Chapter 11
COLE
I partially listened to the conversation around me, from my companions and other diners, while marveling at how few people lingered in town when this afternoon had been a crush of tourists.
We ate not far from our hotel on a side street lined with cafés and shops.
Outside, the night balmy where the day had been downright hot, it was an entirely pleasant experience.
Or it would be, if I wasn’t utterly exhausted.
A dangerous way to live, courting disappointment as she did. But, I supposed, thrilling too. Finally, she remembered to take a sip.
And then she looked at me, disapproving.
Because I didn’t join the conversation? Or because I’d considered leaving?
It was a half-hearted consideration, and I was self-aware enough to realize I’d only brought it up to see how she would react.
And in true Juliette fashion, she gave me the answer I sought.
There was a part of her that couldn’t stand me. That much was obvious. But another part of her…
“Does he do this a lot?” she asked Parker, who studied me like a chemistry assignment he didn’t quite understand.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “He’s probably building a historical timeline of our conversation instead of joining it. Classic Cole.”
“The subject in question,” I reminded them, “is sitting right here.”
“The thing is,” Parker continued, apparently finished with his margarita pizza and prepared to pontificate about my finer, or not-so-finer, qualities, “Cole is totally misunderstood.”
“Is that so?” An amused Juliette showed her skepticism.
“It’s true.” Delaney jumped to my defense. “One time, we were having Taco Night at the Inn and Cole gave us all margarita-making lessons. I remember telling Parker,” she said, her tone softer now, “it was the first time I felt like you really let your guard down around me.”
Talking about myself was not my favorite thing to do, but I appreciated the sentiment.
“I remember that night clearly. And the following morning too. Unfortunately.”
“Yeah.” Delaney laughed. “That was a tough one.”
“So what’s the trick?” Juliette asked, her eyes bright. “To a good margarita?”
“Fresh lime. That’s the whole secret. If it comes from a bottle, it’s already ruined.”
“How did you become a pro-margarita maker? Did you bartend?”
“Hell, no. I don’t have the patience. Beck.”
“Ahh, of course. He’s a great bartender. Makes the best Cosmo I’ve ever had.”
We talked about drinks. Beck. His and Mae’s wedding plans.
Parker and Delaney’s wedding. Turned out Juliette and I had a shared a fondness for Star Wars, although I wasn’t sure why it shocked her so much that I was a long-time fan.
I forgot how tired I was, caught up in the smell of wood-fired pizza and good local wine.
Before we knew it, the restaurant had cleared out.
“I honestly thought we’d be the first ones to leave,” Delaney said when Parker noticed we were one of three last tables remaining. “You guys must be wiped.”
“No big deal,” Parker said. “Just your regular, inter-continental finance-rescuing day.”
“Thank you both,” Juliette said in a rare moment of seriousness. “I feel incredibly stupid for leaving that backpack and don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t come.”
“You’d have figured it out,” I offered, knowing it to be true. “But we’re glad to be here.”
Juliette’s smile reached her eyes.
And it was true. This was the last place on earth I expected to be twenty-four hours ago, but I was glad it shook out this way. I’d have to make a note to leave room in my life for a bit more spontaneity.
“So should we hit the sack?” Parker offered.
I caught Juliette’s gaze.
Same room. But she was off-limits. My buddies may all have broken our bachelor pact, but I wasn’t planning to follow in their footsteps, and fucking around with Delaney’s best friend wasn’t on the cards.
Maybe I should have more seriously entertained leaving Italy.
“Sounds good,” Juliette said, breaking eye contact with me. “Tomorrow’s a big day.”
If we made it to tomorrow.
Strolling back, not a problem. Separating from Parker and Delaney. Easy. Watching Juliette grab a slip of fabric from her suitcase and disappear into the bathroom? Torture.
Thankfully, despite my errant imagination, it was a pair of cotton sleep shorts and tee.
“Oh,” was her startled response when I came out of the bathroom in boxers.
“I probably should have warned you. These,” I said, folding my clothes into a neat pile beside my bag, “were for Parker’s benefit. I usually sleep nude.”
In bed, with the covers to her waist, Juliette continued to stare.
I was used to it, but not from her. Usually I could tell what women were thinking when they looked at me that way.
Or more precisely, finding themselves in my bedroom, their attraction was a forgone conclusion.
But Juliette seemed less impressed than most by abs that were, admittedly, becoming harder and harder to keep.
She stared, but in a way that left more questions than answers. Curious. Confused.
“Go ahead,” I said, plugging my phone in and climbing into bed. “I can tell you want to say something.”
“It’s just… that’s not at all what I thought you’d look like. Under your shirt. I mean, glasses.”
It occurred to me that Juliette looked exactly like I thought she would, tucked in bed as she was. She didn’t wear much makeup, and besides her hair piled up and clipped in some claw thing, she looked exactly as she had all day… poised somewhere between beautifully feminine and extremely fuckable.
“I’m blind without them,” I said, putting my glasses back on. Considering the first part, I added. “You thought I had a dad bod?”
“No,” she scoffed. “Obviously I could tell you work out. But I didn’t expect…”
Mark this as the first time a woman was literally left speechless in my presence. The thought brought a smile to my face.
“Didn’t expect?” I prompted.
“Never mind. So anyway.” She leaned over to flip off the lamp between us, giving me a brief glance of her ample bosom before the room went dark.
“Do you sleep with the TV on?”
I settled in. “No. Who does that?”
“Lots of people.”
The room, nearly pitch black, smelled faintly of Juliette.
It was going to be a long night.
“Do you?”
“No. But I do usually scroll my phone before bed. It’s been weird without it.”
“That’s not good for your sleep.”
“Do you only do things that are good for you?”
I thought about that for a second. “I try my best.”
“So Mr. Perfect does have vices?”
Mr. Perfect. Far from it.
“I do.”
“What are they?”
“You first.”
She moved around in the bed. I’d been banking on the fact that I’d nearly fallen asleep at dinner at one point to get me through the night. But I was oddly wide awake and fully aware of the danger zone we’d entered stepping into this bedroom alone.
“Food. I love it.”
“There’s nothing wrong with loving food. It’s one of life’s greatest pleasures.”
“Sure, but some people have one bad food they like. Sweets. Or salty treats. I like all of it. Give me a cupcake or potato chips, and I’m here for it.”
“Cupcakes aren’t evil. In moderation, of course.”
“Of course. Now your turn.”
“Women,” I said before I could think better of it. Whiskey would have done just fine.
“There’s nothing wrong with women. They’re one of life’s greatest pleasures.”
Touché, Juliette. Smiling into the dark, I considered a few possible responses and discarded them all.
“You’re not going to elaborate, are you?”
“No,” I said immediately. “I’m not.”
“Hmm. Safer topic then. The opposite of vices. Things you like?”
And so it went as we traded favorite things.
At first, they were surface level. Her love of old movies or any place with an ocean.
My penchant for good whiskey and late-night walks.
Eventually we traded deeper enjoyments. When I said I liked conversation with people who surprised me, she asked if ours qualified.
It did.
Juliette’s voice drifted through the dark, soft and curious. One hour bled into the next until, at one point, I asked stupidly if she always did this… Got under people’s skin without even trying.
Silence.
Not the thoughtful kind she’d given me all night, which was when I realized she’d drifted off to sleep. And the worst part?
I missed her voice immediately.