I stop. Turn back to look at him, wide-eyed, which has him mumbling something about how young I am. “That’s a reference, Maya. From a song by—”

“Blink-182, I am aware. I was just surprised. I didn’t know you Irish boys partook in the oeuvre of the SoCal skate punk scene.”

“I live to surprise you.”

“Huge fan, huh?”

“Massive.” I know he’s trying to avoid laughing, because I’m doing the same. Conor’s musical taste leans toward industrial techno music, or, as I like to call it: construction site noises. He usually retaliates by referring to mine as girls with lisps crying in their bathrooms. “Watch out for that stone over there, Avery.”

“Oh, shoot. Thanks, Hark.”

I’m starting to suspect that the Greek did not go for comfort quite like we do. Avery is not wearing heels, or anything as impractical as that, but on a couple of tricky jumps, her strappy sandals have me fearing for the integrity of her femurs. Conor helps her through all of them, hands wrapped around her waist to lift her off a particularly high ledge.

Then again, even as he helps her, his eyes are often on me. I jump, easy, surefooted in my sneakers, mostly to make a point. Conor looks away, but not before I see the amused shake of his head.

Coming here at high noon was a mistake. There’s not a hint of shade in sight, and heat radiates from every direction—the sun, the stones, the sweaty bodies of the tourists. In the middle of the orchestra, I can barely keep my eyes open, but Conor silently slides his sunglasses over the bridge of my nose. They probably cost more than my master’s degree. I debate accidentally stepping on them, just to see his reaction. Truth is, I’m more likely to sleep with them under my pillow, because my spine has the consistency of soggy cereal.

“Can you take a picture and make it look like Maya and I are holding up that column?” Avery asks.

“Probably no.”

“Hmm, you always were a bad Instagram boyfriend.”

My gut tightens, even as Conor sighs and says, “I think I have the perspective figured out. I’m going to the other side of the orchestra. You two stay right there.”

The second he’s out of earshot, Avery turns to me. “I hope you’re not feeling uncomfortable.”

“I…How so?”

“Because Hark and I used to date.”

The heat is making me dizzy. Avery, though, seems to be waiting for a reply. “Right,” I say.

“I’m aware that going sightseeing with two exes might make for an awkward situation. It didn’t occur to me until we were in the car.”

The sun bakes the back of my head. Did I forget to put sunscreen on it? “No. No, it’s fine, I—”

“Okay. You just seemed a little…tense. Like you find us, maybe, hard to navigate?”

It hits me then: For the past hour, while I’ve been in my head about having to share Conor with his ex, she’s been worrying about me. The tension she’s picking up on is entirely my fault.