Page 64 of Every Step She Takes

“You okay, Freckles?” Mal asks even closer, the words tickling the shell of my ear.

“I think I might be really drunk, actually.”

Mal laughs. “You’re not the only one.”

To prove her point, Stefano does some kind of jog-samba combination with Ari still on his back as he asks, “Are we dancing tonight, bellissimi amici?”

“You can dance if you want to, my friend,” Ari answers. “But I certainly won’t be.”

“If I dance, you dance!” Stefano declares, and then he runs to catch up with Arjun as Ari screeches the whole way.

The twentysomething British pilgrims lead us to a bar on the water with an open patio shaded by an undulating white canopy. A live band plays Fado music, and the black tables on the patio are crammed with people of all ages, locals and pilgrims alike. There’s a large, wood-paneled bar on the far side, and we all make a beeline toward it.

“Let’s get you some water and carbs to start,” Mal whispers against my ear again.

“And wine,” I add.

Mal orders a plate of fries, a beer, and, somewhat reluctantly, a glass of wine for me. Vera and Inez grab their drinks and shout something about finding tables, but we stay at the bar even after the fries and mayo dipping sauce are put in front of us. I don’t know I’m ravenous until I take my first bite of fried potato.

“So good,” I grumble through a mouthful.

Mal smiles, and then her hand comes up to my face, her thumb brushing the corner of my mouth. “You had a bit of mayo,” she says.

She’s propped against the bar with her body angled toward mine, and I can’t explain it, but the way she’s leaning right now is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

“Do you think you have a type?”

“A type of what?”

Her smile widens. “A type of woman that you’re attracted to.”

The type of woman who knows how to sexily lean against surfaces, apparently. I swallow a hunk of potato. “I-I don’t think so.”

“Okay, well, what do you like about Inez?”

“I don’t like Inez,” I say without thinking. Even after the words come out of my mouth, the mixture of sangria and loud music makes it difficult for me to figure out why they’re the wrong words. “Oh! You mean my crush on Inez! Yes. Right.”

“Right. What is it about Inez that makes her special?”

My brain is a useless maelstrom of alcohol and anxiety, and I can’t think of a single damn thing about Inez at all. “I, um, I like her… hands.” It’s the first thing that comes to my mind, because I like Mal’s hands. I especially like the way one of her hands grabs me by the waist to pull me away from a drunk Australian who almost knocks me over on his way to the bathroom.

“Herhands?” Mal laughs. “Okay, Freckles. What else?”

I close my eyes and try to picture Inez’s face over the din of the bar and the din inside my head, but I can only see one face. “I like her mouth. It doesn’t fit the rest of her face, but I like that. It’s like a surprise in the middle of her face.”

“Her mouth is a surprise…?” I can hear the smile in Mal’s voice, but I keep my eyes squeezed shut.

“I like her accent, and the purposeful way she moves her body. She’s terse, like a poem. Everything she does is so deliberate, no movement ever wasted.”

“Her body is like a poem?”

I nod. “She’s selfless and kind, and I like how she makes me feel…seen.” The honesty of this statement catches me off guard. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to be invisible and small,” I say with my eyes closed as tight as possible, “but when she looks at me, I feel like Iexist.”

Mal doesn’t repeat my words this time, and when she speaks, there isn’t a smile in her voice. “Sadie, open your eyes.”

I obey, my gaze trained on the glass of wine in my hand.

“Look up at me,” Mal orders firmly, and it takes me a second to work up the courage, but I obey this command too. Now thatthe sun has gone down, her eyes are almost onyx, and her gaze is locked on my face. I squirm under the sudden seriousness.