Page 38 of Problematic Summer Romance

“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’sconsideringspending 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 pointnotto 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.

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