Relief, followed by a lick of surprise. Then a rush of warmth to my cheeks.I didn’t get that far?I pull the blankets up over my face and groan into them.
“Have your coffee,” he says, and I can almost hear the smug smile on his face. “The sun is up and the mainland is in sight. We’re docking soon.”
AS IF THEuniverse wants to make up for the proximity of the previous night, when we board the train it’s surprisingly empty. I tell Leo I’m going to sit alone and catch up on work emails. I read a message from my boss congratulating me on a takedown of a Michelin-starred eatery in Knightsbridge owned by some insurance billionaire. “It’s gone viral, Olive.”
I shudder. My last review. I want that to be my last review. I’ll write about food trends and review kitchen products; I enjoy that stuff. But no more restaurant reviews. I’m done.
There is an email from one of the subeditors asking me if I’d be interested in covering the yuzu fruit trend or the rise of the butter board (artisanal butter) for next month’s supplement. (Butter,I reply. Always butter.) Then I spot an email from that Realtor about listing Nicky’s, with the subject: Some Good Prospects.
I sigh, gazing out the window as the train shuttles inland from the coast. The landscape is already so different from the burnished sandy tones of Catania.We’re in lush, rolling green hills now, fresh from rainfall, with the sparkling sea well behind us.
I need to talk to my girls.
ME:Help.
KATE:Update?
ME:Um. I need to talk about Leo. We had to share a fucking bed last night
GINNY:OMG
KATE:We need a call
ME:Can’t, he’s sitting nearby
GINNY:I need more info
ME:Okay, hang on.
I get up and wander down to the far end of the train and move to the area between the two carriages, out of earshot.
“Hi, and yes, I have a glorious tan,” I say quickly into the video call. “There was only one room booked on the overnight ferry, so we had to share it. Nothing happened. Although I did have a dream that something happened and I’m slightly nervous my dream may have crossed the threshold into reality for a moment.”
I take a deep breath.
“I think I might have tried to, I don’t know,touchhim.Superinappropriately.”
“Oh my god, Olive!” Ginny says, bursting into laughter.
“I think he was touching me too,” I say, thinking of the hand trailing up my thigh and how real it felt. But perhaps I was dreaming.
Kate is more considered. “Oh dear.”
Ginny jumps in, “Wait. Hang on, do you fancy him? Like,properly?”
“Yes. No.Fuck!Sorry,” I say, as I slap my forehead. “It’s complicated. It’s a big fucking vat of boiling-hot complicated. First up, yes. I definitely fancy him. Like,a lot. I like our chats, I like the way he smiles, I like to talk with him about food. He’s also kind, which I was not expecting.”
“What were you expecting?”
“I drew a picture of him in my head where he was rude, obnoxious, arrogant—”
“We prefer kind,” Kate says, cutting in.
“And hot,” Ginny reminds us, putting her eye pencil down, listening intensely.
“If it was just the cookbook, and we got kind of entangled and had a summer fling while chopping tomatoes under the fucking Sicilian moonlight together, that would be fine, but the stuff with the restaurant. It’s making my head hurt.”
“What stuff with the restaurant?” Ginny asks.
