We take the cups from him just as ‘Cotton Eye Joe’ by Rednex starts blaring out of the speaker. Trust me to know the name ofthisgodawful song.
‘Dude, seriously?’ Finn laughs, rounding on Chris.
‘I didnotput that on my playlist!’ Chris protests as Finn digs into his jeans pocket and pulls out his phone. ‘I’ll skip it!’ Chris yells, scrambling towards the stereo. ‘My sister must have put it on there!’
‘Too late, you’ve had your chance,’ Finn replies, manhandling him out of the way.
Amy and I laugh along with others who are watching. ‘Cotton Eye Joe’ is silenced as an indie rock song begins to play.
Chris looks deflated to have lost control of the music. Finn, chuckling, whacks him on his stomach and returns to the kitchen.
About forty-five minutes later, I’m in the middle of a surprisingly serious conversation with Tarek about architecture when Finn wanders over and hops up into Amy’s recently vacated position on the window sill.
I’m instantly on edge.
My friend is leaning against the wall in the dining area, talking to Dan. He’s smiling down at her and I’m not expecting to see her again anytime soon.
Tarek stands up, mumbling something about getting a glass of water, and I turn to Finn, all my senses zinging.
He moves to the edge of the sill and slides down onto the sofa, patting the cushion beside him in invitation. The crowd has gravitated towards the kitchen, so it’s not as packed in here as it was earlier.
I pick up my cup and carefully settle down beside him. The sofa bows slightly in the middle, tilting us towards one another, and I’m intensely aware of the heat of his thigh against mine.
‘So, what’s this about sculpture in Italy?’ he asks.
My heart warms that he’s paid as close attention to me as I have to him.
‘I did a month-long course in figurative sculpture.’
‘What did that involve?’
His eyes seem to hold genuine curiosity. I think they’re green, maybe with a hint of blue.
‘We spent three solid weeks modelling figures in clay and then our last week was focused mostly on making moulds.’ I did some of this at university, of course, but we didn’t do a lot of figurative sculpting. Most of my classmates were postmodernist sculptors so I stood out as the only person with a more classical style. It was actually one of the foundry technicians who suggested that I look into the course at the Florence Academy of Art. ‘It was full-on, but it was without a doubt one of the best experiences of my life. It made me feel like a real artist. We also got to go on some museum tours with experts to see the work of masters up close, like the statue of David and Bernini’s sculptures. That was mind-blowing. Though it probably sounds boring if you’re not into sculpture,’ I finish self-consciously, realising I’ve been wittering on.
‘Not at all,’ Finn replies earnestly as I shift to face him and tuck my knees up underneath myself, removing the distraction of his thigh against mine. ‘There’s not much that doesn’t intrigue me,’ he adds. ‘It’s probably why I like writing.’
‘Songs?’ I ask, trying to scratch my mosquito bites discreetly.
‘Yep.’
‘What’s your band’s name? I heard you have one back in LA.’
He screws up his nose.
‘What?’ I ask with a smile.
‘It’s a bit crap.’
‘It can’t be worse than Mixamatosis.’
‘Shh!’ He shoots an alarmed look across the room at his bandmates before returning his gaze to me, his smile alight with mischief. ‘Don’t let Dan hear you say that.’
‘At least he’s given up on the idea of deranged bunny masks,’ I point out with a conspiratorial giggle.
‘What?Bunnymasks?’ He looks perplexed.
‘They wore gruesome bunny masks for Halloween once,’ I explain in a low voice, prompting him to lean forward so he can hear me better. His eyelashes areunreal. ‘Fake blood coming from the mouths, and the eyes spray-painted red. Think a sick and twisted Daft Punk. They scared a bunch of kids whose parents complained.’
