After adjusting to make sure you're both inside the frame, you scrunch your nose at the camera and take the photo. You giggle, sending it to Frank with a Surprise!! text.
Diane shakes her head kindly. "He's gonna be so mad."
Your tiny spoon prods your coffee gelato as you place the phone face down. "Let him be mad." Dick.
"Thanks for asking me to come." She smiles, hugging her knees closer to her chest and tapping her boots on the dark cobblestone. "I'm surprised you thought of me."
You poke her. "We're practically sisters-in-law."
"When's Frank proposing?" she teases.
You lean on her shoulder, sighing. "This whole thing went too far, huh?"
"No shit."
"We're ridiculous." You grimace. "I'm sorry for taking you down with us."
"Even if it blows up, it'll be worth it." She grins, lifting a scoop of half-melted chocolate to her lips. "Would love to see the dumbfounded look on her face."
You stand, offering a hand for her to join you. Diane grins, her light eyes reflecting the yellow lamps illuminating the street.
"It's been a long time since I've done anything like this," she murmurs. "Almost all my vacations end up being related to research."
You shrug happily. "This is my work trip, Adler, you're only here to enjoy the ride."
She hums. "Are you nervous for the interview?"
"Nope," you reply breezily. "Nothing to lose, everything to gain."
You know you'll regret the caffeinated dessert in your tummy tonight, already seeing yourself tossing and turning, desperately willing your muscles to relax enough for you to sleep, pleading for your brain to stop obsessively rehearsing the responses to the interview questions they'll ask you tomorrow morning.
She glances to the ground, syncing your strides. "Do you really think you'll be more satisfied somewhere else?"
"Worth a shot, isn't it?" You stuff another spoonful inside your mouth, savoring the richness dissolving on your tongue. "Have you ever thought about leaving?"
Diane chuckles, scratching her head. "All the time."
That surprises you. "Why don't you?" When she shrugs, you nudge her side. "You're a million times smarter than me, Miss MIT. You could go anywhere."
"A million is an exaggeration," she replies coyly.
"Don't do the math thing with me." You pause. "You could get away. From all the drama."
Her smile is faint. "I'm afraid, wherever I go, my problems will follow." Diane folds her arms, her cup of gelato tucked inside her elbow.
Unsure of how to respond, you nod, then raise your face to the cold sky.
You think about Frank and his early fascination with space. How astronomers have to leave telescope lenses open and upward for days to let all that thousands-year-old light in.
"What do you even like about Europe, anyway?" Frank had asked once.
"It's just different," you replied. "It's not here."
So you widen your eyes, absorbing it while you can: the tidy storefronts, the wide streets designed for slow-paced pedestrians, the warm glow spilling from the windows above as people finally settle for the night.
During the springtime, you'd push open pale, gauzy curtains, stepping onto a tiny rectangular balcony to greet the morning sun.
And for a second, you picture turning to find Frank smiling, hair unruly. Come back to bed. Holding out a hand.
You take it.
"I worry that a change of scenery won't be the cure," Diane adds, sounding so somber that you realize you don't know her as well as you thought you did.
"Yeah." Shit. "Maybe you're right."
After a moment, she quirks her brow. "Frank's considered it too."
"No way."
"Not abroad, but." Diane pauses as you round the corner, your hotel straight ahead. "He hates Boston when it's cold. He's joked about moving to Florida."
You fail to hide your grin, draining the last of your dessert and tossing the cup into a garbage bin. "I cannot imagine him in Florida." You wonder if he tans well.
A buzz within your pocket startles you. Once you pull out your cell, Frank's contact photo occupies your screen: a candid shot of him lifting pizza to his mouth and glaring at you. Diane kicks your shoe while you both slow in front of the hotel, and she shoves open the door. "I'll see you upstairs?"
You nod, thankful for the privacy, and answer Frank's call.
"You really brought my sister?" he asks immediately, laughing.
"I wasn't kidding before." You rest against the stone wall of the building, wiggling your toes inside your thick socks. "In fact, I like Diane better than you, sometimes."
"Am I just supposed to have a Thanksgiving dinner with Evelyn, alone?" He sounds peeved, but there's a smile. You can practically see it, as if he's just across the narrow street before you. Like you could reach out and stroke his short beard, silently encouraging him to press his lips against yours.
You swore, you were mad at him just a few days ago. The Friday after your argument—which you had taken off to prepare for your trip—was the first time you didn't speak to Frank for a full twenty-four hours, at least since you started this idiotic pretend relationship.
The silence had been brutal. And you felt so annoyingly desperate, checking your phone every hour for a message.
He broke the stretch of silence one time. An offer via text to drive you to the airport, which you politely yet stiffly rejected. You hadn't had the gall to stick up for yourself, to tell him how much of an asshole he was to his face.
Now, you're grinning like an idiot. "Sorry?"
He groans. "Will you at least get her to loosen up a little?"
"We're going clubbing every night." You roll your eyes. "Buying outfits as we speak."
"Be careful," he warns.
"Aw. Cute."
"I'm serious."
"I promise." You shiver, your winter clothes unable to stop the breeze from raising goosebumps along your arms. "Um, how are you?"
"Hunched over a desk."
That, you can picture too. The gentle curve of his spine, the tip of his nose pointing toward a musty old philosophy book. He'd wear a flannel, maybe the navy one that made his blue irises bright and striking, especially with afternoon sun streaming through his windows.
You clear your throat, donning your best English accent. "Don't slouch, Francis."
"Ha ha."
"Are you in the office?"
"Yep. Wanted to call you before the hoards of thirsty students crash my office hours."
You dig a couple fingernails into your palm. "Just tell them you're taken."
He chuckles. "Uh, hey, I hope your interview goes well tomorrow. I mean, I know it will." Frank lets go of a long, steady stream of air. "I'm thinking about you."
"Thanks." You read your watch, which still shows Boston time. He has ten minutes until office hours, but you want to keep him talking. Ask him to use his gravelly voice to lull you to sleep. "Don't overwork yourself, Frank."
That's why he isn't here on your little retreat, you remember. And why you're not currently there with him. Work.
"I won't."
"I—" Miss you, so much. Why didn't you come with me? "I'm gonna go to bed."
"Are you nervous about tomorrow?"
"Yes." You hug an arm closer to your stomach, knowing you can't lie to Frank without him seeing straight through you, even over the phone.
"You'll be great." He murmurs, "Call me when you get the job offer."
Your eyelids flutter shut. "Okay."
"Can I pick you up from the airport when you get home?" He sounds unsure.
"You don't need to."
"I want to."
You bite the inside of your lip. "I'll text you."
"What day, again?"
"Saturday."
"Okay." He pauses. "Goodnight, sweetheart."
You've never heard that before. The word wedges itself between your ribs; it grows burrs, and you can't yank it out.
"Goodnight."
After trudging upstairs to your shared room, you find Diane reading a novel in bed. She takes one look, then says, "You're in love with him."
"I am not," you scoff, dropping your bag and frowning. "How dare you?" You hope your tone sounds light and incredulous.
"He likes you, too." She raises her eyebrows once, then nonchalantly resumes her reading. "Too much of a fucking coward to admit it though."
The words scrape against your eardrums. "Don't say that." You spin away, kicking off your shoes and removing your jacket. "Not if you don't mean it."
You were mad at him a few days ago. He made you feel shitty. He made you feel alone.
If you could, you'd hold onto that anger to ground yourself now, to lie unflinchingly to his sister. But it's gone. Evaporated instantly at the sound of his rumbly voice, comforting you, even from thousands of miles away.
"He's mentioned a particularly irritating coworker for a while now," Diane says coolly, flipping to the next page. "I could tell he had a work crush. But it took me a while to connect the dots and realize that—that entire time—he had been talking about you."
Chest pounding with a dizzying rhythm, you dab your eyelashes on the back of your hand before facing her. "Really?"
"Well, no."
"Diane—!"
"I'm kidding!" Her eyes meet yours reassuringly. "I'm a mathematician, it's my job to connect the dots." She turns another page, smug. "I knew it was you the very first time he brought you to dinner."