“You’reenduringdancing with me. It’s different.”
“You’re so full of yourself.”
“I’m full of wine and calamari and the sight of you in that sundress, actually.”
“Don’t push your luck, DeLuca.”
He laughed, low and warm, and I hated how much I loved the sound.
We swayed like that for a long time, the stars twinkling above us under the dim light of the terrace. I wanted to stay in the moment, wrap myself up in it. When he pulled me just a littlecloser, I rested my cheek against his shoulder and let myself imagine: what would it be like if thiswasreal?
If it wasn’t just vacation.
But the song ended. And I stepped back before he could say anything.
“Come on,” I said, smoothing my dress, trying to find my footing again. “You promised me tequila.”
He watched me like he saweverything. Then smiled.
“Let’s go find you a bottle.”
13
MATTEO
Turned out, tequila was not so easy to come by in a sleepy coastal town well past midnight.
“I told you it was a long shot,” Nicola muttered as we wandered down a cobbled side street, lit by string lights and the occasional flickering lantern. She kicked a pebble and sighed dramatically. “No tequila. What a tragedy.”
“You doubt my resourcefulness,” I shook my head in a low laugh.
“I doubt your sanity.”
“Same thing,” I grinned, then pointed toward a small shop window glowing in the distance.
“Look. Open late.”
She gave me a skeptical look, but followed.
Fifteen minutes later, we were walking out with two bottles of wine, a sleeve of biscotti, and a bag of the kind of overpriced chips that only taste good at 2:00 a.m. on vacation.
“No tequila,” she said smugly.
“Shut up and open the wine.”
We wandered until we found a hidden hilltop overlook, a crumbling stone wall, and a view that could make a poet out of acynic. Below us, the sea glowed dark blue and endless, the stars bright enough to see your whole past and maybe your future too. Nicola hopped up on the low wall and sat cross-legged, her sundress fluttering in the breeze.
We drank straight from the bottle, passing it back and forth between bites of cookies and chips, our knees bumping, shoulders brushing, everything soft andclose.
I glanced at her, lit in moonlight, wild hair and sharp tongue, and the kind of eyes that look like theydaredyou to get too close. Rather than her usual pin straight hair and red lips, she was devoid of bright lipstick tonight, and her hair was down and curly, falling off her shoulders in the light breeze. It was so easy to get lost in trying to memorize every inch of Nicola. I could spend a lifetime doing it, and it would be a worthwhile life. But the crashing waves made me turn back to the sea.
“Look,” I said, pointing, “There. See that stone archway down there?”
She squinted. “Near the tree?”
“There’s a stairwell. It goes all the way down to the beach.”
She followed my line of sight, catching on fast.
