I frown. “No, not at all. If anything, he offered to let us keep our stuff there duringour road trip. But that doesn’t seem fair—not when he could be renting it out.”
“Well, you know what isn’t fair? You’re leaving now without letting me treat you to the Whitstable Special.” He waggles his eyebrows at me. “Come on…I know you’re curious.”
I feel a smile form. “What’s the Whitstable Special?”
“It’s a seafood pizza with white sauce.Pleasetell me you like anchovies.”
I make a disgusted face. “No. I hate anchovies. Sorry.”
“Only because you haven’t triedthisone. Proper wood-fired pizza from this little local place. All homemade, just a smidge of anchovy. It will change your life. What do you reckon?”
“I don’t know…”
“Come on…please?”
For a moment, I’m reminded of Toby—except he would never have asked so earnestly. It’s an important distinction.
I give in. “Fine. I’ll give it a go.”
“Great. Trust me, you’ll love it.”
As he calls the pizza place, I step outside onto the balcony.
A cool breeze brushes my cheeks, carrying salt and woodsmoke. Through the rooftops, the sea glimmers silver beneath the moon, its smooth surface ribbed by wooden groynes.
My pulse calms. I feel utterly still, as though I belong here, woven into the night itself.
If Ellenor were here, she’d call it magic.
If Brandon were here, he wouldn’t need to say a word.
I breathe deeper, letting the silence settle. All I want is to stand here and simplyfeel.
A hand lands suddenly on my shoulder.
“Gotcha!”
I flinch, spinning around with a gasp.
Willoughby chuckles, phone in hand. “A bit jumpy?”
“Not usually,” I say, even as my pulse scatters.
“Alright. Well, food will be here in twenty. Got us some garlic bread to share.”
“That’s…great.”
He lounges against the railing, so at ease he could be posing for an album cover. “So, have you thought of a song for our set yet?”
Yes.I nearly tell him about the other song I wrote, but something holds me back. Something greedy that doesn’t want to share.
“I was thinking a Nickelback song,” I improvise.
He chokes. “Nickelback?Which one?”
“Hero. Technically, it’s by Chad Kroeger.”
“I dunno…We’ll still catch flak for playing it.” He sighs, giving me an endearing look. “But alright. Let’s do it. Daisy can do the drums. And you can sing lead, if you like.”
