“I’m not sure,” he says after a while. “I’m quite happy where I am now.”

“Will you tell me about her sometime?”

Liam smiles down at me. “You’re very perceptive when you drink.”

I nestle more deeply into his side, wrapping my own arms around his waist. “I’m always perceptive. I just only let people know it when I’m drunk.”

Neither of us says anything else after that, simply enjoying the quiet and the view. We stay just as we are for a good thirty minutes before heading home.

When Liam and I get back to my apartment, I don’t think anything of the fact that we’re holding hands. We have since rallied from our calming time at the fountain and are now in the boisterous midst of our second wind. I show him around, giving him a tour of the dining room, the kitchen and the living room.

“Didn’t you say you had two balconies?” Liam asks.

“Yes, I did,” I respond proudly.

“Well, so far I’ve only seen one.”

I have to think about it before I realize that I forgot to show Liam my bedroom. “Oh, duh. This way.” I stride down the hallway until I reach the end and swing my bedroom door open. I enter while Liam hesitates at the threshold. “Come in,” I say, sitting down on my bed.

I flick my shoes off and sigh in the comfort of my feet’s sweet release. Liam walks around me and goes out onto the balcony with his hands buried in his pockets.

Now blissfully barefoot, I hop off the bed and follow him outside. He’s leaning forward, his forearms braced against the wrought iron railing as he looks out onto the street.

“Two balconies, indeed. I’m quite shown up.”

I smile and lean down onto the railing as well. “If you’re ever feeling balcony deprived, you’re always welcome to come over and share.”

Liam’s laugh is so faint that it seems to drift off on the open air. “You’re very unique, Kara. I’ve never met anyone quite like you.”

“Thanks, I think.”

He turns his head and looks over at me, still leaning forward. “It’s a good thing.”

“Well, that’s good, then.”

He shifts his body to face me then and tucks a loose piece of hair behind my ear.

“Do you miss her?” I ask. For some reason, I can’t stop wondering about her, about the woman who, to Liam, was more beautiful than the Trevi Fountain.

“Yes,” he answers, stepping forward until our bodies are touching. “Do you miss him?”

I take a breath at his question. “No.”

“It must be lonelier that way,” he says softly.