He isn’t looking at me. He’s watching his footing on the wet rock, moving easily despite the incline.
“We only had one beer together,” he adds.
There’s no accusation in it. Just fact.
I rub the back of my neck.
“I had a few whiskeys before I met you,” I admit. “And more drinks at the Italian.”
He stops walking.
Turns his head slowly.
“I warned you.”
I wince slightly.
“And I hadn’t eaten all day,” I add.
He stares at me for a second longer.
Then he lets out a sharp breath that’s half laugh, half disbelief.
“Mate,” he says.
There’re a thousand things packed into that one word.
Idiot.
Why.
What were you thinking.
We start walking again.
“How mad was Christina?” he asks after a moment.
“Not very,” I say and I can’t stop the smile.
It spreads across my face before I can catch it, warm and disbelieving.
Alex notices immediately.
“What’s that smile about?”
I look out across the valley, the lake far below reflecting the shifting light through the cloud.
“She stayed,” I say.
The words still feel unreal.
“She made sure, and I quote, I didn’t choke on my own vomit.”
Alex barks out a laugh.
“Romantic.”
“And then we had breakfast this morning.”