I nod. The word spontaneous makes me think of Gus, who’s been texting me nonstop. I look at my phone now, seeing a new message, telling me that he signed up for Hulu just so he could watch my show.

I start to write him back, but I get distracted watching Hannah pull up Instagram on her phone, then type a DM. She angles her screen away from me, which only piques my interest. She must sense that I’m trying to read over her shoulder because she quickly swipes out of the app.

“Who were you just messaging?” I ask.

“No one,” she says.

“Yeah, right. I know a sneaky maneuver when I see one,” I say with a laugh.

“It was just a friend,” she says.

“As long as it’s not Grady,” I say.

“It’s not. He’s still blocked.”

“And he hasn’t tried to email you?”

“No. But he did Venmo me five dollars—”

“What the hell? Why?” she asks.

“So he could send me a message and confirm that I got it. Can’t do that with email.”

“What a cheapskate,” Tyson says.

“Yeah,” I say. “Send him a dollar back and tell him if he has something further to say via Venmo, it’ll cost him a grand.”

Hannah smiles as I ask what his message said. She pulls it up, reading in a monotone: “Hi, Hannah. I hope you’re doing well, wherever you are. I miss you and hope you’ll give me a call sometime soon. I just want to hear your voice.” She stops suddenly and says, “Blah blah blah.”

“Shut the fuck up, man,” Tyson says, giving Hannah’s phone a dismissive wave. “Nobody wants to hear your shit.”

“Literally nobody. It’s driving him crazy that he doesn’t know where you are. But at least he knows who you’re with,” I say, giving Tyson a knowing look.

“You really think Tyson bothers him?” Hannah asks me.

“Yes. It’s one thing to skip town with your girlfriends, it’s another to jet-set with this hottie….” My voice trails off, as I demonstratively look Tyson up and down.

“Thank you?” Tyson says.

“You’re welcome,” I say. “And on that note, I think it’s time for a strategic Instagram story.”

“But he can’t see my story,” Hannah says. “He’s blocked.”

“He can still see my story,” I say, pulling my phone out of my bag.

“Rest your hand on Tyson’s leg and look here,” I say to Hannah. I know it’s a bit childish, but I can’t help myself.

“Lainey!” she says. “I’m not gonna put my hand on his leg!”

“Okay, fine. But at least look at him and smile. Tyson, pretend you just said something funny.”

They both sigh and cave. I take a few pictures, then swipe through them, looking for the best one of Hannah.

“This one’s perfect,” I say. “You look happy.”

She gives me a tight smile. “I’m trying to be.”

“You’ll get there,” I say. “And in the meantime, everyone will see this.”

I start to upload the photo to my story, then decide it needs a caption. I brainstorm for a few seconds, then type: And we’re off! Here’s to new beginnings!

Now reading over my shoulder, Hannah laughs and says, “You’re too much.”

“I almost wrote something worse,” I tell her.

“Oh, Lord. What was that?”

“Here’s to the Mile High Club.” I laugh.

“Lainey!” Hannah gasps. “You wouldn’t!”

“Wouldn’t write that caption, or wouldn’t join that club?” I ask.

“The caption,” Hannah says. “Both!”

“I’m sure she’s already a platinum member of the club,” Tyson says with a smirk.

“Platinum?” I say, making a pfft sound. “Try diamond.”

Chapter 13

Tyson

Planes, trains, automobiles, and ferries.

It’s a long journey to Capri, and it crosses my mind that people need to stop saying they “love to travel” when the actual traveling part sucks. Especially when it involves jet lag and Lainey.

I’m mostly kidding about Lainey, though she does have a way of making things more complicated than they need to be. When we arrive in the Naples train station, she suggests that we take a long, expensive Uber ride in the direction away from our ferry to a pizzeria that she once read about in a novel. We are literally surrounded by pizza, yet she wants to eat a slice that a fictional character declared orgasmic.

I put my foot down and tell her that ain’t happening—I just want to get to Capri and relax. She lets the dream die, but is now in a souvenir shop by the ferry landing, trying on straw hats. She models each one for the young male clerk while Hannah and I watch her from outside the store.

I feel myself start to get agitated. “If we miss our ferry, I’m going to be so pissed,” I say to Hannah.

She nods, glances at her watch, and says, “I know. But we should be fine. Give her a few more minutes.”

A second later, she emerges, beaming in her new hat, then leads the charge to the ferry.

“See?” she says, giving me a smug look. “I told you we had plenty of time!”