‘The usual place – at home or in my shop. You look well.’
She gave him a pat on the arm, finishing with a fond squeeze. She was a lovely woman, funny – and uncomplicated. They’d had a good time together last year – two or three times, actually.
Glancing around Cristina, he noticed Toni had finished her call already and was sipping her drink, thankfully not looking this way. Then Cristina noticed where his gaze had gone and she snatched her hand back.
‘Ooh, I’m sorry,’ she said with a wink. ‘You finally settled down?’
‘No, I?—’
Toni had seen him. It shouldn’t matter, but his throat itched and that damned blush flared over his skin. He couldn’tstopblushing when Toni – hisfriend– was nearby.
‘She’s a friend, but I should—’ He gestured awkwardly over Cristina’s shoulder.
‘Get back to yourfriend?’
‘Scusami, sì.’
When he rushed back to the table, Toni regarded him with an amused smile. ‘Someone you know well?’
He wasn’t sure whether to laugh of bury his face in his hands. ‘You could say that.’
When she spoke again, her words took him entirely by surprise. ‘Do you think she’d do me a favour?’
Now that Gabri had called his friend to their table, Toni was beginning to appreciate the ridiculousness of her spur-of-the-moment idea.
‘It’s, um… nice to meet you.’
It wasn’t really. Cristina was effortlessly friendly – and effortlessly pretty – and the familiarity between her and Gabri was obvious.Intimatefamiliarity, she guessed; he didn’t need to bribe a little person with ice cream and organise a babysitter to go out with a woman.
Cristina gave his shoulder an affectionate squeeze. ‘Gabri said I can help you with something.’
Right, yes. Back to the spur-of-the-moment ridiculousness. ‘It’s a long story, but could I take a selfie with you? Pretend we’re friends having a drink together.’ It sounded more unhinged when she said it out loud.
It was getting more difficult to deflect Daphne’s demands for a photo of Gabri, especially since she appeared to be glued to her phone for updates, ready to reply instantly with an inappropriate emoji – this time the tongue, which she assumed her mum had meant to signify,Yum.
Cristina blinked at her. ‘For your jealous husband?’
‘Noooooo! Oh God, you’ve got the wrong idea. I’m not married, but never mind. It’s my mother who—’ She cut herself off with a grimace. She sounded sixteen, not thirty-nine.
But Cristina seemed to relate to what she’d said. ‘Ahh, I understand. Mothers want to know everything before we are ready to talk about it. I’m happy to help you keep your secret.’ She mimed locking her lips.
‘No, really, we’re not—’ She looked to Gabri for help, but he just shrugged. Perhaps it was easier to let Cristina think they were on a date, rather than explaining that she’d thought he was a woman and they were now having a girls’ holiday together even though she’d seen him shirtless in his underwear; the close quarters of his little house were making her hot under the collar and she kept thinking about kissing him.
Cristina took Gabri’s seat and dragged it close, producing a smile that must have been fake but still looked as good as the make-up tutorials Toni had started watching when she’d realised she still did smokey eyes straight out of 2012. Fumbling for her phone, she managed to open the camera app and raise it for a selfie.
‘Hold up the drinks,’ Gabri suggested, crossing his arms and watching with an amused smile.
‘Urgh, your beer,’ Cristina said, flashing him a glance, but she held it up for the photo, which Toni snapped as quickly as possible. ‘Now you two.’
Toni stilled at Cristina’s words, staring into her spritz. ‘We don’t… have to?—’
‘Va bene,’ Gabri contradicted her with a tight smile that was definitely false. He handed over his phone and dropped into the seat Cristina had just vacated. While she stepped back, experimenting with angles and catching the coastline in the background, Gabri draped his arm along the back of Toni’s seat, raising the hairs on her skin.
‘Così, belli,’ Cristina said, pressing her index finger to her thumb. ‘Stay like that. No, maybe a little closer?’
Toni risked a look at him, but he was staring resolutely at the phone, a smile frozen on his face. Forty-eight hours ago was the first time she’d seen this face, but so many details were familiar: the thick stubble that shadowed his face even though she’d accidentally glimpsed him shaving this morning; the faint scar on his chin; dark lashes over blue eyes.
He must have felt her looking, because he glanced at her, his brow lifting in something like an apology. His hand brushed her bare shoulder. He was probably just touchy-feely, but after their intense conversations about life and love over the past two days, she imagined they both appreciated the novelty of affection.
