Page 91 of The Pairing

“Not the mustache,” Theo says.

“Non i baffi!” Fabrizio agrees. “And then?”

“And then—” Theo gives me a maddeningly brief squeeze before taking their hand away, leaving me wanting. I forget the end of the story. “And then he jumps up, steals a sword off the guy at the next table, and tries to attack the waiter, andthat’swhen he gets arrested.”

Fabrizio, delighted, thanks me for a new story to use in Rome.As soon as he’s pulled into another conversation, I lean in to Theo’s ear.

“What are you doing?”

Theo smiles angelically. “Telling you my plans for the night.”

“Oh.” I nod. “Good to know.”

After that, I expect us to sneak off when dinner ends, but we each get the arm of a Calum flung over our shoulders, and before we can protest, we’re whisked into the streets of Florence. Stig is with us too, and Fabrizio, and Montana and Dakota and a few more of the younger people from the tour group. We wind up in a small, dark bar with glittering glass mosaics and red leather booths and a swordfish on the wall. Fabrizio has Theo order for us, and the bartender uncorks two bottles of young Brunello.

After so many days together, conversation flows easily. Theo and Stig compare notes on backpacking through the Rockies versus Jotunheim. Fabrizio and the Calums discuss their favorite New Zealand beaches. I prop my elbows on the bar and beg Dakota and Montana to tell me more about their work trip to Tokyo, where they dropped acid with a Moroccan prince. Theo insists on buying two more bottles for the group, this time a softer, fruitier Morellino di Scansano.

By round three, Stig and Fabrizio are shouting about the last World Cup, and Dakota and Montana are bending their heads together at one end of the bar, whispering behind their hands. At the other end, the Calums unconvincingly pretend to study the cocktail menu instead of eavesdropping. I watch Theo accept a glass from a handsome bartender who eyes them with interest, but they’re already turning their body toward mine, bumping our knees together.

“I have a question,” I say.

Theo raises their eyebrows as they drink.Go on.

“Is our competition still on?”

They swallow. “Yeah, why? You want to call it before you lose?”

“No, I was just wondering how you’ll find time to maintainyour lead if you’re hooking up with me.”

A moment goes by. Fabrizio continues talking shit about the Portuguese national team. Dakota makes a move toward the Calums.

“Yeah, about that,” Theo says. “I have a confession. My numbers may be . . . slightly inflated.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t hook up with the fruit-stand girl in Saint-Jean-de-Luz.”

“But—” I can still see the intent in their gaze when they told me how well they could get Juliette off, feel the hot twist in my gut. “I saw you kissing her.”

“Yeah, we kissed, but then—I kind of got curved. I didn’t want to tell you because I was a little jealous of you and Paloma. So, it’s not six to four, it’s five to four.”

I shake my head.

“Five to three.”

It’s Theo’s turn to frown. “What?”

“I didn’t sleep with Paloma either.”

Theo puts their glass down with force.

“What? You left with her!”

But it’s true. As soon as she broke the kiss, she patted me on the cheek like a lost dog and said, “I think I would rather be your friend.” And then she invited me over out of charity, and I sat in her kitchen and told her about my job and asked how she knew she didn’t want to do what I do.

“Yes,” I say. “We made crepes and talked about culinary school. That was all.”

I may have also tearfully confided in her how much I still love Theo while Great-Uncle Mikel made me a cup of tea.

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