My Favorite Souveni- Penelope Ward , Vi Keeland Page 0,18

upstairs, and help her properly unwind. But I knew none of that would be happening. Number one, she’d just closed the door. Number two, what would be the point in making a move when we were leaving each other tomorrow? Number three, she kind of hated me right now.

Maddie was clearly not the type of girl you messed around with, despite her alleged desire to be more impulsive. Women give off signals, and from the very beginning, I knew she wasn’t the type you have a one-night stand with. She was far too complex. And far too...special. I really did hope she didn’t take the asshole back who’d hurt her.

I felt like I was eating crow. “Okay, now that we’ve clarified that there are no expectations, can we try to relax a little before we have to leave in the morning? Can I go get us another round?”

“I’d like that.” She offered a slight smile that didn’t quite fix the mess I’d made.

• • •

After we returned to our rooms, I had a hard time getting to sleep.

And the following morning, I woke up feeling the same way: like shit.

I’d pushed it, embarrassed her. Instead of teasing her, I should’ve told her the fucking truth: that I’d felt more alive with her on the slopes yesterday than I had in years.

Later that morning, we met for a quiet breakfast downstairs.

The ride to the airport was even quieter.

When we got there, we found that both of our flights were delayed about an hour, but we were still scheduled to take off today. I was thankful for a little extra time to spend with her before we had to say goodbye.

The mood was still somber. We were standing in front of a bookstand when I said, “We’re early. Do you feel like grabbing a coffee and sitting down somewhere together?”

She nodded. “I’d love that.”

We stood in line at Starbucks and fought over who would pay on our respective phone apps. I ended up winning and footing the bill.

We then took a seat in one of the waiting areas.

I nudged my head toward an old man sitting across from us. He wore a tweed jacket and was munching on what looked like a head of raw cabbage stuffed inside a Ziploc bag.

“What’s his deal?” I said to her.

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s play a game. Tell me who you think he is and where he’s going.”

She pursed her lips, pondering. “I think his wife just died, and he doesn’t know how to cook for himself, so he stuffs roughage into plastic bags and snacks on it for sustenance.”

“Interesting theory. I’ll finish the story.”

“Okay.” She laughed.

“Archibald…” I turned to her. “That’s his name…had been struggling after his wife’s death—until he came across Irina in a mail-order-bride catalog. He’s currently on his way to Moscow to meet her.” I nodded, prompting Maddie to continue the story.

“Much to his future chagrin,” she said. “Irina will be nothing like his late wife. She can neither cook nor keep a house. While he originally felt Irina would be the right choice for him, it turns out the entire trip was a mistake. She’s young enough to be his daughter, and they have nothing in common.” She sighed dramatically. “So, Archibald decides to return to the US alone.”

“But not before he lets Irina go down on him behind the Kremlin.”

She rolled her eyes. “You had to go and ruin it!”

I laughed and pointed to a new set of targets, a woman and man who were currently ignoring each other with their heads buried in their smartphones. “What about them?”

“They’re going to visit their daughter at college in Boston. Things have been touch and go ever since she left home. The empty-nest syndrome is hitting them hard, and they’re finding they spend more time ignoring each other than interacting.”

I nodded. “So that’s why he’s currently sexting her here in the airport. He’s trying to spice up an otherwise dismal situation by sending her a dick pic he took moments earlier in the bathroom.”

Maddie cracked up. “She hasn’t reacted yet because, unbeknownst to her husband, he accidentally sent the photo to his mother-in-law.”

“Ouch!” I bent my head back in laughter. “That’s bad—but so very good. Now you’re getting the hang of this.”

She smiled, but then a bout of silence replaced the jovial mood.

“Milo, I have to apologize to you,” she said after a moment.

I turned to her, perplexed. “For what?”

“I…got really defensive last night, and I’m sorry. That’s not me. You were