In a recent text, Olivia asked how we chose Italy. It led to a conversation about travel—and a lot of the places she’s been—and I found myself perusing her Instagram. She isn’t a prolific poster, but I’ve gleaned quite a bit about her. I know she has a bleeding heart, especially when it comes to animals. I know she loves sports, and her teams are the Astros, the Cowboys, and, of course, the Texas Longhorns. She’s obsessed with music of seemingly all genres and loves going to concerts. She seems to spend as much time as she can outdoors—biking and hiking and even fishing.
One thing I can’t discern from her social media is her relationship status, past or present. My guess is that she is one of those people who scrubs her page after a breakup, and I decide that I will do the same as soon as I can stomach looking at Grady’s face long enough to delete old posts. Incredibly, I feel like I’m getting there.
—
We are now having lunch at a restaurant down by the water. As Tyson looks out over the sea, I notice a wistful expression on his face. I wonder if he’s thinking about Summer. I glance away, hit by a wave of intense sadness. It suddenly doesn’t feel right to avoid the pain. For any of us. I look back at Tyson and decide to push him to tell Lainey what I already know about their relationship. It feels like the right moment—or at least it feels like the wrong moment not to tell her.
Unfortunately, the conversation doesn’t go well, and Tyson gets upset. Once again, my instincts have proven wrong.
My stomach in knots, I head to the restroom, hoping the tension will dissipate by the time I return to the table.
On my way back, I stall, lingering by the bar and checking my phone. There are several new texts from Olivia, including a funny anecdote about her coach. Smiling, I start to type a reply, then feel someone hovering nearby.
I look up and find myself face-to-face with the Jude Law doppelgänger. With wavy blond hair, glacier-blue eyes, and golden skin, he’s even more striking up close.
“Hello,” he says, smiling at me.
Flustered, I smile back, glad that I touched up my makeup in the bathroom. “Hello.”
“How was your lunch?” he asks. I can’t place his accent but hear a lilt that sounds Australian, South African, or maybe Irish.
“Delicious,” I say. “Yours?”
“Excellent,” he says.
We grin at each other for a few more seconds, until I do a quick glance over at Tyson and Lainey.
He follows my gaze, then says, “I’m sorry. Do you need to get back to your friend? Boyfriend? Husband?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Both of my friends are fine.”
“In that case,” he says, taking a step closer to me, “I’m Archie.”
“Oh, my goodness! I had a cat named Archie when I was little!” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
“You better keep that info under wraps,” he says. “Someone could steal your identity with that sort of ‘childhood pet’ intel.”
“That’s true,” I say, giggling. “That is a common security question.”
He grins and says, “Wait. By any chance, is your name Biscuit?”
“No. It’s Hannah,” I say, laughing. “Biscuit was your childhood pet?”
“No,” he says. “You just look like a Biscuit.”
I laugh harder. “Why, thank you for such a kind compliment!”
Archie smiles, then asks if I’m from the States.
I nod and say, “Yes. Atlanta, Georgia.”
“Where Donald Trump got arrested?”
“Ugh. Sadly, yes,” I say, embarrassed that my home state is known for an election shitstorm. “What about you?”
“Have a guess.”
“Ireland?”
“Close. They’re our Celtic neighbors.”
“Oh! Scotland?”
He nods.
“Whereabouts in Scotland?” I ask.
“Aberdeen,” he says. “It’s north of St. Andrews and east of Balmoral. On the coast.”
“How close to Balmoral?” I ask, wondering if he’s ever seen the royal family traipsing around the castle.
“Not far. About an hour. And no, I never saw the queen, God rest her soul. Or the king. Long may he reign.”
I laugh. “How’d you know I was going to ask that?”
“Because you’re American,” he says, smiling. “Americans love the royals.”
“So? Have you seen any of them?”
