Page 29 of The Pairing

“Of all the people to get Florian out for a drink,” Kit says, “my money was not on the Calums.”

“Oh, mine was. Those two are trouble. The ginger told me he can never return to Belgium for legal reasons.”

Just then, Dakota and Montana appear on the terrace with matching flutes of pink champagne. Florian waves, and the Calums start pushing tables together so everyone can sit.

“Oh,” Kit says, “this is interesting.”

“It’s likeThe Bachelor,” I say, fully invested. “Which of those girls do you think wants the fantasy suite most?”

“How do you know it won’t be one of the Calums?”

“Those men are terminally straight.”

“Nobody’s straight on a European vacation.”

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience,” I observe, picturing Kit picking up tourists at bars in Montmartre.

“Historic precedent. They switch everyone to bisexual at passport control.”

“Damn, that’s what the stamp’s for? Could’ve skipped the line.”

Kit laughs, rubbing a hand across his forehead in a kind ofoh Theogesture that makes the nerves in my fingertips buzz. “The real question is, which one is most likely to succeed?”

“The one with the dark hair—Montana—she’s perkier, which gives her an edge, but Dakota’s a wild card.”

“The blonde?” Kit asks. “She looks bored.”

“Some guys are into that. Should we start a pool?”

“I think—” Before Kit can reveal what he thinks, Fabrizio manifests on the terrace with a bottle of wine and a basket of frites. “Hold on. Game changer.”

We watch as Fabrizio sits next to Florian and throws an arm over the back of his chair. He joins the conversation with a salacious grin, tosses a frite into his mouth, and then dips another in sauce and feeds it to Florian.

Kit outright gasps. “Oh my God.”

“That’s the game, folks.”

“Fabrizio by a mile.”

We both fall apart in laughter, mine shot through with relief. The tension is gone, and that easy current from lunch gushes in like water in the fountain. As long as we can keep finding our way back here, we’ll be fine. We just need an endless supply of Florians.

Which gives me an idea.

“You know who else might have a chance?” I ask Kit.

“Who?”

“One of us.” Kit’s still half laughing, like he doesn’t think I mean it. “I’m serious! He was flirting with both of us. We have a head start.”

Kit shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

“Come on, I’ll prove it.”

“Theo, don’t—”

He grabs a handful of my sleeve to stop me. I raise my eyebrows, and he lets it go, pauses, then smooths it back into place.

“Why not?”

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