Page 95 of The Layover

‘Or pizza on the floor of an airport.’

‘Or drinking games fuelled by duty-free booze.’

‘Or taxis stolen from lovelorn strippers,’ he says, and then, more earnestly, ‘And I can’t promise that sometimes I won’t have to cancel because my family need me, or—’

‘Leon,’ I interrupt, and I press two fingers to his lips to shut him up just like he did to me last night, and it really is unerringlyeffective. His eyes widen a little, and darken. I lower my hand back to his chest, and go up on my tiptoes to press a feather-light kiss to his lips instead.

It’s hardly a kiss at all.

But, God, is it so much more than anything I’ve ever felt before.

It’s dizzying and grounding all at once. It feels like a promise, and a homecoming, and we both inhale sharply at the same time before I move away.

‘I’d really like to go on a date with you,’ I repeat.

He breaks into a smile so wide that my heart skips a beat, and I’m grinning back at him.

The music changes – moving all too abruptly from a classic John Legend ballad into an upbeat, catchy new Dua Lipa song. Some of the crowd around us cheer as they start singing and dancing along, and before I can quite catch my breath from the finally-kiss, someone hurls an arm around my shoulder, and around Leon’s, making my forehead smack into his chin and both of us yelp.

Gemma, a little bit tipsy, with an open bottle of last night’s limoncello in her hand, shouts, ‘I love you guys so much. Can I be your maid of honour too?’

I’m not sure if it’s me or Leon who’s blushing more, but I wrap an arm around Gemma to hug her back.

‘Do you guys want to get out of here and go drink on the beach? I’ve got macarons, too.’ She moves her arm away from Leon to reveal a Ladurée bag. ‘I stole the ones David brought Kayleigh; I feel like he’d really wantusto have them.’

‘Absolutely yes,’ I say, unable to imagine anything better than spending the rest of the wedding – well, not at the wedding, but with these two instead. Gemma and I have already made plans to meet up when we get home, and to hang out tomorrow, too,before we have to leave. I take the bag from her. ‘Macarons sound perfect. When in France, right?’

‘Dibs on the pistachio,’ Leon says.

Which maybe isn’t a grand romantic gesture, but it sure feels like one.

He slips an arm around my waist and Gemma links her elbow with mine, and the three of us leave the wedding behind.