Page 68 of The Pairing

After lunch, Kit magics up a paper bag of fried pastries and follows me down to the harbor. He’s wearing a miniscule pair of tight mustard swim trunks and an insane spindrift-blue silk shirt with a trim of yellow and blue waves and a nude woman riding a dolphin over the pockets. His hair is loose, caught up in the breeze off the water, and I’d like to either put my legs around him or push him off a pier.

“Nice shirt,” I say. “You look like you suck dick at Caesars Palace.”

“Thank you,” he says, adjusting his sunglasses. “I’ve been saving it for Monaco.”

My own shirt is an afterthought, all-purpose oversized linen open over a black two-piece swimsuit. Part laziness, part need for Kit to look at my body.

Falling back in love doesn’t mean I forgive him, and not forgiving him doesn’t mean I stopped wanting him to want me. It might even be more delicious if he wanted me now. I feel equally likely to reject him or fuck him to destroy myself, and today, unpredictability tastes good. A bright tang of possibility.

I hop up on a pier railing and bite into one of the half-moon pastries. Inside its flaky crust, it’s stuffed with swiss chard and ricotta.

“They’re the local thing,” Kit says. “Barbagiuan.”

“I guess every culture really does have their own dumpling.”

Kit chews and swallows, watching me teeter on the railing.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“I’m great.” I stretch my arms wide like Kit did in the lavender fields, as if my fingertips could graze the Alps if I reach far enough. “Monaco is fucking beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is,” he says, not looking at the mountains. “Listen, about what you saw yesterday—”

“Oh, right, we need to update our numbers. With Santiago and Apolline, you’re at five now, right?”

“Well—”

“And then I’ve got Caterina and my guy from last night.”

The paper bag crunches in Kit’s hands. “Last night?”

“Didn’t catch his name. That’s six to five.”

“Six to four.”

“Six to. ..” I drop my arms, counting again. “No, it’s five.”

Kit sighs and tosses the last bite of his barbagiuan into the water. Fish bubble up to finish it.

“Nothing happened with Apolline. She got—I don’t know, caught up in the moment, and she kissed me, but that was all. After you left, I helped her close up and got dinner on my own. What you saw didn’t mean anything.”

The look on his face isn’t unlike the one he gave me in that cave in San Sebastián, but I don’t know why he’d care so much about being believed now. He certainly hasn’t minded any of the other times I’ve seen him with someone else.

Unless I was right about what kind of friends they were.

“So, that was the first time you kissed?”

His beat of hesitation confirms it before he does. I have to laugh.

“Therewas— Yes, we did hook up years ago, but it was only once, and I wasn’t—”

I hop down. “Kit, I don’t care.”

“You don’t?”

“Of course not. Except for, you know, prior history would have disqualified her from the competition anyway, for the record. But, no, why would I care? Does it seem like I care?”

“.. .No?”

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