Tom positions his phone at the right angle. He tries a few different perspectives for variety. My fingers curl around the railing, cold seeping straight through the gloves. I do a few poses until he gives me a thumbs-up.
Back at his side, I take the phone and scroll through the shots. The canals, the ice, and my scarf are all showing just how fucking cold it is here. Perfect. Tiffy will love it.
Just as I hit send, the screen glitches.
Strange.The photo goes out anyway.
I look up from the screen, catching the frown between Tom’s brows. He always does that when something’s bothering him. Is it still Finn?
“They look amazing. I love how you always notice the smallest details,” I say, still studying his face. Whatever it was, he hides it behind his artist smile.
“It’s not me, it’s the model. You should let me sketch you. I’m sure we could make something beautiful together.”
“Paint me like one of your French girls,” I tease.
Tom lets out a low whistle, I can practically see the image forming behind his eyes.
“Never been more grateful for the two-hand thing,” he says. “Because the pencil won’t be the only hard thing I’m holding.”
Now I’m the one with the indecent picture in my head. I hide my smile behind my scarf, but I’m pretty sure my eyes sell me out.
Our knuckles touch, pinkies hook. Just for a second because Tom raises his hand to greet someone new. When I follow his line of sight, I spot astroopwafeltruck on the other side of the canal. Hints of caramel and pumpkin spice fill my nostrils. They seem to be selling all kinds of freshly baked goods.
We cross the bridge like moths to a flame.
“Next stop,” Tom says. “You want one?”
My eyes land on the all-vegan menu.
“Finally something I can eat without regret.”
Tom rests his hand on the counter and starts his usual smooth style of conversation. I don’t catch a word, but the girl’s reaction says enough. Surprised, pleased, curious.
She asks something. Probably where he’s been. Tom says Avalon, so I’d guessed right.
“Can we have two veganstroopwafels,please?” he asks, then switches back to Dutch.
The girl mentions Joan. That must be their connection. She looks about Joan’s age, too.
Out of nowhere, Joan’s voice echoes in my head:Tom introduces me to his friends, I bring my girlies to Tom.
“Girlies.” I nearly choke on the word.
I glance between them. It looks friendly. Still, something feels heavy inside me. Every time he talks to a young, attractive woman, my mind runs ahead of me. With the number of people who greet him like this, it’s easy to imagine he’s worked his way through half the city.
Nonsense, I know that. I should erase those thoughts.
Tom wouldn’t have brought me here if he had history with her. Neither of us wants a repeat of this morning’s disaster.
A warm paper packet lands in my hands.
“Here you go. I checked with her, just to be safe. It’s absolutely vegan.”
I take off my gloves. The smell of caramel and spice reaches my senses as I open it.
“I can handle small amounts of lactose. It’s more the anxiety that kicks in.”
Tom bumps his shoulder into mine. “You don’t have to explain, I’ve got you.”
