———

Once I'm in my hotel room, I take a second to myself, breathing deeply.

"Okay, Rory, the actual fuck is wrong with you?" I mutter, tapping my hands against my cheeks.

I hold my hands at my waist, glaring at the newly made bed.

Okay...

It's just Taylor. So much shit has happened since that last day we ever spent together, but it's just Taylor. We're older now, we've been through so much. She's sorry for what happened. At least, she says she is and I know she's sincere, even if the memory still stings and leaves a bitter taste on my tongue. But we can both be mature about this. I don't have to open up to her and act like we're best friends reuniting after years of being apart.

We're just two adults, spending time together because neither one of us really has anything better to do today. I'll just go on with my plans with her.

It's going to be fine.

"Right, okay," I breathe out, shaking myself back to reality.

With a heavy sigh, I walk over to my suitcase and pull out a clean t-shirt, just a simple black and white striped V-neck. I reapply some deodorant, some sunscreen, spray on some
perfume, make sure my hair's relatively tame, and change into a pair of comfortable sneakers.

I take one look at my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks are flushed, my eyes a pale green behind my round glasses. The freckles on my nose are more prominent than ever.

I let out another sigh and turn the lights off as I step back into the room and grab my bag with all my essentials in there (my journal, camera, and wallet, really.)

I chew on my bottom lip on the ride down to the lobby, my arms folded over my chest. Taylor's waiting on one of the armchairs next to the concierge's desk, holding her phone to her ear.

When she spots me, she starts walking over, smiling apologetically as she motions to her phone and mouths the word mom.

"Take your time," I murmur but she shakes her head.

"Hey, mom, we're about to head out. I'll call you later— yeah. Yeah, I'll send you pictures. Lots of them. Yes! Okay. Love you, too! Bye!"

She hangs up and slides her phone into her bag.

"Shall we?" She asks and I nod, making my way outside.

"How's your mom doing?" I ask curiously. I've always liked Andrea. She never failed to make me feel at home when we were younger.

"She's good, yeah!" Taylor exclaims with a smile. "Much better now, actually."

I look up at her for a moment, wondering what she means by much better. I don't ask but Taylor notices and her smile drops a little.

"She had cancer," she explains, running her palm over her own shoulder. "Twice actually, and the second time, it metastasised to her brain. But the treatment worked I think. She's doing okay now."

My eyes slowly widen as my legs slow down until eventually I stop and place my hand on Taylor's arm. I don't mean to, it's almost instinctual, but as soon as our skin comes into contact, I feel an electric current burst through my whole arm. I pull my hand back to my side awkwardly as Taylor drops her hand to the spot where mine was, rubbing it with her thumb.

"Taylor, I'm... I'm so sorry," I say softly. "I can't imagine how hard that must have been. I'm glad she's doing better, though."

"It's fine. She's okay, now. She's great, actually!" Taylor tells me, her smile widening.

"She's still in Nashville?"

"Yeah, she likes it there," Taylor responds as she starts walking again. I follow along. "She's got her massive Great Dane, Kitty... Austin and I are both in New York most of the time but she likes it there better."

"She got a Great Dane and called it Kitty?" I ask, laughing at the irony.

"I know, right? We told her it was ridiculous at the time but, you know, for such a big dog, sometimes I think she genuinely thinks she's as agile as a cat and, well, let's just say it's caused a lot of disasters at home."

"I can imagine," I chuckle, thinking of Zorro and every plant pot he's broken over the past few years.

"What about you, though? How's your Nana?"

"She's good too! She joined this geriatric yoga group last month. It's good for her joints. They meet at the park every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning. She can hold the tree pose a lot longer than I can," I say, smiling at the thought of Nana actually doing yoga. My younger cousin Logan sent me pictures a few weeks ago and it's the funniest and cutest thing I've ever seen.

"For real?" Taylor exclaims, grinning widely. "Well, she was always a lot more active than you, anyway."

"Hey, I was on the swim team all four years of high school!" I defend myself. "Can Nana walk faster than me? Probably. But, at least I can do a flip underwater."

"I can do that too, it ain't anything special!" Taylor teases me. "Do you wanna know something shocking though?"

"You can't shock me."

"Hm, I bet I can."

"Okay, try me."

"I do cardio like five days week," she reveals.

I gasp sarcastically. "What? You? Doing cardio? No way!"

Taylor rolls her eyes. "I don't appreciate your sarcasm, thank you very much."

I snicker to myself, smiling amusedly. "See, I'd actually be shocked if you told me you enjoyed it."

"I do," she replies. "I actually really enjoy it."

I shake my head at her. "No way. No one enjoys cardio."

"I do!" She insists. "It's usually dancing, so, it's fun."

"Now, you've just lost your mind."

"I gotta be able to stand on a stage for hours on end somehow," she explains and maybe she's got a point there, but seriously, who the fuck enjoys cardio? It's like the worst part of a workout routine!

"By the way, how was the tour?" I ask with just the smallest bite in my tone.

"Which one?" She shoots back, smirking smugly.

"She says casually," I laugh dryly. "The one you dropped everything to go on. Who were you opening for?"

"I opened for a bunch of other artists," she replies, waving her hand in the air as she tries to remember, and then she starts enumerating them on her fingers. "There was Rascal Flatts, and Brad Paisley, George Strait... And of course, Tim McGraw and Faith Hill. Holy shit, that was a long time ago."

"No, I think it was your own tour," I recall. "How was that?"

"I think it went well... considering I've gone on four other world tours since," she mentions so casually yet again. "And I didn't drop anything. I took every opportunity I was given to get here."

Her previously smug smirk has soured. Definitely my fault.

"I know." It was hard not to feel abandoned back then, though. "I mean, you've definitely... seriously made it. And you didn't even need to write a song about trigonometry to do it."

It takes a second to understand my reference but once she does, her smile brightens. An old inside joke of ours.

"I just had to have my heart on my sleeve. Or, paper, to be accurate."

I send her a small smile. "It's really great, Taylor. You got everything you've always wanted, right?"

She contemplated it for a moment before nodding. "In some ways, I guess so. What about you, though? You used to say that you wanted to write a novel one day."

I stop walking again and bend down to tie my lace. "Uh... yeah."

"Did you ever give it a shot?"

"Yeah..." It's the truth.

"Wait, so, you wrote a book?"

I stand up slowly, avoiding her gaze. When I look across the street, I spot a rack of bicycles for renting.

"You up for a bit of cycling?" I ask her instead of answering, pointing at the bikes.

Taylor looks down at her sandals and then at the bikes.

"You'll be fine!" I say and tap her shoulder as I walk past her to cross the road. "Come on! It'll be fun!"

I practically jog over to the little shop and Taylor follows me reluctantly. She doesn't look too sure about it at first but once we start cycling down the uneven cobblestone streets...

Who am I kidding, it's worse.

We're not terrible, but we're not great either, although I'd be lying if I said it's not fun. The adrenaline fired through me when I almost ride straight into a fire hydrant is great.

Taylor shrieks a few feet behind me, stopping abruptly. "I lost a Flip-Flop!"

I laugh in disbelief, squinting while helping her look around for it. I circle back toward her just as she finds it and bends down to pick up the shoe from under the wheel of her bike.

"Fucking hell," she groans, pouting as she holds it up from the straps that have come off. "This is a nightmare.

"Oh no," I laugh, watching her try and force the shoe strap back into place but it's no use. It's a goner. "How did that happen?"

"Don't laugh, god. I don't wanna walk barefoot! I don't wanna ride the bike barefoot!" She cries out, pouting deeply. I only just notice that her foot's been up in the air this whole time.
I wouldn't put it down either in her defence.

"Okay, hold on. We'll stop by a store somewhere," I say, looking around hoping to spot some place that sells shoes but there are only old buildings and one small convenience store in the alley we're in.

"Where?" Taylor asks, laughing at this ridiculous situation.

"We'll find one, don't worry," I continue to laugh as I dig through my bag and pull out a pair of socks that I got on my flight over. "Here. Airplane socks. At least, you won't be barefoot."

Taylor accepts them and slips them on but not without huffing and puffing like a toddler on the verge of throwing a tantrum.

"How are they?" I ask with an amused chuckle.

"They're fine... kinda soft," she mutters, not willing to admit that the free and cheap airplane socks are comfortable.

"Great! Let's keep going!"

"Looooori," she whines but she's laughing too as she stuffs her broken slipper in her bag and starts peddling after me.

I slow down a little until we're riding next to each other.

"I haven't heard Lori in years," I tell her softly.

"Sorry, it's just... force of habit, I guess," she mentions, glancing at me for a second. She only ever used it when she was annoyed or when she wanted to annoy me, a little inside joke from the first time she called me by the wrong name.

"It's a little weird," I admit, focusing on the street ahead. I'm not exactly sure where we're going but I follow the mass of people. The buildings are really pretty too. They're old, the paint chipped and some of them even have holes in the walls, but it gives them a charming character. Not one building matches the other, all of them painted in various faded, pastel shades of reds and yellows. Most of them only have a couple of floors and balconies covered in potted plants and flowers. I spot cats lounging with their tails hanging between the metal railings on those balconies, old men sitting in plastic chairs and white vests, basking in the sun. Birds fly from one electric wire to another connecting between buildings, chirping beautifully. 

I smile softly at a group of kids playing with a big bucket filled with water, squealing excitedly as they run up and down the sidewalk in their little sandals.

"I'm sorry. I'll stick to Aurora," Taylor says but then she winces and her pout returns. "Peddling in socks hurts like a bitch. Where are we going?"

"You'll see..." I respond, hoping we might end up somewhere at some point because honestly, I have absolutely no clue where we are.

"We're lost."

"No, pft," I say, moving a little faster. "Not lost. Just taking the scenic route."

"The scenic route to where exactly?" Taylor asks. She doesn't sound upset, though. When I glance at her with a sheepish grin, she's smiling right back.

"Somewhere where you can buy a new pair of Flip Flops I'm hoping."

"Yeah, we're definitely lost," she sighs and stops under an awning to pull her phone out. "According to Google Maps, we're about 1.3 miles away from a flea market."

"Great! Let's go!"

We continue biking, stopping every time we reach a crossroad to check the maps, and once when we reach a set of uneven stairs we have to take. Taylor is even less pleased when she has to walk but I am honestly having a great time. The weather's great, the city's beautiful, and every time Taylor whines, I laugh a little.

We finally make it to the market and we walk the whole length of the street back and forth before we find a merchant selling shoes. They're plastic sandals for the beach but they're better than nothing so Taylor buys a pair and buckles them on.

"I used to have a pair exactly like those when I was eight," I tell her as we start walking around, rolling our bikes next to us. "They were yellow, though."

"I actually lowkey really like them," Taylor says, lifting her foot up just a bit. "They're cute!"

"Cute is one way to describe them, sure," I respond, my mouth twitching amusedly.

"And actually really comfortable!" She adds.

"That's great! Exactly what you were looking for."

"They're great for the beach!"

"I'm really glad you found a pair of shoes you really like!"

"I can't tell if you're being serious or not."

I simply smile at Taylor without saying anything else and step into a book seller's corner. There are a bunch of old books, many of them missing their front covers and most of them are in Italian.
They have a few crates set up as well with VHS tapes, CDs, and vinyls.

I start going through the vinyls, hoping for a rare find. Taylor's checking the crate with the English books.

"Anything good?" She asks but I shake my head.

"Lots of opera. A couple of jazz records," I respond. "There's a VHS that says Tom and Jerry, though! Any good books?"

"Have you read this one?" She asks me, holding up a book I recognise immediately. Only because I spent days staring at that cover before deciding it was the right choice for Stuck With You.

The book I released last year.

I'm surprised it's even in that crate.

"Emily Lucas," Taylor says, running her finger over the author's name.

My name.

Well, my parents'.

"Yeah, it's a— it's a good book."

"I liked it! It was so funny and cute, and actually perfectly depicted what it was like to be stuck in a house for months with someone," Taylor explains with a chuckle. "I wonder who the author got stuck with during lockdown to write this masterpiece of a romcom."

Just my best friend Cas and their dog Zorro.

"Right?" I chuckle, rubbing the back of my neck. "Uhm, actually, I heard they're turning it into a movie next year."

Because I got a very exciting phone call about it a few weeks ago from my agent. Which is why there's even more pressure on this new book to be just as good. Just as successful.

"I'd watch that," Taylor chuckles, putting the book back down. "Do you know who would make a perfect... what was the main character called?"

She picks the book back up and flips through it to find a name.

"Nora," I mention as nonchalantly as possible. Gosh, my throat feels so dry. I clear my throat and pick up my bottle of water, downing half of it.

"Right! Nora. I can totally see my friend Blake— that's Blake Lively, I can see her playing Nora."

Holy shit, if Blake Lively plays a character I created, I think I'll finally be able to die happy.

"Right... yeah, it works. They're both... blonde-ish?" I say but I can't get over the fact that Taylor's read my book. And she liked it! "The book is very gay."

She chuckles, setting it back down again. "I know. It's cute. The enemies to lovers trope really worked. Especially with that one part when Nora finds Jamie on the roof and they have that heart-to-heart, like their first actual conversation? I think that was my favourite scene. You know, besides the intense, angry love confession."

Taylor starts walking away and I have to follow her, dragging the bicycle along with me.

"Did you..." I start, taking larger strides until I'm right next to her. "Have you read any of Emily Lucas's other books? By any chance..."

"Oh, I didn't know she had other books," Taylor mentions. "Stuck With You was recommended by a friend. Abby, actually. Abigail Anderson."

"Abby, oh my god..." My eyes widen just a bit. "Wow, I haven't seen her since... well, since we graduated. You guys still talk?"

"Mhm-mm, yeah. We're still close," Taylor tells me softly. "You know... it kinda sucks that you stopped talking to her, regardless of what happened between us."

I grimace, glancing down at the ground. I've always felt guilty about that. "I know. I just... I left home and never really looked back. It's not an excuse, I know. It was just—"

I cut myself off and shrug.

Taylor clears her throat and continues walking. We stop by a couple of stands that have some cool pieces of jewellery. Taylor buys a pair of earrings. I find a couple of rings I really like.

"This butterfly looks a lot like the one above your elbow," Taylor mentions, pointing at a poster with a few different butterfly species. "Except, this one's purple."

"Mhm, it's an emperor butterfly, I think. Honestly, I just thought it looked great at the artist's shop and was like that one, please!" I explain, barely even remembering that day. I got that tattoo back in college.

"I've been meaning to ask," Taylor says as we leave the market and follow a street with a bunch of cafés and gift shops.

"About the butterfly tattoo?"

"No, well— yeah, and all the rest of them," she replies with a sheepish chuckle. "First of all— I mean, they're great. Especially the vines around your arm— ivy?"

"Yeah, you remember all that ivy that grows in Nana's backyard?" I tell her, rolling my sleeve up to reveal more of the tattoo that climbs up from my wrist to my shoulder. It's my biggest piece.

"I do! Honestly, it's beautifully done. And, second of all, how many do you actually have?"

I twist my face in thought as I try to calculate really quickly.

"Uh... I think... okay, my most recent one was this one, it's a Beatles quote. I got that last month," I mention, pointing at my ribcage. Taylor's eyes follow my hand but she can't see anything under my shirt. "I'd say about twenty in total, maybe a little more? It's a lot, I know."

"No, no, they're great. I really like them," she reassures me, smiling softly.

"Thanks!" I respond, maybe a little too enthusiastically which causes Taylor to laugh softly a few seconds later and shake her head. "Uh, so, how about ice cream?"

"Melon ice cream!" Taylor nods enthusiastically, pointing at the first ice cream shop we find. "Do you think they've got some?"

It takes us exactly three tries before we find a Gelateria selling melon-flavoured gelato. Taylor and I sit outside under the shop's awning, her with a cup and me with a cone, and we try the ice cream.

It's good. It's really good. It's not revolutionary like the one I tried in Saint Tropez that I've convinced myself is the best ice cream on earth, though.

"What do you think?" Taylor asks, trying another scoop.

"Mhm, it's great!"

Taylor smiles amusedly. "It's not better than that one you talked up earlier, is it?"

"Not better, no. But it's great! Don't you think so?"

"It's great, you're right," she chuckles, scarfing almost half the ice cream scoop. "I didn't realise just how hungry I was until now."

"Me too," I nod, take a bite from my cone.

"Oh my god, you absolute menace!" Taylor gasps, her hand freezing in mid-air.

I can't help but grin. "What?"

"Don't do that again, please. I'm begging!"

"What, this?" I ask and take another bite.

Taylor's whole body convulses and she grimaces, dropping the paper cup on the metal table. "Yes, that! Don't do that! I can feel my own teeth tingling!"

"I'm not sure teeth are supposed to tingle," I say, my words muffled by the mouthful of ice cream.

"Menace!" Taylor exclaims, shaking her head at me as she picks up her cup again. "Do you wanna get lunch somewhere? I'm still hungry."

"Yeah, I could eat," I tell her and then, I look her dead in the eyes to take another bite of melon gelato.

"Okay, fuck you. That was definitely personal," she says, pushing her chair back and getting up to leave. She scarfs down the rest of her ice cream and tosses the cup in the nearest bin. She's already walking away before I can even get up.

I go after her while laughing hard. "Hold on! I can't ride a bike and hold an ice cream cone at the same time!"

"Good, maybe you should throw it instead of biting it again!" She calls behind her.

Somehow, I manage to climb up on the bicycle, riding with one hand only.

We keep going in comfortable silence, this time with Taylor leading the way. Neither of us sure exactly where but we do end up at this public garden with beautiful flowers of all colours everywhere. Taylor pulls out her phone to take a few pictures but I offer to take one of her instead, using my camera.

She smiles, that tight smile you'd give someone you were uncomfortable talking to but you didn't want to come off as rude.

I roll my eyes. "Hey, what do you call a fish with no eyes?"

"Huh?" She asks in confused, tilting her head to the side.

"A fsh!"

"What?" Taylor frowns, still confused, but then when it finally hits her, her eyes widen just the tiniest bit and she looks up at the sky, fighting back her laughter. "No! NO! You did not just make a dad joke!"

"I did," I say with a big grin. "I made an awesome dad joke."

She looks back at me, this time with an actual smile and I snap the picture.

"Is that a film camera?" She asks when I rewind the film after taking the picture.

"Yeah! I've been learning to develop my own pictures. When I have the time, it's fun!"

"I bet," she says with a faint smile. "Does that mean I'm never getting to see this picture?"

"Maybe in a few months. I'll send it to you," I chuckle softly and slide the lens cap back on.

"Hey, you don't want me to take a picture of you?"

"Uhh... Yeah. Yeah, sure! Why not?"

I hand her the camera and stand there awkwardly, waiting for her to fix the focus and the aperture.

"Hey, Rory, what do you call a fake spaghetti noodle?"

"An impasta?" I respond with an easy smirk.

"What are you, the dad joke master? Just smile!"

I grin with my teeth and my eyes shut, an absolutely ridiculous pose but Taylor takes the picture and I know it's going to be one of those shots I'll never show anyway but keep for myself as a funny memory anyway.

"Press that lever to rewind the film," I tell her, pointing at the correct buttons.

We continue riding around until we find somewhere good enough to sit and eat. It's comfortable. It's not terrible. For a minute there, it doesn't feel like we're Aurora and Taylor, awkward millennials trying to pretend like the past never happened. It feels more like Rory and Tay, two friends who haven't seen each other all summer long and are catching up after a long break over a nice meal and a glass of wine.

We ride the bikes back to the rental place and walk the rest of the way back to the hotel. When we walk into the lobby, Taylor stops by the gift shop and dashes straight to the cash register, looking at the rack of postcards.

"Taylor...?"

"Hold on a second," she responds, a soft laugh in her voice. She picks one out with a beautiful view of the city on the back and pays for it before asking for a pen from the lady standing behind the register.

"Taylor, what are you doing?" I ask her, glancing over her shoulder as she scribbles something in the blank area.

Dear Aurora,
Ciao.
Love, Taylor

She signs the date and then hands me the postcard directly.

"Remember how I used to send you a postcard from every new city I would visit?"

I nod lightly. How could I ever forget? The postcards have never stopped coming.

"Well, it's my first time in Sanremo. So, here! Not much to say this time," she says with a small smile. "Thanks for today. I had a lot of fun."

"Me too," I murmur, looking at her handwriting. I know it just as well as my own handwriting.

"Actually, you know, I—" she stops herself and shakes her head. "Never mind. I'll see you around, Rory. I should probably head up."

I nod, still going over her handwriting. Every postcard has started with Dear Rory. Not this one. "Yeah, uhm... yeah. Me too."

"Good night, Aurora."

"Night," I mumble, looking up only as she starts walking away.

The following day, I don't run into her. I know she's probably left already. This town feels just a little emptier now. I keep the postcard in my journal, reading those five words over and over again every once in a while.

———