Page 18 of The Troll’s Summer Flame

And I figure she must. She is one of those good people, after all.

Our walk has led us back to where she parked. “Let me get your door,” I say quickly. That will end the date, and then I can go back to the firehouse and think about something else. Anything else.

“Thank you for tonight. I had a great time. I don’t know about staying here... But I’m less sure I want to leave,” Andrea murmurs, unlocking her car, then sliding into the driver’s seat once I open the door for her.

My smile is huge and instant. “Really?”

“Really.” Her smile is just as wide.

I just stand here, holding the door, until I realize that Andrea can’t drive off like that. I quickly shut it, making sure her fingers aren’t in the way. “Good night,” I blurt.

“Good night. See you tomorrow? At six?”

I nod, swallowing hard. “At six.”

Chapter Five: Second Date

My phone is a hurricane of texts and notifications.

Cruiseline partial credits. Airfare refund status. Nagging, encouraging, berating, lecturing, offering texts and emails from my mother, father, brother, cousins, titas...

It takes me an hour to deal with them, and then the cycle starts again.

I feel loved—and smothered.

I put the phone down and try to recapture the slow, peaceful, oddly happy feeling I woke up with.

From my date. From being with Gordon.

With a stretch, I decide to call Meghan on the Callspace App, which should give us thirty minutes to talk.

“Hello?” Meghan’s voice is groggy and hoarse.

“I know it’s early, but I need to talk to you.”

“Who is this?”

I look at the phone with a frown. “Your best friend and cousin, idiot.”

“I had a bottomless martini happy hour followed by a seven-shot Midnight Madness buffet and bar. And I am also... bottomless. Ooh! Crap.”

“Hungover?” This could have been me. Us.

That suddenly doesn’t sound as great as I thought it would.

“If you don’t stop screaming, I will Tita Carla about the time you spilled her bottle of Chanel No. 5 on her fern and killed it.”

“I’m whispering as softly as I can,” I reassure, now mortally afraid.

“Good. Oh, God! He’s still here.”

“Who?”

“The guy. Who is also bottomless. Oh, fuck, we’re in my room. I can’t even leave.”

“Meghan! Who is this guy?” It’s only been three days. That’s fast for me, but maybe not fast for a cruise ship. Maybe it was romantic. Maybe it’s the fling I was dreaming of.

“I don’t know. I think he’s a law student. He has to have money, because the looks are not looking post-Martini goggles.” Meghan complains. There’s rattling, rustling, and then a torrential downpour.