Page 89 of Something Borrowed

“Vividly.” I force a smile and hold out my hand. “Nice to see you again.”

His clasp is as firm as usual. I wince. He’s now crushing my fingers. He always used to do that. I wiggle free, shaking out my hand, and he offers me a smug look. He’s a good-looking bloke—tall with broad shoulders, thick black hair, and brown eyes. It’s a shame his personality spoils the overall effect.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

He makes a show of looking around. “Holiday?” he offers.

“How simply wonderful,” I say. “It’s just spiffing to see you again.”

“It is a lovely surprise, isn’t it?” Stan says, ever the nice person in the equation. “I haven’t spoken to Chris in ages.”

“That’s a tragedy,” I mutter, and Chris offers me a cold smile.

“I couldn’t believe it when he came over,” Stan continues like a Chatty Cathy. “He’s here on holiday with his family. They’re leaving tomorrow.”

“Oh no. Sosoon.”

Chris smirks at me. “But I’ll be going with Stan’s number. I don’t want to lose touch this time.”

“Perish the thought,” I say, giving him the wide grin that always used to irritate him. Gratifyingly, his mouth tightens. I turn to Stan. “I think we have to go for lunch now, if we’re going to make that thing later on, Stan.”

He nods and taps over to the lounger, where I see a white T-shirt lying.

“You’re going somewhere?” Chris calls to him.

“Yes. Don’t let us keep you.” I make a gesture with my hands that, unfortunately, looks a little too much like someone throwing out the rubbish. “I’m sure you’reverybusy with the people you’re away with.”

“Raff,” Stan chides. He turns his head toward Chris. “We’re going on a hike later this afternoon.”

Chris cocks his head, his face still showing that stupid smile. “Well, that’s a nice coincidence. So am I.”

“What?” I say.

Stan drowns it out. “Well, that’s great. We can catch up some more. Isn’t that great, Raff?”

“It’ssuper,” I mutter, watching as Chris moves closer to Stan, staring at him like he’s the last Yorkie bar in the Mackintosh factory.

Chris smiles. “Then let me treat you to lunch. I want to hear more about the shop, Stan. I remember you had so many plans for it.”

We setout on the walk an hour after the most infuriating lunch I’ve ever had. Chris slobbered over Stan more than the Mortimers’ old red setter, and I sat to the side coping with Chris’s Olympic-scale passive aggression.

Kostas, our guide for the walk, is a young man with dark curly hair and a wicked smile. He barely looks old enough to drink, let alone guide walkers, but I’m reassured when, before we start out, he talks with us to check for any potential problems.

The group comprises eleven people—three older couples, two younger girls who are friends, Chris, and us. I muse that Stan and I are between the two categories—more than friends, but not a couple. The thought is extraordinarily painful. Ahead of me, Stan’s stick is tapping, and Chris is at his side. He’d neatly edged me out as we’d walked on a narrow stretch of the path, and I’d fallen farther behind, trapped behind one of the old couples who seems to want to look at every flower along the path.

Chris says something, and Stan laughs. It’s his hearty laugh where his face creases up in an insanely attractive way and makes my stomach clench with longing.

“Your friend is very good.”

It takes me a second to realise that I’m being spoken to. “I’m sorry,” I say, turning to the speaker. She’s one of the two friends—girls in their twenties. They’ve spent most of the trek giggling, so I’m a little wary. It was when Stan’s sister laughed the most that she was at her most dangerous.

“Your friend.” She points at Stan. “He’s very graceful.”

“Ah. Yes, he is. But then he loves walking.”

“Is he fully blind?”

I hate these types of questions because they start off relatively benign before quickly heading downward into something that wouldn’t seem out of place in an interrogation room. “Yes,” I say shortly, keeping my gaze on the scenery rather than encouraging more conversation.

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