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God, he’s sweet. Would marrying him be the worst thing I could do?
“Come on,” I say, not wanting to linger on any growing emotions. “Help me pick out a postcard for my mom.”
We head over to the postcard stands — there are three display racks that are as tall as Aiden, holding hundreds of cards featuring different designs jammed into the holders. “Silly or tasteful?” he asks.
I laugh like the answer isn’t obvious. “Silly, obviously. Whoever genuinely wants a tasteful postcard?”
“Don’t be so sure. One year, I was away in Venice for some conference and I sent my mother this hilarious cartoon gondolier postcard. And she was not impressed.”
“Well, my mom has a sense of humor,” I say, then quickly add, “Sorry. I didn’t mean that to sound like that.”
He chuckles, not a trace of hurt on his face. “Ah, no, you’re not wrong. That woman hasn’t smiled a day in her life.”
“You didn’t have a lot of luck with parents, huh?”
He shrugs, a sudden cold descending over the conversation. I wish I hadn’t brought this up at all. He always looks so sad when he’s vulnerable.
“Hey, at least they made me rich,” he says, making a weak joke. I smile in response, desperate to return to the lighthearted banter we were enjoying only seconds ago.
The silence between us isn’t entirely comfortable, so I search the postcards with increasing urgency. I walk behind one of the stands and rotate it round and round, the shapes blurring into one. Aiden stands on the other side of the rack, looking as lost as me. Through the mesh, I catch his eye and make a face, and to my relief he smiles in return, sticking his tongue out.
As everything seems to with us, the moment escalates into trying to outdo each other for the dumbest face until our noses brush against the plastic coating of the rack, the postcards rattling in the shelves. I break away in laughter as Aiden crosses his eyes and flares his nostrils in such a ridiculous way that I’m willing to let him win for a change.
He stands up too but knocks a card to the floor. I bend down to pick it up and flip it over — it’s a highly edited “wish you were here” collage of uniquely terrible photos of the cove. “This one is perfect,” I say, beaming.
“Let me?” he says, holding out his hand.
“I can pay fifty cents for myself,” I say, clinging onto my postcard out of pride.
Aiden gives me a look that’s somewhere between fond and petulant. “I know you can. You can give me the money later if it really makes you feel better. But if I’m buying her” — he gestures to the mermaid — “then I might as well simplify things and speed the process up.”
With the biggest frown I can muster, I hand it over. “Why do you want that thing, anyway?”
“A souvenir,” he says, his eyes warm with such affection that I can’t look away. “Of the time we spent here. I don’t want to forget.”
I keep frowning, but I can’t deny it to myself any longer.
If he leaned in now to kiss me, not only would I not resist, but I’d welcome it. I’ve tried so hard to fight it, but the truth is undeniable. From the moment we met, I’ve felt a connection to Aiden, and seeing him outside the context of work is making my attraction grow and grow beyond my control.
It’s not love. But there’s a part of me that’s sayingnot yet…
CHAPTER24
AIDEN
We wander the streets for a couple hours, and though it’s fun going into shops with Candice and laughing as she tries on silly hats and ridiculous sweaters, my stomach starts rumbling so loudly I can’t ignore it anymore.
She’s sliding some particularly obnoxious joke glasses onto my face as it grumbles again. “Is that you?” she asks, biting her lip to not laugh.
“I haven’t eaten since breakfast!”
“Neither have I,” she says like that’s a good comeback.
“All right. Let’s get dinner, then.”
Her face crumples, and my stomach twinges in hungry pain at the idea of her saying no to food. “It’s early for dinner, isn’t it?” she says.
“It’s past three,” I say, glancing at my watch. “A late lunch, then?”
