‘He’s right,’ she says to me and Nick.
‘I almost always am,’ Marcus chimes in, ‘unless Cherie overrules me and tells me I’m wrong.’
She grins at him lovingly. They really are walking, talking couple goals.
‘Well, it’s been lovely seeing you kids again,’ says Cherie, rising onto her tiptoes and hugging Nick goodbye.
I expected them to suggest getting a drink or something, so she’s caught me by surprise. But this also means we don’t have to make up an excuse.
Nick was crystal clear earlier about not making plans with our new friends, meaning he wants us to be alone.Andhe gave me an unmistakable look. I may not be the sexy starlet type who always gets the hot guy, but I know what that look meant.
Unless…
Oh, fuck.He didn’t meanthat– he meant it’s time for us to talk. The serious, adult conversation I’ve been dodging all day. God, I’m a moron. A moron who’s falling for someone I shouldn’t – at least, not until I’m free and clear, which I’m not.
And Nick’ssofar from free and clear, he couldn’t see it with the Hubble telescope.
There will be storms, Delaney– isn’t that what Cherie just told me? Only I hadn’t counted on a squall blowing in quite so soon.
Cherie lets Nick go and steps up to wrap her arms around me. I return the hug with a tight squeeze – I’msoglad I got that second serving of Cherie. I may never see her again, but she’s given me great advice. Not even Megan could do that.
‘Thanks for the talk,’ I whisper.
‘You’re welcome, hon.’ She steps back and gives me a warm smile. ‘If you’re ever in Charleston, you look us up, you hear?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ I say and she grins.
‘Good luck,’ she mouths, patting my arm.
I give Marcus a quick hug, then – as if it’s the most natural thing in the world – Nick takes my hand and leads me out of the limoncello distillery. We step into the sunlight and I shiver, even though the air is warm. But it’s not about the change in temperature – it’s my fingers laced with Nick’s, his palm pressed against mine.
Nick lets go of my hand to put his sunglasses on – a stark reminder that our ‘couplehood’ is merely a pretence. I fetch mine from my handbag and slip them on.
What happens now?
‘Where should w—’ I start.
‘So, what do—’ Nick says at the same time.
We both fall silent. We’re looking at each other, but his sunglasses are too dark for me to see his eyes, and I have no idea what he’s thinking.
Out of the corner of my eye, the distillery door opens and a couple from our tour walks out, smiling at us as they pass.
‘We should go,’ I say. ‘If Marcus and Cherie come out, we’ll get stuck in one of those awkward second-goodbye situations.’
‘Oh, good point.’
He heads off in the in the direction of our hotel. Where we have a living room and a balcony – both perfectly good settings for a serious talk.
And where there’s a huge frigging bed.
Is that what I want? To fall into bed with Nick in the middle of the afternoon on this glorious day?
Yes.
But also no.
What’s the protocol of excusing yourself before sexy time to break up with your boyfriend? Is it the emotional equivalent of slipping into the bathroom to insert your diaphragm? An emotional prophylactic?