CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN

He made reservations for us at an incredible tapas restaurant, and I ate some of the very best foods I have ever had in my life there. I don't understand how he has only been living in this city for a few weeks, but he already knows where the best place to eat is. The first bar we go to is one that I am also unfamiliar with, but it turns out to be a superb pick with an amazing variety of drinks and an atmosphere to match.

As we finish our fifth or possibly sixth round of drinks, I chuckle and say, "You're more Manc than me."

He chuckles and says, "Trip Advisor." The cocktails seem to have had a calming effect on him, and we have scarcely talked about the argument we had the night before because I don't want to bring it up now that we are getting along so well. He seems to be in a better mood. After a few drinks, though, what I intend to say and what comes out of my mouth are two different things.

As I lean into him, the warmth of his body provides a reassuring feeling against my bare