It’s an off-hand remark, but I file it away to revisit later – Nickstillhasn’t told me he was supposed to be getting married this week, so how attached to the truth can he really be?
Maybe he didn’t know about it.I’m not sure why this didn’t occur to me before. It would certainly explain a lot.
‘Delaney?’ he prods, dragging me from my thoughts. ‘It’s only coffee,’ he teases, and I play along, pausing for dramatic effect.
‘Okay, it’s an almond-milk cortado, extra hot, three-quarter foam.’
Nick throws his head back and bellows with laughter, and I snigger along.
‘Yeah, yeah. Like I said – it’s a hipster-douchebag coffee order, but I love it. It’s from this little hole-in-the-wall place two blocks from my apartment, and I’m so rarely in LA, even drinking my favourite coffee feels like a homecoming.’
‘Right.’
‘You have something like that – something you always crave when you get home? Hey, whereishome? I never asked.’
There’s a flicker of discomfort across his face.
‘I promise not to stop by uninvitedorstalk you,’ I say with a laugh. ‘I’m curious, that’s all.’
‘Course – sorry. I’ve got a flat in Paddington. Nothing fancy ’cause I’m hardly ever there.’
‘Another thing we have in common,’ I say, and we share an understanding smile. Only now we’ve wandered into dangerous territory – Nick and I do not needmorethings in common – so I look for a diversion.
‘Hey,’ I say, spying the limoncello. ‘Vittorio left this for us.’ I hand him the gift pack.
‘How kind – I’d forgotten about that.’
‘Me too,’ I say lightly, sidesteppingwhywe both forgot. ‘We’re going there tomorrow – to learn how they make it.’
‘Nice,’ he says, putting it on the coffee table.
We sip our coffees, silence stretching between us, my mind returning to the scene of last night’s crime.
‘Okay, I’ll send it to you,’ he blurts.
For a second, I’m lost, but then I get it. It’s only me who’s reliving last night. Am I relieved or disappointed?
‘Great!’ I say, pasting on a grin.
He goes to his duffel bag and takes out a laptop, then sits on the sofa and boots it up. ‘Email address?’ he asks.
‘I’ll give you my personal one,’ I say, and his eyes narrow. ‘Work email’s a can of worms when I’m on vacation. I log into that, and I’ll be MIA fordays.’
‘Fair.’
I rattle off my email address and a few seconds later, my phone chimes with a notification.
Nick slams the laptop shut and gets up. ‘I suppose I should leave you to it.’
‘What are you going to do today?’ I ask.
‘I’ll find something. Catch up on my people-watching,’ he says, shooting me a nervous smile. ‘Call Pippa and Dan – see how life is at the top of the world.Iceland– even now I can’t believe it.’
He’s rambling – nerves, is my guess. It’s a big deal, him entrusting me with this.
‘I’m sure I’ll love it, Nick,’ I say reassuringly.
His smile falls away. ‘That’s good of you to say but if you don’t, please be honest with me.’