by Kristin Rae
pippers26: Hah! Yes, I got to it. I told a beautiful guy he was beautiful! Eeeep!
queenofdrama14: and?!
pippers26: … and he kissed me. The next day, but still.
queenofdrama14: !!!! who? details!
pippers26: His name is Bruno. I told you about Chiara, remember? Bruno’s her cousin. We’re staying with his family.
queenofdrama14: whoa, like in the same house? that’s some serious close proximity. where does he sleep? and where do you sleep?
pippers26: Chill out there, Morgs. Chiara and I kicked the guys out of their bunk beds. They sleep in the living room.
My fingers rhythmically tap the surface of the keys, waiting for a response.
pippers26: You still there?
queenofdrama14: uh, yeah, sorry. just passed out a little. you said GUYS. that’s plural. and they’re italian, right?
queenofdrama14: have you died and gone to heaven, leaving me behind to navigate the dregs?
pippers26: Luca’s, like, a child. Doesn’t count.
queenofdrama14: whatevs. oh hey, cable’s throwing rocks at my window. time for me to make like a tree.
pippers26: Cable? WAIT! You’re sneaking out at two in the morning with Jeremy Cable?
queenofdrama14: maybe.
I sink down into my seat, reviewing every possible interaction between the two of them I may have witnessed since Cable joined our drama group last year. He’s unarguably gorgeous, but he’s so quiet, I never caught much of a personality from him. And she never once mentioned him to me apart from “Who’s the new guy?” and “I sure hope he can keep up.”
pippers26: No wonder you were awake. And Cable is hardly the dregs, Morgs. He’s cute!
queenofdrama14: haha, i know! i miss you!
pippers26: This conversation is not over. I will get details out of you!
queenofdrama14: ditto ;) leaving now. love you!
pippers26: Love you too! Later.
I’m still smiling as I close out our conversation and crank up the music on my computer, halfheartedly sing-humming along to the songs I know and scrolling through the pictures I’ve taken so far this summer. I start at the beginning, my mouth watering at the rich texture of my first gelato. I’m transported back to the streets of Rome when I come to the picture of a quiet alley draped in ivy, then the Pantheon, and the Colosseum. I ache for that first day, everything about it.
And everyone …
I stop at the image of me between Darren and Nina, the Colosseum stretching up behind us. It’s such an iconic structure, at first glance someone might think we were Photoshopped in front of it. But I know the truth. And I can feel it. The sticky heat of Rome’s summer air, the chatter of languages blending together. The hand at my lower back.
My face stares back at me, only a couple of weeks younger than I am now, but the difference is shocking. There’s more color and life to me now, thanks to my sun-kissed skin and my rich chocolate hair. I’ve gotten so used to seeing the me in the mirror that this pale, untraveled girl in the photo seems like someone else. She was still waiting.
A sigh escapes my lips and I scroll over to Darren’s face until it takes up the entire screen, then zoom out to fit his mane into view. Seriously, who has hair like that? Guys don’t get perms, do they?
I keep scrolling through the rest of my photos, and my breath catches at the sight of me with Bruno. The kissing bench. I zoom in. I don’t remember closing my eyes. Not that I remember leaving them open either, but they’re definitely closed here. My eyebrows are raised in surprise while Bruno’s are scrunched together, intense. Passionate.
I pull my computer closer to me and stare at our lips. Chills run down my arms at the memory.
The music that’s blaring from the computer speakers fades, and just before it transitions to the next song, Chiara shrieks behind me.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“You kissed him?”
I slam my laptop shut and roll off the bed to face her, keeping most of my weight on my stronger foot. “It’s not what it looks like.”
She drops the lunch she brought for me onto the dresser and crosses her arms.
“He kissed me!”
“And you kissed him. I saw you zoom in to the lips.”
I swallow hard, guilt painting my face. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. He really did kiss me. First.”
She shakes her head and clucks her tongue.
“Yes, I know what he is, what you say he is. But you don’t—”
“I do not what? Know him? I know him more than you do.” Her nostrils are slightly flared, teeth clenched.
But when he looks at me, talks to me … it can’t all be contrived.
“I appreciate your warnings, Chiara, I really do. But you can’t expect me to want to resist the attention of a gorgeous Italian.” Especially when he’s taken such sweet care of me this entire week. He likes me, I know he does.
She erupts into laughter.
“Yes, I said it. Your cousin is hot. This can’t be the first time you’ve heard it.”
“Oh, I have my own pair of eyes.” She pauses, choosing her next words carefully. “But you American girls always see him differently. Your vision is …” Chiara raises her hands to the sides of her eyes like the blinders on a horse.
“You can’t seriously be stereotyping me. I am not just another American girl.” At least I don’t want to be that to him. I cross my arms, mirroring her.
“Of course you are not. You are Pippa. My friend. Amica.” She uncrosses my arms and takes my hands in hers. “But you need to open your eyes. Get rid of these,” she says, positioning my hands next to my eyes.
When she lets go, my arms drop to my sides. “I just wish you’d trust me.”
“Do you truly want to allow yourself to care for him when there is no chance for it to last?”
But what if it could?
Chiara motions toward my sack lunch and goes back to work. And I’m still confined to the apartment. Alone.
Early the next morning, Chiara, Luca, and Zia Matilde already long gone, I scramble to get ready to go before Bruno leaves for work in hopes that he takes me with him. I can’t stay trapped in here another day. My ankle will just have to deal.
I rinse the toothpaste out of my mouth and look up at the mirror one more time. Bruno’s sleepy eyes meet mine and I jump forward, pulling air through my teeth as I slam my hip into the counter.
“What are you doing? Watching me brush my teeth? Creeper,” I mutter as I rub my throbbing hip.
“You lied.”
My heart picks up pace as I rack my brain for what I could possibly have lied about, besides the whole thing with my parents. He already knows about that.
He holds the straight face for a moment before it cracks. “You say you are not goofy.”
“Clumsy,” I correct. “And I’m not … all the time.”
He laughs and it turns into a yawn as he leans his back against the wall behind me. “You are up early.”
The short pieces of his black hair are spiked out every which way. The poor lighting from the singular bulb on the ceiling over the shower exaggerates the dark circles under his eyes. He looks rough.
And why I find it incredibly hot is beyond me.
“Late night?” I ask.
I’m staring. I shouldn’t stare. Biting back a smirk at his disheveledness, I pull the band out of my hair, pretending that I need to redo my ponytail. Really, I just need a distraction.
“I’m going back to work today,” I say, when he doesn’t reply.
He snatches my hand to keep me from putting my hair back up. “It is lovely down,” he says softly.
I’m frozen, watching him in the mirror as he smooths a section of my hair, grazing my bare neck with his fingers. Everything Chiara’s said about him rushes to the front of my mind.
“Don’t,” I tell him, immediately wishing I hadn’t.
His hands are at my waist in an instant and he rotates me, pinning me betwe
en him and the counter. “Why?”
Because your cousin already wants to kill me for kissing you. Because I like it too much. Because you make me feel wanted.
I clear my throat. “Because you haven’t brushed your teeth yet.”
I twist my upper body around and grab his toothbrush—the neon green one. I squeeze out a bead of toothpaste from my tube, get the brush wet, and hold it close to his mouth. With the tiniest hint of a smile, Bruno opens his mouth maybe half an inch and shifts his body even closer to mine. His eyes dart down to my lips and back to my eyes, down and up, down and up, leaning closer. I should dodge him but I don’t—can’t. All I can do is stare at his mouth, knowing full well I don’t really care if he’s brushed his teeth yet or not.
Our noses nearly touch. He tilts his head to his right, I tilt mine to my right. We’re lined up and ready for impact. His warm breath tickles my chin as he whispers, “Grazie.”
He turns his head, wraps his mouth around the toothbrush, taking it from me, and walks out of the bathroom.
The trattoria is buzzing with life. The smells, the sounds, the languages floating through the air. I missed it all. It’s a little hotter outside than I’d prefer, but Gram always says it’s useless to complain about the weather since there’s nothing we can do about it.
I’m pulling eggs out of the refrigerator when Bruno shouts, “Do not drop them!”
I startle but keep the eggs steady in my hands, then turn to him and close the fridge with my hip. “I should crack one of these on your head.”
“Try it. See what happens.” He smirks, the circles under his eyes still there but not as noticeable.
I set all but one egg onto the butcher-block countertop, ready to tease him with it, but Chiara appears in the door to the kitchen and I lose my nerve. I may not exactly be listening to her over-protective lectures, but I don’t want to deliberately make her mad in full view. I turn from Bruno quickly and scoop the eggs back up, taking them to one of the cooks hovering over the stove.
“Someone is asking for you outside,” Chiara says.
Bruno rattles something off in Italian. All I catch are the names Francesca and Juliette. Something in my gut twists.
“Your girlfriends this week? How can you keep track?” she replies in pristine English, obviously a jab to both Bruno and me. “No, this is a man.”
My head whips up to look at Bruno. I’m armed and ready with a joke to throw at him, but his eyes are drawn tight in thought. The unmistakable hint of fear flashes across his face.
“He is here for Pippa,” Chiara says, practically bubbling over from the suspense of telling me.
A man? Now the fear spreads through me. My limbs start to weaken and all color drains from my face. Who knows I’m here? I only told Morgan, and there’s no way she’d snitch.
“Who?” I finally get out.
She shrugs, clearly pleased with the situation, and glances at Bruno. Both of their footsteps follow behind me as I limp my way through the indoor dining area and peek out the front. I scan the tables for a familiar face, but it’s the hair that catches my attention first. My heart kicks into gear and blood rushes back to my cheeks in an instant.
Darren’s lips are pulled in and an eyebrow is raised at a couple one table over engaged in a shameless make-out session. Honeymooners. I’m already trained to spot them. He looks away from them and catches me spying on him. His face relaxes into a smile.
I peer back at Chiara and Bruno with my best shouldn’t-you-be-doing-something look. Chiara grabs a pitcher and brings it to the kitchen while Bruno heads straight for Darren’s table. I snatch his arm and pull him back.
“Let me get his table,” I spit out in a rush. “I already know the menu. Plus, he’s here to see me, remember?”
“That is my section,” he retorts, eyes slightly narrowed.
“Too bad. I’m taking it.” I reach for a menu. Without waiting for a reply, I hobble as quickly as I can to meet Darren. He’s still smiling.
“Hey! What are you doing here?” I ask, doing my best to tone down my inner schoolgirl.
He laughs, leaning on the back legs of his chair, hands resting just below his chest with fingers interlocked. “I’m fine, thanks, how are you?”
“I’m sorry,” I say, mentally kicking myself. “How are you?”
“Still fine.” His smile stretches to his ears tucked deep inside his curls. How did I forget those dimples?
“I’m sorry! You just sort of disappeared last time, so I’m surprised to see you. Again.”
His smile falls a little and his Adam’s apple bobs up, then back down. “Good surprise?”
Gripping the menu like a fan, I push air toward me. I open my mouth to speak, still unsure of how to answer in the least psychotic way possible, when Nina walks up, sporting a bright orange tank top and army green shorts that barely hit her thigh. She’s followed closely by a nicely tanned guy with short, wavy hair.
“I guess you really did find Pippa, didn’t you?” Nina walks up the couple of steps to the patio and wraps her arms around me. “How are you? Darren tells us he was your knight-in-shining-armor last weeke—”
“I didn’t say it like that,” he jumps in.
Nina pulls away and checks out my feet. “All healed up?”
I can’t tell if she’s genuinely concerned or if she’s about to step on my ankle to reinjure it.
“I’m a lot better now, thanks. Yeah, I—I had no idea he’d even be here,” I stammer like I’ve got something to hide. “It was a total freak accident, running into each other. And right when I’d hurt myself and needed help getting back.” Ugh. Ramble much?
Nina laughs without opening her mouth. “Lucky girl.”
She takes a seat next to Darren, and the tall guy who walked up with her holds out a hand for me to shake.
“I’m Tate.”
“Pippa.”
“Yes. I’ve heard.” Tate smiles, revealing familiar dimples, and sits on the other side of Darren. He plucks a sugar packet from the container on the table and nervously tears at its edges.
Darren drops his chair on all fours and clears his throat with excessive force. “Tate’s my brother.”
That explains the dimples and the hair. “Oh, that’s right. I remember you mentioning him.”
I turn to observe Tate again. He’s a little thicker than Darren, and clean shaven. Probably a few years older.
I should take their drink order, but that’s not really the question I’m dying to learn the answer to. “So, what brings you guys to Cinque Terre?”
Darren steals the menu from Nina and scans it as he says, “Oh, we have a couple of weeks off. Thought it might be nice to spend most of one of them here on the coast.”
I stifle a gasp. A week? Here?
“I wasn’t finished with that,” Nina says, taking the menu again, then looking up at me with an almost devious smile. “Darren insisted we come up here first. Wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
My eyes dart to Darren, expecting him to explain.
“Next week we’re heading down to Pompeii,” Darren says, giving Nina a pointed look.
I let out an audible gasp. “Oh, that’s awesome. I’m dying to see Pompeii.”
Nina sets the menu down on the table and props her chin in her hands. “You should come with us.”
Her words hit me like a challenge. I look from Darren to Tate, both of them smiling like they’re in on it and know my answer will be yes.
Wait a second. Is this some kind of setup?
Tate said he already knew my name, and he said it in that amused yet borderline annoyed tone as if Darren talked about me too much. Would he really try to set me up with his brother?
“You don’t have to answer right away,” Tate says. “We did sort of randomly spring it on you.” He flings the sugar packet at Nina and she ducks behind her menu again.
“But we’d love for you to come,” Darren adds, reaching to the top of his head and retrieving a pair of sunglasses I didn�
��t even notice before buried in his hair. He folds them up and places them on the table. “You did say you wanted to see Pompeii.”
“Who wouldn’t?” I finally say.
Shrill laughter from across the patio demands my attention, and I find Bruno flirting shamelessly with a bleached blonde. His hand rests on the back of her chair and she’s gawking up at him, her fake-baked face barely letting her natural blush shine through. Is this his way of getting back at me for wanting Darren’s table, or is he like that with customers all the time no matter what? This whole week I’ve been trapped in the apartment, has he been here carrying on, “business” as usual?
When I turn back, Darren is glaring at Bruno, jaw set in a hard line. Nina and Tate are smirking at each other. This is all just too weird.
Another shriek of laughter comes from Bruno’s table. He catches me looking and cocks his head to the side, eyes darting between Darren and Tate before clearly checking out Nina. The blonde coughs and his attention is back on her. He’s like two different people and I don’t know which one to believe in.
I exhale and smile at my new friends. “I’m in.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The next morning, I change my mind. Several times over.
Darren, Nina, and Tate are staying in Manarola—just as Darren had last weekend—so we planned to meet up for lunch at Bar dell’Amore, a tiny cliff-side restaurant between the villages. A gray wall of cloud cover looms overhead and I’m able to walk the trail without my skin melting off. I’m also able to think semi-clearly, and I teeter back and forth with my hasty decision to go with them to Pompeii. My frequent breaks allow my ankle to rest and I get a good forty-five minutes’ worth of quality think time.
I shouldn’t go. Even though Darren’s been nothing but nice, I don’t actually know him know him. Or Tate, or Nina, for that matter.
Besides, how can I make myself stop thinking about Darren now that he found me again? Actually sought me out this time, knowing where I’d be. Even if it was all for his brother.
I spot Darren sitting alone at a table, chewing the tip of his thumbnail, elbow propped up on the metal railing, gazing out over the sea. I can’t help it. I raise my camera and snap a picture of him, then check it on my display. The perfect candid. He could be anyone, enjoying the beauty of the Italian Riviera. But he’s sitting there, waiting for me.