Holy crap.
Pressing the heel of my palm hard against my chest, I try to calm the erratic beat of my heart. It’s been pounding with relentless force and trying to punch through my ribcage from the moment I saw Fallon standing right behind me. He looked like a half-remembered dream brought into sharp, disorienting focus—those familiar arctic-blue eyes and that cocky smirk that would reveal twin dimples when it appeared.
I had hoped we would cross paths again one day, but nothing could have prepared me for him suddenly showing up out of the blue,in freaking Venice.
Seeing him again felt like standing on the edge of a cliff and suddenly being tossed over it. A flood of emotions rushed through me: shock, nostalgia, and something dangerously closeto longing. How could two decades feel like both a lifetime and a fleeting moment?
Fishing my phone out from my pocket, I text Meredith.
Me: You busy?
Her reply is instantaneous.
Firecracker: Sipping naked martinis with my husband. What’s up?
Me: You naked or the drink naked?
Firecracker: What do you think?
I hit the phone icon to call her and put it on speaker.
“Why are you drinking martinis at ten in the morning?”
“Why are you whispering?”
Needing to pace off some of the restless energy I’m feeling, I get up and walk into the bedroom.
“Fallon is here.”
“What did you just say?”
Holding the phone in one hand, I yank clothes out of my suitcase. “I was drinking coffee and getting hit on by this guy at the other table, and thenpoof!He’s standing right there.”
Hating everything I pull out, I go to the closet where I hang my dresses.
“The guy from the other table was standing where?”
“He wasn’t standing. He was sitting at his table. I had the waiter take it back.”
“Take what back? Are you sure you’re not the one drinking martinis?”
I groan at the ceiling. “I’m not drunk. Fallon is here.”
Pulling my blue wrap dress from its hanger, I go into the adjoining en suite and gasp in horror when I see my reflection in the mirror. Oh, good god. My hair is a tangled, windswept mess, I have black mascara circles under my eyes, and my nose is bright red because I forgot to put on sunscreen this morning before heading out.
“Fallon…Montgomery?”
“Do you know another Fallon?”
“Holy shit!” she wheezes.
“Holy shit, what?” I hear Bryce say in the background.
“Woman stuff. Stop eavesdropping,” she says to her husband.
“It’s not eavesdropping when you’re sitting right next to me and yelling into the phone. Hey, Elizabeth!”
“Hey, Bryce,” I reply, even though he can’t hear me.
