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“You snore,” she grumbles, her voice muffled. “Plus we went to bed late.”
“That wasn’tcompletelymy fault,” I say, poking her leg with my toes. She kicks back, grumbling again, and before we know it, the retaliations lead us back into each other’s arms, giggling.
She sighs as she gives in to my embrace, resting her head on my chest to look at me. “I should shower. And so should you.”
“You saying I smell? Thanks,” I say sardonically, pretending to be more upset than I am.
She rolls her eyes at me. “We both do. Anyway, I thought you’d leap at the chance to get in a shower with me.”
“It was a group invitation?”
“If you want it to be.”
I pretend to contemplate the answer as if we don’t both know it already. “Okay, I’m persuaded. Shower, breakfast, then we should probably find June.”
“Why?” she asks, her lip curling.
“Well…” I stammer, realizing I can’t actually think of a reason at all. “We did kind of run away from her.”
“So let’s do it again today. What’s stopping us?”
I don’t have an answer to that either, so I say nothing. The idea of spending a day alone with Candice does seem way more fun than June’s weird card games — it was yesterday.
We get up and shower, eventually, and the bathroom is so big that we could have fit four more people into the cubicle and still barely all have touched. Watching Candice like this, casually naked and completely at ease with herself, is a sight I can barely look away from. There’s a radiance from her confidence that makes me want to drop to one knee here and now.
Not that she’d appreciate that.
Because we don’t have anywhere to be, we take our time getting ready. I watch as the hot wind from the hairdryer puffs her hair up, surrounding her head like a fluffy, golden halo. It’s a blessing to have her trust again. I’d be stupid to let that go again.
“Let’s get breakfast out,” she says, pulling on her pants and a light-green shirt that flatters her figure without being too tight. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Okay,” I say, though I don’t need any persuading. The hotel breakfast was mediocre anyway. I swear I’m not getting my money’s worth for this place.
The morning is warm when we step out into it, the sun hazy behind clouds, a faint breeze making the trees sway and shadows swim before us. I brush my hand over Candice’s knuckles as we walk, asking a silent question that she answers by lacing her fingers through mine. We barely speak as we walk into town, letting the morning air envelop us in a comfortable quiet.
It’s almost easy to forget all the headaches of work out here. It’s almost easy to believe I’m here with my fiancée, enjoying a vacation without a care in the world. Is this how normal people feel — like they don’t have the weight of an entire legacy on their shoulders?
Candice leads me towards a pastry store she says she saw yesterday. I kind of stopped paying attention after we’d been in and out of so many gift stores, but her eyes sparkle with the suggestion, and a chocolate croissant does sound pretty good right about now. Or a waffle. Or anything, really. My stomach is starting to get over all the pizza and wants more. It’s never satisfied.
“Thank God it’s open,” says Candice as we wander underneath a faded awning, the red stripes having seen enough weather to make them blend with the white and give the whole thing a muddy-pink quality. “I’m hungry.”
“Me too. We should have had cold breakfast pizza before we came out.”
Candice sticks her tongue out as she makes a face of utter disgust. “Gross. You don’t grill leftover pizza?”
I open my mouth and pretend to be shocked. “Nothing better than cold pizza the next morning when it’s got all super-greasy.”
“And soggy? Blech.” She shakes her head sadly. “Come on, let me treat you to a pastry.”
“But—” I start, but she silences me with a glare before I can protest.
“Absolutely not. You got dinner, so breakfast is on me. Fair’s fair.”
She drags me inside and we’re hit with the warm, buttery smell of baking goods. My stomach grumbles in anticipation, which makes Candice laugh. It’s the most beautiful sound I could hear right now, except maybe for the crunch of fresh crusty bread.
“I’ll get a chocolate croissant, two cinnamon buns, and a loaf of sourdough, thanks,” I say to the guy behind the counter.
Candice raises her eyebrow at me.
