And Conor does.

Even shrouded in shadows as he is, I see his features become taut. I take a shallow breath, feel the distant hum of the waves lapping at Isola Bella. Wait for him to speak. Am rewarded soon enough. “You can’t be serious, Maya.”

His r’s roll more than ever. I blink innocently. “What do you mean?”

He pointedly glances at my phone. The notification—Hans, 1 message—lingers.

I’m being devious. I’m being unfair and problematic and manipulative. I should tell him the truth—I want him, I miss him, I wish for us to be honest with each other. But honesty will only send him retreating. You told Avery that you’re in love with someone else, and we both know who you were talking about is not a conversation he’s ready to have.

“Just texting a friend,” I explain, truthful.

“We’ve been over this—”

“And I told you what was going to get me to stop.”

An exhale. “Are you planning to meet up with him?”

I say nothing. A muscle jumps in his jaw.

“Tell me you’re not planning to leave this house.”

I cock my head. Choose my words very carefully. “If you sit here with me and answer a single question, maybe I won’t.”

It’s almost too easy. For me, that is. Conor’s nostrils flare, his cheekbones tense, and…nope. Not easy for him. Although I give him credit for settling close enough to me that the denim of his jeans brushes against my bare thigh.

“What question?’ he asks roughly.

“Why did we never meet in person, in the past three years?”

His tone lives somewhere between impatient and confused. “We met plenty of times. Whenever I went over to Eli’s house—”

“Alone, Conor. Why did we never make plans to meet alone?”

“Because you were finishing up your graduate degree, and I run one of the fastest-growing biotech firms in the country. We didn’t have time—”

“We talked on the phone nearly every day, and they weren’t short calls. Seems to me like we both made time.”

The tendons in his neck flex. Oh, Conor, I think. I never said I would play nice. And to prove it, I glance at my phone. Let my eyes linger on it.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. But he looks me in the eye and says, with a calm he doesn’t feel: “It’s just the rhythm our friendship fell into, Maya. Different relationships have different needs.”

“I agree.”

“Good. Then we can go the fuck to sleep.”

“The last part, I mean. No two relationships are alike. But the bit before, about it being a natural evolution…Do you want to know what I think?”

“Not particularly.”

I don’t hide my smile. “I think that I took you by surprise, back in Edinburgh. You enjoyed talking to me. You opened up. We got close in a way that you hadn’t experienced before. And that made you uncomfortable.”

“Maya—”

“But you liked it, too. And that’s why for the past three years you never once declined a call from me. You always reached out if you didn’t hear from me for a few days. We became really intimate, emotionally. So much so, you couldn’t risk that intimacy to become physical, too.”