“You’re sweet,” I say.
“I know.” He grins, smug as ever.
I groan. “Ugh, and there goes your charm again.”
“You love my charm,” he complains.
“Go on, what else will inflate your ego?” I roll my eyes but smile, because I do love his charm.
The fire cracks between us.
The others are deep in a heated debate about who would survive a zombie apocalypse.
I lean into Luca’s side, feeling the warmth of the fire and him—my two favorite kinds of safe.
After a while, I whisper, “You know what I realized?”
“What?”
“I think this–” I gesture around us, “--this is my favorite version of my life.”
He smiles, eyes soft and steady. “Mine too.”
“Even more than Paris?” I tease.
“Paris wasn’t my life. Sure, it was amazing, and I will definitely remember it for the rest of my life, but Paris was a dream.”
Matt’s voice cuts through the moment like a cymbal crash. “Okay, lovebirds, enough staring into each other’s souls, it’s creeping me out!”
Luca throws a marshmallow at him. “Then stop looking. I’m not about to stop admiring my girl.”
“Well, admire her less, because I’m still alive and I feel kinda betrayed.”
I laugh as Luca glares at him.
“Don’t worry, Matt, I still love you,” I smile.
I pull out my phone and snap a photo of the moment.
It’s not a planned photo, just one that captures the reality of the situation.
Sure, no one is perfectly set up, but that’s the beauty of it.
My favorite kind of memory.
As I look at the picture, Luca leans in and whispers, “I love you, Tilly.”
I turn to him, heart fluttering like a kite. “I love you too.”
“Good, because you’re stuck with me.”
We stay by the fire long after the sun has disappeared behind the horizon, and the stars slowly wake up one by one.
The sound of waves lapping against the shore becomes a gentle backdrop to our laughter and chatter.
Luca has his arm around me, his hand lazily brushing over my arm.
“Hey,” I say, nudging him lightly. “Do you remember when we tried to make s’mores in the kitchen and ended up setting the paper towels on fire?”
