The Turning Point

by Marie Meyer

I shrugged off the impatient cabby and wheeled my belongings into the hotel, feeling proud of myself. I could mark one thing off my bucket list: hail a taxi. Check.

  I got checked in and found my room, ready to collapse into bed. After traveling for almost a day, I didn’t have anything left. Italy wasn’t going anywhere, and I knew I’d enjoy it more after a long night’s rest.

  * * *

  Tourists crowded the ancient streets of Pompeii, but it didn’t detract from the awe and majesty the ruins inspired. The undulating stones that made up the main street weren’t easy to navigate, but it didn’t matter; Pompeii was breathtaking. The highlight of my Italian getaway for sure, even though I’d only begun my excursion.

  I lifted the flap of my messenger bag and stored my bottle of water, then pulled out one of the many guidebooks I’d acquired before my trip. Even though Mom wouldn’t let me plan my trip down to the last detail, saying I needed to leave a little room for spontaneity, there was no way I’d planned to tour Italy blindly.

  Stepping carefully across the chariot-rutted stones, I navigated the haunting streets. The crumbling stone walls still held echoes of the people who once inhabited the city. Even after almost two thousand years, their cries could still be heard, carried on the breeze that ruffled my hair.

  A chill went down my spine as I trailed along the busy street on my way to the Forum. I decided to begin my visit with the architecture as opposed to the famous plaster casts. Despite how long ago all those people lived, I wasn’t ready to cry just yet. The immortalized dwellings alone held countless untold stories, even without the people frozen for all of time in their death throes.

  As I navigated tourists, languages from every corner of the world touched my ears as people marveled and took in the town’s epicenter.

  Standing in the middle of the square, I stared the ancient Roman columns. Looking upward, I shielded my eyes from the blazing sun. Hundreds of people milled about, soaking up Pompeii from all angles.

  Mount Vesuvius loomed in the distance. It had been a normal day for the Romans milling about. Then, out of nowhere, a bomb was dropped on them. Their hopes and dreams, their futures, everything was reduced to ash. In some minuscule way, I understood. My dad’s words rumbled in the back of my head like an earthquake threatening to shatter my future.

  Enough, Sophia. You’re in freaking Italy. You’re here to have a good time, not a pity party.

  Italy. I still couldn’t believe I was here, that I’d even entertained the notion of tossing this trip in the trash. Yes, I still felt my father was a coward for walking out on Mom and me, but after thinking about what Lydia had told me, why he left, I understood him better. The motivation behind his actions made sense, even though it still hurt. And buying me a trip to Italy didn’t make up for all the years he’d missed when I was a kid, but I’d be lying if I didn’t think this was an outstanding graduation present. Still, in the back of my mind, not knowing if my father’s fate was my own, I needed to live my life as if it was. I needed to seize every opportunity afforded to me. In fifteen…twenty years, I may not be able to climb the steps in front of me or even navigate the uneven stone roads that connected the past with the present.

  I drew in a deep breath, filling my lungs with the scents of sunshine and antiquity. I held it in, committing it to memory before I made my way to the end of the Forum, toward the Temple of Jupiter.

  Closing my eyes, I allowed the history surrounding me to seep into my bones and become a part of me. I took a couple of tentative steps backward, raising my face skyward, feeling the warmth of the sun on my cheeks, the breeze in my hair. Of the five senses, the eyes seemed to get all the glory. But with them still closed, my nose, skin, and ears rose to the occasion, soaking up Italy.

  I stepped to my left, eyes still closed, head still turned toward the sun like a flower, when I crashed into a freaking wall. Hard.

  “Fuck!” yelled a deep, male voice.

  Oh, God! Not a wall…a person.

  My eyes snapped open and I whirled around. “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry!” I slapped both hands across my mouth before I vomited a thousand more apologies. Sprawled in front of me on the ground was an incredibly tall, sun-kissed, blond-haired guy. His belongings—a map, water bottle, and cell phone—lay scattered around him, and his sunglasses sat crooked on his nose.

  “What the hell?” he cursed again. Pushing himself up, he adjusted his sunglasses.

  The way his biceps strained beneath his white polo shirt left me speechless. I shook my head. I wasn’t one to ogle, but I couldn’t help it with him. This guy had an incredible body. There weren’t men like him back home.

  I stared as he collected his things. I should have helped, but I was still in shock—not to mention mortified—that I’d literally knocked him on his ass. Given my height compared to his, I didn’t think it was possible for me to knock him over. A smile crept to my lips, the prelude to a giggle fit I felt bubbling inside my chest, a defense mechanism to hide my embarrassment. I bit my tongue and held my breath to keep from laughing in his face. That would be rude.

  Once he had his belongings gathered, he hopped to his feet with ease. I craned my neck upward. Damn, he’s tall. Taller than I’d thought.

  “Thanks for the help,” he grumbled, clearly irritated. His American accent was helpful in providing some personal information.

  I shook my head. “I’m so sorry.”

  He brushed the dust off his butt. “Yeah, you mentioned that.” Then, like clouds parting to reveal the sun, his anger disappeared as his lips broke into a stunning smile.

  His straight, white teeth gleamed in the angled morning sun. Against his tan skin, they shone even brighter. Megawatt didn’t even begin to cover it. God bless his parents and their dedication to orthodontia.

  He held out his hand. “Lucas.”

  I put my palm to his, and he closed his fingers tightly. My heart gave a quick thump as our fingers made contact.

  In books, I’d always read about people experiencing a spark or an electric current, indicative of an instant attraction. I wasn’t going to lie to myself and say I wasn’t attracted to him, because I definitely was. But there was no shock or jolt. Nothing like that. When my hand pressed against his, it was more than a momentary spark. I felt anchored…connected…not alone.

  Our hands formed the source of the circuit, while our bodies directed the pulse of energy through our systems. Without our connection, the voltage would die.

  And just like I’d imagined, he pulled his hand back and the power went out, like someone had thrown the breaker in a fuse box.

  He lifted his sunglasses to the top of his head. Small creases pinched the skin around his eyes, and he pierced me with a cerulean gaze. His gorgeous blue eyes were hypnotizing. Cocking his head to the right, he studied me for a brief moment, then asked, “What did you say your name was?”

  “Uh…” The sun bleached everything, making even the most vivid colors hard to distinguish, but his eyes were otherworldly, a deep, ocean blue that rivaled the Bay of Naples. I still stared…I couldn’t help it. With eyes like that, he must get that reaction all the time.

  “Forget your name?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Uh…” I giggled at my own stupidity. Yes, I’m a college graduate. I’m capable of holding a conversation. What was my problem? “Sorry, no.” I cleared my throat. “My name’s Sophia.”

  “You’re an American?”

  “Yes” I confirmed with a nod. “And you?”

  He folded his map and stuffed it in his back pocket. “Born and raised.”

  “Leave it to me to knock over a fellow countryman in a sea of foreigners.”

  “I won’t deny your talent.” He smiled broadly, his white teeth on full display yet again. But this time, I was drawn to the deep-set dimple on his left cheek.

  It was completely out of character for me, but I wanted more than anything to run my fingers over his cheeks. To feel the golden smattering of stubble on his face and to have h
is chin scratch against my fingertips like fine sand. Bliss. Of all the people there was to knock over, why him? He was too gorgeous for words, and by the way mine disappeared in his presence, it wasn’t just an opinion but a fact.

  My cheeks overheated, and it wasn’t the sun causing the spike in my temperature: Embarrassment coupled with his insane good looks was enough to leave me blubbering like an idiot. I squinted, raising my arm to shield the sun from my hot face.

  “I’m sorry I knocked you over.” Hiding my awkwardness behind a casual comment, I shuffled my feet. “Buon viaggio.” I hitched my messenger bag securely on my shoulder, waved, and began walking away.

  Did I just say “have a nice trip” after tripping over him? What was wrong with me?

  “Sophia, wait,” he called.

  My heart hammered hard against my chest at the sound of my name wrapped in his voice. God, what was wrong with me? I stopped and looked over my shoulder. With two confident strides, he stood next to me again. I turned to face him. There was a considerable height difference between us, and by his cocky grin, he seemed to like the angle.

  “Yeah?” My voice wobbled. It had been ages since I’d had a legitimate conversation with a guy. After the miserably awkward month when I’d dated Scotty Hendrickson in high school, and the bumbling five minutes in the backseat of his mom’s car on the night of our junior prom, I’d sworn off dating altogether. Then senior year happened. After Pen died, I’d had no desire to be around anyone, let alone a guy. School provided an easy way to hide from male attention, sexual or otherwise. Once I quit soccer, I wasn’t Sophia, the cool kickass athlete anymore. Nobody wanted to hook up with Sophia the book nerd, which was fine with me.

  If I were smart, I’d stick to my old ways. I had no business talking to him, not after what I’d learned of my possible future…or lack thereof.

  Lucas scanned the crowd, first left, then right, before refocusing his vivid blue eyes on me. “You alone?” he asked, cocking his eyebrow.

  Okay. How am I supposed to answer this? It could be a completely innocent question, and he may just want to know if I’m traveling alone. But the warning bells inside my head chimed quietly: What if he’s a criminal…a murderer…a sex slave broker? I’d seen Taken; I knew how these gorgeous people preyed upon unsuspecting American girls, especially those traveling alone.

  “I’m sorry, that was a dumb question.” He waved his hand. “I just wanted to know if you wanted to get some coffee or something. There’s a café just a short walk from the ruins.” He pointed in that direction.

  I fidgeted with the map in my hands, pressing the corner down one way and then unfolding it to press it down the opposite direction. Play it cool, Soph. Decline his offer and leave.

  “Thanks, but I can’t. It was nice to meet you, Lucas.”

  His lips pressed into a tight smile, hiding his dimple. “Can I at least get your number? If you want to ditch the group you’re traveling with, you could give me a call.”

  I bit my bottom lip, cringing slightly. I had to give him credit; he didn’t give up easily. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” Trust me, Lucas, I am not the girl for you….No future here, walk on by.

  “Right,” he drawled. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.” He winked. “It was nice meeting you, Sophia.”

  “Yeah, nice to meet you.” I smiled back.

  There was a sparkle in his eyes as I turned to leave, for good this time. Bumping into Lucas put me off my schedule, not that the permanent inhabitants of Pompeii cared much; they weren’t going anywhere, but strangely, I didn’t care that I was off schedule either…I was actually enjoying myself.

  Chapter Eight

  The sun grew hotter as the day went on, but I was determined to see all the major tourist attractions Pompeii had to offer. The next stop on my self-guided tour was the House of the Vettii. I paused my podcasted tour before I went inside the house and searched for the bottle of water in my bag. After taking a few long swigs, I stowed it and made my way inside, pressing PLAY on my phone. The tour guides picked up where they’d left off, directing me into the home of two freedmen who once lived here, Aulus Vettius Restitutus and Aulus Vettius Conviva. With all the ancient knowledge I’d already gained in my first couple of hours spent on the streets of Pompeii, I was turning into a history buff instead of a science geek.

  With my left earbud fit snuggly into my ear, I listened as the tour guides directed my attention to the right side of the vestibule upon entering the Vettii home. There, halfway up the wall on the right side, in all its grandeur, was the fresco of Priapus. According to my guides, this painting wasn’t meant to be distasteful, even though the man depicted in the artwork was weighing his massive erection against a bag of money on a balance scale. According to historians, the fresco was meant to symbolize the wealth and strength of the homeowners, the Vettii brothers.

  As I continued to listen to my guides, keeping my eyes on Priapus and his prodigious phallus, I felt a tickle at my right ear. “Impressive, isn’t it?”

  “Ahh!” I shouted, turning around and leaping backward at the same time. I slapped my hands over my mouth, realizing how loudly I’d shouted. The guy I’d bumped into in the Forum this morning stood behind me, grinning like an ass. Lucas.

  He chuckled. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Lowering my hands to my chest in an attempt to slow my thumping heart and find the ability to breathe again, I sighed. “Yes, you did.” He was such a liar.

  “Okay, maybe I did. Payback for this morning.” He laughed again, showcasing that striking dimple in his left cheek. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  “Yes, fancy that.” I took another deep breath and paused my podcast. I pulled the earbud from my left ear, keeping my attention focused on him.

  Lucas tucked a hand in his pocket and smirked. “So, you are alone.”

  What was it with this guy? “Why are you so concerned about my potential lack of travel companions?” I still didn’t want to clue him in on my solo status, even though he looked completely harmless. I couldn’t let my guard down.

  “Like I said before, I’d love to get something to eat. We can talk. I’m headed to Herculaneum next. I’m here alone.” He gestured to the empty space around him. “We could buddy up. Keep each other company. You could give me your number.”

  I eyed him warily. The little voice I heard this morning still echoed in the back of my head—the one that suggested he may be a criminal—but the sound was fading the more I stared into his extraordinarily blue eyes. “Where are you from?” I asked, like that made a difference. It wasn’t like sex slave traders didn’t live and work in the United States, too.

  “San Diego, California.” He held his hand out for me to shake. “Lucas Walsh.”

  Hesitantly, I reached for his hand. The moment our palms touched, he latched his fingers around mine, like he had this morning. My heart threatened to jump into my throat. Our connection had been restored. The power came back on and my body hummed with energy.

  Pumping my arm up and down, he smiled confidently. “Nice to meet you, Linebacker. See, now we’re friends. Now you can have lunch with me.”

  I raised an eyebrow and lowered my hand from his. “Linebacker?”

  In my soccer-playing days, I’d been a fierce defender, known to plow through an advance made by the opposing team, but I was highly certain that didn’t qualify me for linebacker status. “Are you insulting my size? Sure, I may not be petite at five-seven, but I don’t think I look like a football player,” I teased, keeping a straight face. It was time to have a little fun with him and his cocky self-assurance.

  A look of horror wiped the smug, handsome grin off his face. “No! God, I’m so sorry!” He clutched both of my hands, my phone and earbuds, too, between his long fingers. “This morning, when you bumped into me…I just…I…”

  It was my turn to laugh. God, it feels good to laugh. Since my heart-to-heart with dear old Dad, I hadn’t laughed at anything. “I’m joking!” I said
through a fit of giggles.

  He smiled and let go of my hands, shoving his into his pockets. “Well, I can see I’ve screwed this up.” He took his right hand from his pocket and ran it through his sun-bleached blond hair.

  “Ah, come on. What happened to Mr. Confident?” I teased.

  With a closed mouth, he flashed a nanosecond grin. “Insulting the girl you want to take to lunch isn’t my best move.”

  He was so cute with his hunched shoulders and brooding pout. “Ah, come on, don’t be like that. I was only joking. I like the nickname.” I was such a liar.

  Cocking his head to the side, he peered at me from beneath heavy lids. I could see his ego inflating like a balloon as the hunch in his stance disappeared. “Good. Then it’s a date.”

  My head tilted, mirroring his. “I don’t recall agreeing to that.”

  “Technicality.”

  “You don’t give up, do you?”

  “Not when it’s important.”

  Important? Having lunch with me is important? Okay? That was random.

  I stared at him for a beat. He seemed genuine. I wasn’t picking up on any malicious vibes. I chewed the inside of my cheek, contemplating my next move. I hated deviating from my itinerary, but what harm could come from having lunch with a fellow American? It might even be nice to share what Italy has to offer with another person.

  “Okay,” I sighed.

  “I knew you’d cave.”

  “But,” I shouted over his gloat, “before I go with you, you have to answer some questions.”

  “Shoot.” He nailed me with his striking eyes, and I felt it in my core. With him staring at me, it was a miracle I could form a coherent thought.

  “What’s your full name, date of birth, and your most favorite place to eat?”

  He gave a puzzled look but obliged. “Lucas Tyler Walsh, June twenty-fourth, 1991, favorite place to eat…here or back home? Obviously the answers aren’t the same.”

  “Both,” I countered.

  “Here: Jacks N Joe. Hometown: Hash House A Go Go.”