of the strangers around them to see. ‘I can bring dinner for you.’

Marisa sniffed into her napkin. ‘I hate this. Hate it. I just . . . I wanted a nice dinner out. That’s all, and I—’ She cut herself off with a slow shake of her head. She tipped her face up, eyes red. ‘Not much of a welcome for you, is it?’

Sophie reached out and clasped her hand. ‘It’s been awonderfulwelcome. My plane didn’t crash into the sea. I got to hug my two favourite people. There wasn’t any cocaine inmy flat, and no one smuggled a marmoset. I literally cannot think of a better reception.’

‘I think,’ Mike said, ‘that either I missed something significant, or I’m having a stroke.’

Marisa gave a wet laugh as she wiped at her face with the napkin. ‘I like you. Sorry I ruined dinner.’

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