I used to be a morning person. It was easy to be a morning person before the War, when sleep came swiftly and predictably and dreams didn’t always turn into nightmares. I liked getting up early; I liked having a head start on my day. It was the sort of thing that I never expected to change in any significant fashion.

But it did, of course.

I had resigned myself to the fact that I would likely have to go to a nightclub or three while we were visiting Las Ballenas. I had made an agreement with Alicia: I would be a good sport and go along if I didn't have to kiss a stranger or drink some sort of overly fancy drink from a vessel that was not normally used for drinking.

I was trying with great difficulty to remind myself that I didn't care what Fred did but Yolanda smiled back at him and I was fairly certain I was going to die.

It was dark, but I could practically see the gears turning in Alicia's head as she looked from me to Fred and back again. I tried to keep my expression as neutral as possible, like it was perfectly normal for me to be sharing biscuits with her handsome friend after two o'clock in the morning.

The wedding was on Saturday, so Friday was supposed to conclude with a quiet evening in.

Alicia had told me that I didn’t have to make a toast.

That unplanned first date on the beach was deceptively easy.