Chapter Nine
The Rhône was cold.
Not refreshing cold. NotI feel alivecold. This was vindictive, mountain-fed, glacier-adjacent water that didn’t give a damn that it was summer.
Allegra lay back on the yellow tube, arms flung wide like she was auditioning for a soda commercial, feet numbing in the turquoise water. The current tugged her along, utterly indifferent to her suffering.
Weren’t ice baths supposed to clear the head? She closed her eyes and considered the evidence. Nope, definitely hungover.
Which felt unfair, considering she’d promised herself—out loud, in the bathroom mirror, toothbrush foaming at the corners of her mouth—that last night would be tame. Then the fog had lifted around ten. One drink had seemed medically necessary. One cocktail became three. Three became dancing. Dancing became being funneled into a club called Le Zoo, which should have been a warning sign. There was bass. There was sweat. There was that Greek man she’d made out with, whose tongue tasted like tzatziki.
A series of choices had been made. None of them approved by Present-Day Allegra, who would very much like a croissant, electrolytes, and a time machine set to yesterday, 9:47 p.m.
She adjusted the triangles of her bikini and sank lower into the tube, letting gravity do its thing. If only everything in life would just carry her along without demanding opinions, plans, or foresight.
Nate drifted alongside her, striped board shorts riding low on his hips, toes angled toward her as the current carried them in tandem. A dry bag was clipped to the handle of his tube, bumping softly against the rubber. He barely paddled, just skimmed one hand through the water now and then to correct course, as if he and the river had a private agreement to make him look effortless. And damn it all, he did. Sun-bronzed skin, water sliding off his bare chest in rivulets.
“Okay,” she said, spinning her tube to face him. “I don’t buy this.”
His brow furrowed. “Buy what?”
“You. No one looks like that and is also this… nice. There has to be at least one red flag.”
“Red flag?” he repeated slowly, like he was trying to decode the phrase.
“Yeah, you know. Your dirty little secret. And I don’t mean birdhouses. So, what is it? You kick puppies? Host a bro podcast? Secret wife and kids in LA?”
“Oh—uh.” He laughed, startled. “No wife. Definitely no podcast.”
“But you hesitated,” she said triumphantly. “I saw that. The face of a man about to confess something scandalous.”
“I wasn’t—” He stopped. His jaw flexed.
Allegra kicked, sending her tube bumping into his. “Oh my God,” she gasped. “You do have a secret family.”
“What? No!” His eyes widened in horror, then relief. “No. Nothing like that.”
She tilted her head, studying him. “Girlfriend?”
“I was with someone,” he said carefully. “For a while. She was an actor, too. Didn’t work out.”
Something in the way he saidactormade her pause. She wanted to ask what happened, how serious it was, who broke whose heart—but her instincts told her to stop.
“Ah,” she said instead. “Creative differences.”
He huffed. “You could say that.”
They drifted for a moment, the sound of laughter and splashing echoing from further upstream. Allegra trailed her fingers in the water, drawing spirals and watching them vanish.
“So,” Nate said, eyes on the river, “what’s your situation then?”
“Me?”
“Yeah. Anyone special back home?”
“Not anymore.” She snorted. “I was engaged once. Broke it off.”
His mouth tilted, sympathy clear. “Oof. I’m sorry.”
