‘Me and El.’ He sighs. ‘We never stopped, actually – it’s all under the guise of “friendship”. But that doesn’t change the fact it still feels kind of...’
‘Wrong?’ I finish for him, harsher than intended.
His eyes close again and he lets out a big huff through his nose. ‘So wrong. But I just... I can’t stop. She’s so easy to talk to and there’s definitely something there.’
My heart, stilled from mere moments ago, sinks like lead all the way to the bottom of my chest. He knowseverythingabout me, every step and breath I’ve taken this trip, but once again he’s kept a part of himself under lock and key.
‘Does she still have a boyfriend?’ My voice is slow, stilted, incapable of seeing this as real life.
‘Yep.’ His tone is biting.
‘Then you can’t.’
‘And Iwouldn’t. At least, not again.’ He throws his head back, the curve of his neck sloping with the bench as he lets out a long and frustrated groan. ‘God this is so messy, I don’t know what I’m doing,’ he says, his tone almost whiny in nature. ‘Sorry I kept it from you. I just knew that you’d tell me it was wrong.’
‘Because it is.’
I’m still startled. Five minutes ago, he sat here waxing lyrical about the first time we met. How could someone feel those things, build our friendship,touchme like he did, and yet still proceed to keep such a secret stowed away? I feel my blood start to boil. I want to scream at him, rip his phone out of his hand and tell him to run away to El if they love each other so much. But then I look at his face, lost and sad and confused, and want nothing more than to make everything better.
Because that’s what friends do. And Noah and I are friends. Noah and I will always, only ever, be friends. Wepromised.
‘Go on, show me the messages. Let’s get you out of this,’ I sigh.
His neck snaps towards me in shock. I myself am shocked that it came from me too, but now that it’s out there I have to follow through. I risk so much between us if I don’t.
‘Are you sure?’ he asks timidly. ‘Like, that’s not... weird for you, right?’
I feign as casual a head shake as I can muster. ‘Why would it be weird for me? We’re friends.’ I fake a laugh.
If I’m not mistaken, I see his smile falter for a second, in a moment so small it feels like some sort of glitch. He quickly shakes it off, grabbing his phone and reemerging with the cheeriest of dispositions.
‘Yeah, right, we’re friends, of course.’ He shuffles closer, phone in hand.
He opens up their chat and scrolls as I try to hold on to the pieces of my shattered heart.
I went to Milan and all I got was...
. . .a friendly ask
It took three days to craft the perfect text to send to Eléa – one to draft, one to proof and one to backtrack several times. Who knew Noah was so indecisive? He flipped and flopped so much that it almost gave me the ick. I wish that it did. Instead, I suffer at his side while I help craft messages to the very-not-single girl of his dreams.
He’s fretting. ‘She hasn’t replied.’
I clamp my eyes on my screen to stop them from rolling aggressively back into my head. It’s been five days since we sent the message, three days since we left Rome, and maybe about ten minutes since Noah last brought El up. One of his longer intervals.
‘We knew that was a risk,’ I say for the thousandth time. ‘She didn’t strike me as the type that would take kindly to rejection. She probably read it, deleted it and moved on with herboyfriend.’
I put some real weight behind the word ‘boyfriend’, attempting to knock it across our living-room table and into Noah’s skull. He chews his lip in contemplation.
‘Yeah, you’re probably right. Okay, new topic, talk me through the last two days. I want a run down.’
Though my three-date day in Rome was a lot, it did teach me that I’m capable of maximizing my time more efficiently. And while I doubt that I’ll ever go so far as three in one day again, I’ve found that two a day gives me more time to myself elsewhere. If I can pack all my dates into the first few days in a city, then I canuse the rest to chill and explore for myself.AndI can catch up on actually writing them up. I’ve been avoiding Analeise’s emails like the plague.
‘Speed rate them!’ He sits up in his seat, eyes delighted at the new impending game. ‘Gianna.’
‘Erm . . . seven?’ I jump to action.
‘Quicker! Ernesto?’
