“I’m so glad we came here. I’ll never see anything like this again,” Anya says.
We navigate through the mix of sweaty, tired tourists to buy our return tickets, and when the train to Sorrento comes a few minutes later, we board and claim a vacant cluster of seats.
“Do you have any more of those lemon crèmes?” I ask Mari the second I sit down.
Her face explodes into a grin. “Yes! I saved the lastbatch for you.” She rummages frantically through her backpack. “I knew you’d come around.” She hands me the crinkly column of what remains.
“Oh my God, they’re so good.” I down one and immediately pop another in my mouth. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Mari says. “They were Nico’s recommendation.”
I glance at Nico. “What other secrets do you have?”
“A whole lot.” He smiles, and my stomach does a little flip, like it wants to know the rest of them.
I scroll through my photos when the conversation lulls, mindlessly taking my phone off airplane mode to post a story to Instagram. Immediately, I’m bombarded by notifications.
“Jesus,” I hiss, fumbling with my phone to try to silence it. A barrage of messages from Wes flood my screen.
Hey. I’m so sorry about last night, didn’t have my phone on me.
Can I make it up to you?
Is everything okay?
Sora, I’m worried. Can you please respond?
I don’t even know how to feel. It’s a relief that he finally texted, but I thought I was done being ghosted. I thought he was done being flaky.Things will be so different. After ten minutes of going back and forth in my head, I decide to respond with something generic. Because I would never leave someone hanging the way he does. I don’t have the energy to play games.
Sorry, I’m on the way back from Pompeii. Haven’t had service.
I click my screen off so I don’t have to sit and watch him type. Sure enough, my phone vibrates within milliseconds with another text.
How was it? I’d like to see you later. You free?
I exhale and lean my head back against the seat. This is exhausting. Wes is so fun, so carefree, and he has a knack for making me feel special for being the one he chooses, but I cannot be on this merry-go-round. I glance back down.
Meet me for dinner. A proper date. I want the chance to tell you how sorry I am in person. What do you say?
And there it goes again, the tiny ping of my heart. Wes has been the thing I’ve wanted for so long that it feels like giving up to walk away.For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’ll end up a failure, Nico had said. I stare at him now, dozing off in the seat across from me, full lips half parted as he snores. I want to believe him, I do, but I have the feeling that if I can’t even make this happen when it’s just a step away, it’s a sign of something bigger. I’d flown all the way from Georgia to make this happen, hadn’t I? So if it doesn’t happen, after all of that, what does it mean about me?
Okay. It’s a date, I write back. One last chance to prove me wrong.
CHAPTER 17
I wear the outfit Ipacked specifically for this occasion: a coral V-neck wrap dress with tiny blue flowers. I knew I had to have it the first time I saw it—it screamed European romance. I styled my hair in soft curls to fall past my shoulders, with the front sections pulled back with a bright lemon claw clip.Last time, I hype myself up in the mirror.Tonight, Wes will step up and do the work to make up for everything he’s put me through, or I will end things forever.No harm, no foul.
Mari and Anya ask to turn in early after a long day out in the sun, which is both an auspice and the opening I need to slip away.
Wes had insisted on picking me up. He said he wanted to do this right, start to finish, but I can’t take the risk, so we settle on meeting at the end of the street. When I arrive, I unzip the hoodie I wore to conceal my dress and find Wes there early, standing under a lamppost holding a bouquet of flowers wrapped in paper. Lilacs, I realize, and my heart immediately beats double time. What nineteen-year-old guy remembers his boutonniere from prom over a year ago?
Wes looks nervous when he sees me, shuffles his feet in place. “Sora. You look great. Stunning. As always.” He hands me the flowers and pairs it with a kiss on the cheek. “Hungry?”
“Starving, actually,” I say. His hand brushes against mine like he wants me to latch on, but I ignore it. My guard is up. I’m not as chatty, either—I kind of want to see what Wes has to say. For a minute, the only sound comes from my slides as they clap against the cobblestones.
Wes seems to know the floor is his. “I’m really sorry about yesterday,” he starts. “This is embarrassing to admit, but I think I had a bit too much to drink.”
“Yeah. I get it.” What I really want to say is he had the entire day to tell me that.
