Page 5 of Italy and Forever

He swallowed a groan. ‘Wedding photographers get regular gigs, but I sometimes have… financial gaps.’

Some colour rose to her cheeks. ‘Oh…’

His stomach sinking, he imagined the upcoming wedding of one of his best friends with even more trepidation now he’d have to avoid Ginny entirely. But he’d been through a lot with Andreas – including three expeditions in the Himalayas – and although he didn’t understand his friend’s sudden desire to make this grand gesture of commitment, it wasn’t the sort of invitation a real friend could turn down.

‘Wait, you need money, but you still won’t take this assignment? I wasn’t asking you to do it for free. We agreed a rate for the last wedding.’

‘Yes, we agreed I’d take photos at the ice cave and I got roped into the whole shebang,’ he reminded her. ‘I don’t want to be dragged onto the books at I Do by stealth. I don’t photograph people. I’ve told you this more than once.’

His skin was prickling now, the way it did when she looked too long at him. He hated to think what she saw.

She crossed her arms. ‘You’ve grumbled something to that effect at me a few times, yes. Maybe that’s why I didn’t recognise you down there. This is the most you’ve ever said to me in one go.’

He didn’t know how to respond to that and the silence stretched. She clearly expected something, but he had no idea what.

‘You won’t even do it for Andreas?’ she asked.

He shook his head. ‘For Andreas, I won’t do it.’

She muttered a few curses and her body language was defeated when she turned away.

‘Wait,’ he called after her, ignoring the gut-punch of her eyes on him again. ‘Your drinks.’

Her lips pulled together as she frowned fiercely.

‘Hold the wine,’ she said stiffly. ‘Just give me the beers – and a shot.’

‘Of what?’ he asked warily.

She leaned on the bar, getting up in his face, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. ‘What do you recommend for someone who’s been humiliated, patronised and rejected?’

He wanted to contradict her, but there was no point. Better for her to leave angry, so he simply nodded and reached for a pint glass. After pulling the two lagers, he hesitated for a moment in front of the high shelves of spirits, before grasping a bottle and a thimble and turning back to pour it.

Her exaggerated eye-roll stopped him before he could get the lid off.

‘Peach vodka? Seriously? Do you think I’ve just turned twenty-one?’

‘With your vocabulary? Maybe,’ he mumbled, swiping the bottle off the bar again. Returning it to the shelf, he caught sight of the sambuca and a bad idea took hold of him.

Moving slowly, with purpose, he poured the shot. Next came the coffee beans, floating innocuously on the surface of the clear liquid. Then he lit a match.

Her gulp was audible as he held the match to the coffee beans and little blue flames raced across the surface.

‘There you go,’ he said when she just stared. ‘Blow it out and drink.’

Taking a breath through her nose, she leaned down carefully and blew – but not quickly enough to stop a strand of her hair shrivelling in the flames.

‘Whoa!’

At the same moment as she picked up the shot and brought it to her mouth, he grabbed for her hair, splattering the liquid over her face. He froze, his fingers tangled in the smooth dark strands. She drew away with a splutter, coughing and gagging on the alcohol, but cried out when he pulled her hair.

‘Shit,’ he muttered, trying to extricate his hand. ‘Sorry.’ He handed her a serviette.

‘You didn’t have to slap me in the face!’

‘Your hair was… on fire,’ he said through gritted teeth, watching as dark pink stained the skin under her freckles as she scrubbed her face.

‘I’m…’ She didn’t get to the end of that sentence, instead turning on wobbly legs and dismissing him with a wave.