“They don’t have them in North Carolina,” I mutter. “Had to get it while I was here.”

That’s when our waiter comes back to our table, two plates of food balanced on his arms. It’s just the starter salad, but it’s Greek, the best type of salad.

“Will you be joining the table, sir?” the waiter asks Josh.

“Oh, no. I just stopped by to talk.” Josh stands. And I almost have this compulsion to tell him to join us.

Almost.

“You guys enjoy.” Josh gives us a wave, but then he doubles back. “Oh, and be careful, Neil; there are olives.”

“Right. Thanks.”

Of course there are olives in a Greek salad. It’s literally a central element. A disgusting one, but still. I guess it’s nice that he warned me, at least, even if I didn’t need it.

“See you around, Josh,” Wyatt says, and Josh goes to join his brother and mother at one of the other tables. Soon I see him laughing, talking with his family. He looks comfortable around them, at home.

I wonder what that feels like.

*  *  *

Thankfully, dinner is free of any other incidents. Lindsay eventually rejoins us, and I listen to her and Wyatt talk about some band called Day6 and its members. Then the soup comes out, and Wyatt doesn’t touch a drop of it, followed by the pasta, which smells so good. The garlic and the sauce and the cheese.

Pasta really is S-tier food.

There’s even dessert in the form of pistachio cannoli, which kick ass. But we’re both so stuffed that the extras come back to the hotel room with us. We’re exhausted when we make it back, our bodies thinking it’s well past midnight thanks to good ol’ jet lag.

The second I get to the bedroom, I slip out of my dress pants and drag my sweatpants out of my bag.

“What if we split the bed?” Wyatt asks, already unbuttoning his shirt.

“What?”

“The bed. Can’t we, like … alternate or something? You get it one night; I get it another?”

“Nope. It’s my bed.”

“How is that fair?”

“Because you’re a guest, and it’s my last name on the sign outside.”

“You’re a horrible host,” he says. And it takes me a minute to realize that his voice has gotten closer. That’s when I realize that he’s been standing in the doorway, watching me get undressed like some kind of freak.

“Dude!” I cover up my crotch, even though I’m still wearing underwear.

“Pfft, what? We’ve been kinda-naked around each other before. Take a chill pill.”

“That’s when we’re forced to share a room. There are two rooms here.”

“Technically three,” Wyatt says, walking right through to get to the bathroom.

The fact that the only entrance to the bathroom is through my room is an issue that I’m not ready to tackle just yet. I suppose it would be rude to ask him to use the public bathrooms on the lobby floor.