“See you in an hour,” I tell him, shaking my head and closing the door while I’m still holding my composure together.
*
An hour, as it turns out, isn’t enough time. I’m scrambling to get my dress on at the last minute, careful not to get any makeup on it as I pull it over my head. I’ve gone for a white and yellow striped summer dress that should keep me cool on the top deck where the dancing takes place. Paired with my favourite bra, my tits look epic.
I don’t care. I’ve come too far not to dance in the flames.
I pair it with some easy-to-kick-off leather sandals, knowing that after dinner we’ll be barefoot on the deck and do one final check in the mirror. This will have to do.
The knock comes as I’m fiddling with small hoop earrings in the full-length mirror. My dress has discreet pockets which I slide my phone and room key into before heading out the door.
Gus waits, leant once again against the wall. I let my eyes consume him, curls left unruly tonight, a loose-fitted blackshirt with sleeves rolled up and smart chinos. He tilts his head, taking me in with that lopsided grin. It’s as I get closer that I notice how extraordinarily good he smells.
I don’t even hide it, breathing him in. “What are you wearing?”
“Lovely to see you too.”
“I don’t subscribe to social norms.”
He laughs; the sound does something unholy to my belly. “I know.”
“You smell like freshly cut grass and bonfires.”
“Funny. I was going forold man gardening on a lovely summer’s day, actually.” I roll my eyes as he holds his arm out for me to take. “Shall we?”
“Where are you taking me?”
“It’s a surprise.”
He pretends to change direction from the restaurant twice, where, if we hadn’t been stranded in Split a week ago, we would’ve spent every night eating dinner alone. Maybe this would’ve never developed, and I wouldn’t feel like I’m on the precipice of throwing my heart directly into the fire.
It’s the most I’ve felt in years.
The safety net I created for myself has been incinerated.
What am I doing?
The waiter greets us. The tables move every night so that each party gets a chance to sit by the windows or out on the covered decking at the back. “Tonight, we’re doing social seating.”
We both smile, Gus with genuine intrigue, me, totally forced, becausewhat the actual fuckis ‘social seating’? Is this Wagamama? There’s a bloody good reason I nevergo there. I am nothing if not proudly unsociable towards strangers.
As if he can sense my reaction, Gus squeezes my arm closer towards his body, towing me along to the table where I scan ahead to see quite how badly our evening is about to be ruined. Except we’re shown to a table of four where an old couple are seated already. The moment they realise we’re joining them they’re straight on their feet to greet us.
“Ah, you’re the pair from the first night,” the lady says and suddenly I remember her. She thought we were a couple, right? Back when I thought Gus was a rude arsehole.
She’s pinned her silver hair back into a tidy bun, her face crinkling when she smiles. She hauls me away from Gus, who finally releases me, and hugs me before I can so much as take a breath.
“It’s lovely to see you again,” I say. Then again, how drunk was I the last time we met? Maybe I should be mortified.
Gus shakes the hand of the old man, who then reaches across the table to shake mine too, except he brings my hand to his mouth and kisses my fingers. It’s wholesome.
Would be creepy if he wasn’t an old man.
We finally sit as the waiter takes our drinks order.
“I’m Edith,” the lady tells me. “And my husband is Paul.”
“I’m Sara,” I say.
