Page 160

The corner of his mouth lifts. “Like Illuminati?”

“Yes, I eat this stuff up,” I say excitedly. “How have we never talked about this?”

“About how Avril Lavigne was replaced by a look-alike named Melissa?”

“Absolutely, she was.”

He leans forward. “What are your thoughts on the Bermuda Triangle?”

“I’ll never go near it unless I want to die.”

“Conspira-Vinny and Emma-nati.” Vinny sniffs out a laugh. “I like it. I should’ve known we’d be in sync on this.”

I smile. “Must be all the documentaries.”

“Probably so.”

“Speaking of documentaries.” I carry my empty plate to the sink. “Maybe we could binge-watch one—unless you have somewhere else you need or want to be.”

Instantly, Vinny’s beside me, rinsing his plate. I feel the warmth of his presence all the way down to my toes. He shifts, leaning his hip against the counter as he turns to face me.

His eyes meet mine. “Emma, I don’t have anywhere else I want to be.”

Oh.

My nervous system settles a little.

I peek up at him. “Okay. Let’s pick something to watch, then.”

That’s when my mind takes me back over a month ago, when Juliet said that Vinny and I should only watch documentaries when we’re alone together.

At the time, I couldn’t even conceive of it ever happening.

And now, I’m grabbing the remote, wondering how close I should sit next to him.

VINNY

Six inches separate Emma and me.

I’ve been aware of every single one of them for the last hour, watching the space between our legs like it’s part of the docuseries.

Six inches.

That’s stupid.

Friends don’t need six inches of space.

Emma and I have sat next to each other on couches hundreds of times over the years. We’ve crammed into booths and cars and sat shoulder-to-shoulder dozens of times before this.

But tonight, sitting next to each other is complicated.

I shift my leg slightly.

Five inches.

Better.

“I think he killed his wife. That’s going to be the big reveal in the final episode,” she says.