I squeal in shock and shove him with just a little too much strength. He trips over on his feet and narrowly misses a collision with a rotating magnet stand. I reach my hand out and pull him back in as he shakes his head before taking a hearty lick of his gelato cone.
‘Did I hit a nerve?’ he asks, smirking. ‘Because last time I hit a nerve, I was...’
‘Don’t make things weird!’ I chastise him, but he just rolls his eyes.
‘Sure,this conversationmakes things weird... not the fact that I’ve now been inside you...’ he scoffs.
‘Noah!’ I gasp, shocked.
‘Relax, Am,’ he says, laughing. ‘We’ve got to be able to joke about it or we make things awkward. So, this Ando – is there a second date on the cards?’
‘Aldo. And I hope so. I’ve messaged him to ask, but I’ve not yet heard back.’
I nibble on my cone anxiously in an attempt to soothe my nerves. I’ve been trying so hard not to think about that message just sitting in his phone, all open and vulnerable.
‘I’m sure he’ll respond. Especially if he’s as great as you say he is,’ Noah says.
He stops in his tracks pretty abruptly, prompting me to do the same, and I follow his eyeline to view the reason we took this walk in the first place.
‘Here we are, the Trevi Fountain!’ he says proudly. ‘Is it everything you’d dreamed it would be?’
I stare dejectedly at the wrought iron gate in front of us. ‘What is this?’
‘The entry,’ he says. ‘It’s two euros.’
‘You have to pay?’
‘Yeah... It’s a new thing, I’m pretty sure. Tourist control.’ He pulls up an article on it, scrolling through to confirm.
‘But they didn’t have to pay in . . .’
He catches the way I trail off, eyebrows shooting up in intrigue. ‘In what?’
I stay silent, so he presses further.
‘Don’t tell me you’ve hopelessly romanticised it from one of the classics. What was it,Roman Holiday?La Dolce Vita?’
‘No, I’ve never even seen either of those movies,’ I say defensively.
He catches the way my eyes dart around, hiding my real shame. ‘But itisa movie... Go on, which one?’
There’s no going back now. He’s staring too intensely. I bring my cone to my mouth and mutter into it as softly as I can.‘Lizzie McGuire,’I say feebly.
His lip curls as he leans closer. ‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’
‘The Lizzie McGuire Movie.’My eyes are locked on the floor.
He throws his head back and laughs.Cackles, even. It’s deep, shooting directly from his chest.
‘You laugh, but that movie shaped my childhood!Manychildhoods, actually! It’s part of a pivotal time in Disney media. Think:Lizzie McGuire,Cheetah Girls,High School Musical,Camp Rock... The DCOMs of the noughties were vital to our early development.’ I rush to defend my childhood favourites.
‘Uh-huh,’ he says, nodding in jest. ‘And exactly how much of your life do you live by Disney Channel Original Movies?’
‘Only about 40 per cent,’ I huff. ‘I’m a realist. But when the moment strikes so perfectly, it’s a must.’
‘So, when we get to Barcelona...’ he says.
‘I’m going to Parc Guell and strutting like I mean it, yes,’ I say firmly.
