Anywhere

by Jinsey Reese

  ME: Me, too. A thousands times over.

  And I was. I was so happy to be in Italy and far, FAR away from the scene of what my mother considered to be my Greatest Disappointment Ever. I’m sure that’s what she was calling it by now. If I hadn’t left, I would have already been pronounced Mrs. Blaine Thompson, the thought of which actually made me shudder. Blaine had wanted me to take his last name and I’d wanted to keep my own. Between him and my mother—I don’t know why she cared, but she’d argued heavily for his name—I’d finally given in and agreed to take his…just to get them to leave me alone.

  Honestly, I felt as if I’d escaped a life sentence.

  But still, I’ve never been good with upsetting people.

  And people were Very Upset with me now. So it’s not like I was unaware of the Heavy Disapproval aimed at me from the States. I could feel it even an ocean away.

  “You okay?” Asher said, and I realized I hadn’t said much since we’d left the restaurant and headed toward the grand canal.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Just thinking.” He looked at me expectantly. “Today was the wedding day.”

  “Oh.” He nodded, and we walked a little ways in silence. “Are you regretting this? Coming here?”

  “What? NO.” I shook my head. “God no. I’m grateful to be here. But still I feel bad about the whole situation.”

  “That’s understandable. But if you’re not wishing you’d gone through with it, then you made the right decision. That’s what really matters.”

  I was quiet for a moment again, thinking. Then I said, “What’s your ex’s name? Did you want to marry her?”

  “Tamara. And I don’t know. I thought I did before. But things change, you know?” He was looking right at me. Yes, I did know. “I guess I’ve got to figure that out,” he said.

  We’d made it to the grand canal as light was fading from the cloud-filled sky, and walked the steep steps up to the peak of the Rialto Bridge. When we got to the top, under the huge rounded stone arch, we stood at the railing and looked out.

  The water sparkled with lights along both sides of the canal as people strolled on the sidewalks or sat in crowded restaurants. A vaporetto full of people, lit from within like a candle floating on water, slipped underneath us. This place was laced with magic at night.

  “I wouldn’t be anywhere but here at this moment,” I said, and I could feel Asher turn to look at me though I kept gazing out over the water.

  “Same here,” he said quietly. I glanced up at his face and we just stared at each other for a long moment. Butterflies started up in my stomach, and I was very aware of every breath we took, the air that we were sharing.

  I looked away first, trying to stop the dancing of my heart and regain my calm—which I wasn’t sure was possible with him standing so close and looking at me like that. I couldn’t do this with him. It wasn’t right—not from my end or his, with a hopeful ex waiting for him.

  “Gelato?” I said, my voice sounding breathy, which made me want to cringe. I cleared my throat and pointed to the right bank. “There’s a gelato shop down there. And we do have a Quest.”

  “That we do. Lead the way,” Asher said and waved me forward.

  There were so many people in line that we had to wait, but I took that as a good sign—especially since most of them looked like locals.

  “Oh. My. God.” Asher’s eyes were closed like he was experiencing nirvana, and I had to laugh.

  “I know,” I said. It was even better than at Trevi Fountain.

  “You have got to try the chocolate,” he said and held his cone out to me. I took a bite and moaned—it was chocolate PERFECTION. “Right?” he said.

  I held my lemon and coconut out to him, and he held my gaze—his eyes glinting dark blue in the shine of the street lamp—as he took a bite. I watched his mouth, wanting to catch the drip of gelato on his lips.

  I didn’t.

  But, oh my god, I wanted to. And, oh my god, that scared me.

  “Wow, yours is even better than mine,” he said, licking his lips—oh dear god. “Wanna trade?” He had a devilish grin on his face.

  “No way,” I said, and he laughed, bumping me with his shoulder.

  “NOW,” he said between bites, “I think we can safely say we’ve completed the Gelato Quest.”

  “Only with the caveat that we get to keep having gelato every day.”

  “Well, THAT goes without saying.”

  “I’m glad we’re in agreement on this. Otherwise I’d have to find someone else to travel with.” Ha. Like I would have. I could still feel the effects of his grin.

  Asher laughed.

  And that’s when we felt the first drops. We started walking back to the bridge, but by the time we got to the bottom of it, the skies opened up. We ran up the steps—oh my god, there were a lot more than I’d realized—and by the time we got to the top, I was drenched and out of breath.

  Instead of racing down the other side, Asher grabbed my hand and pulled me under the arch and out of the rain. There were a few others taking shelter there, and we moved off to one side by ourselves.

  My hair was stuck to my face, my clothes soaked through and clinging, and I was starting to shiver. Asher let go of my hand to reach up and brush the wet hair from my face.

  And I found it hard to breathe at the feel of him.

  I glanced up at his face and he searched my eyes. My heart was beating ridiculously fast now and I was so aware of the air between us, could feel every shift in the molecules against my wet skin. Asher’s hand paused and his thumb brushed softly across my cheek.

  If I thought it was hard to breathe before, that was nothing compared to now. My stomach was doing flips and my body pulsed with his every touch. I was pretty sure I might spontaneously combust.

  My mind thought he should not touch me like that and my body wanted him to never stop.

  “Asher.” I breathed his name like it was air.

  His eyes settled on my lips. He stared, mesmerized, for what felt like an eternity before he said, “Skye.” His voice was hoarse, soft. “May I…”

  “Yes,” I said, before my mind could stop me.

  Slowly, gently, he leaned toward me and I closed my eyes as his lips touched mine.

  Oh. My. God.

  Thrills flooded my body, coursed through my chest, and swirled all through me. He tasted like chocolate and everything that was good in this world. He nipped at my bottom lip then sucked on it so gently I gasped, pleasure swelling low in a slow, persistent throb.

  He deepened the kiss, his tongue outlining my lips, running over my teeth, his fingers sliding into my wet hair. I wove my arms around his waist, hooked my fingers into his belt loops and pulled him closer to me. I wanted to feel him against me. All of him.

  He moaned deliciously into my lips, then trailed a line of kisses along my jawline. A whisper of “Oh, Skye” escaped his lips and his breath in my ear shivered me. He sucked gently on my earlobe and the aching between my legs almost buckled my knees.

  I had never wanted anyone in my life as much as I wanted him in that moment.

  No one had ever kissed me like that, like I was being tasted and savored. Like I was being worshipped. The world was spinning—I’d never known it was actually possible to feel like that. I was intoxicated with his taste, his touch.

  My hands slid up under his shirt (I couldn’t stop them—I swear), over warm skin and smooth muscle. He gasped and then laughed at my touch.

  “Your hands are cold,” he said.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, and started to pull them away, but he stopped my arms and slid my hands back under his shirt.

  “No,” he said. “It’s okay. Let me warm them.”

  I wrapped my arms around him, relishing the feel of his skin, and leaned my head against his chest. He rested his chin on my forehead, his arms holding me close.

  I let myself have that moment, told myself that we were just keeping each other warm, that the kiss had been a mistake—an amazin
g one, perhaps the most incredible one of my life, but still a mistake—and that it didn’t matter. That it couldn’t matter. That we both knew it, given our circumstances.

  But I was totally lying to myself.

  ten

  The next morning we stood at the railing of a large boat, taking a tour of the bigger islands of Venice. The sky above was cloudless, leaving the sun to fill the land, sea, and air unchecked. Even so I had goosebumps thanks to the wind, and was wishing I’d worn jeans instead of shorts. I was contemplating finding a bathroom and changing when Asher handed me his hoodie again. I gratefully slipped it on.

  I had been so worried that things might be awkward between us after last night. The downpour had turned into a drizzle, and we’d made our way back to the hostel and said good night. I’d fallen asleep with the feel of Asher replaying over and over again in my mind, no matter how much I tried to push it away.

  And I’d felt shy about him this morning, but that had all gone away as soon as I’d seen him in the lobby, a smile lighting his face when he spotted me.

  “So why didn’t your brother come with you?” I said now, as we stared out toward the Adriatic Sea, the wind whipping my hair across my face every few seconds. “You never said.”

  Asher didn’t respond right away, so I turned to look at him. His jaw muscles were clenching and he looked like he was concentrating really hard. He was obviously upset, and I was suddenly sorry I’d asked.

  “Look,” I said, “if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine…”

  “No,” he said, his eyes watering slightly. “It’s just…my brother was killed in a car accident about a month ago, right before he would have graduated from college.”

  “Oh, Asher,” I said. I wanted to tell him I was sorry, but somehow that always sounded wrong to me—or not wrong, really, but not enough. Even though I was sorry and felt pain for his pain. But I didn’t want him to think I felt pity for him, because nobody wants to feel pitied.

  So I reached over to where he gripped the railing and gently slid my hand over his. He opened his fingers and let me twine mine into his. We stood like that for a few moments, silent. I thought about my brother and how awful it would feel to lose him, knowing there was no way I could even fathom what Asher was going through.

  My heart ached for him and I wasn’t sure what to do. Asking him questions would just bring up the pain, but at the same time it didn’t feel right to not say anything at all.

  “Your brother…what was his name?”

  “Josh.” Asher leaned forward onto his elbows, taking my hand with him. The movement pulled me close against his side as he held my hand between both of his. He started to trace patterns on my fingers and the back of my hand.

  “Will you tell me about him?” I said.

  He was quiet again, his jaw working. He focused on my hand between his while he wrestled back control, then he swallowed and nodded.

  “It’s just…hard,” he said. “Still.”

  “Of course it is. It just happened.” I squeezed his hands. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to talk about it.”

  Asher stared at our intertwined fingers, then said, “He was my best friend.” His arms tightened slightly. “He was a year younger than me, and one of the best people I’ve ever known. He was funny and really quick—he always had a comeback. I loved that about him. And he was just fun to be around. We’d been planning to take this trip together for the past year, and when we got back, we were going to find an apartment somewhere in Florida and look for jobs.” He swallowed hard. “But now…”

  Tears stung the backs of my eyes at the raw pain in his voice.

  “Josh had always wanted to live in Florida, and I just wanted to live wherever he did. He was going to save the Earth one small section at a time.”

  “He sounds like a really great guy.”

  “He was.” Asher was quiet as he looked out over the water. “You know, the quests were Josh’s idea. He started that when we were in high school.” He paused, then said, “He made life fun.”

  “Then you must be a lot like him,” I said. “Because you do that, too.”

  “Nah,” Asher said, smiling sadly. “That’s not me. That’s the European Shine.”

  I tried to figure out whether he was right. I was loving Europe and was excited just to be here, that was true…but no, what was making it fun was Asher.

  “No,” I said quietly, not quite believing that I was about to say this out loud, but he needed to hear it more than I needed to keep it to myself, “it’s you, Asher. You’ve made this fun—and I would feel the same anywhere we were.”

  He smiled and something shifted in his eyes. It was a small change, and I wasn’t sure what it was, but I almost felt as if he was looking at me differently, like he was seeing something there he hadn’t noticed before.

  “Though,” I said, tilting my head at him, “I do see some room for improvement, if I’m going to be honest.”

  A ghost of a smile settled on his lips. “I’m listening.”

  “We have yet to look for tacky souvenirs and we’ve been in Venice for almost a whole day.”

  He sighed heavily and rolled his eyes, the smile growing. “That Quest is over, Skye. We aren’t going to top the boxers. We haven’t seen anything that even comes close. Trust me on this. I’ve been questing a LOT longer than you have. I have a sense for these things.”

  “You have a Quest Sense?”

  He nodded, looking totally serious. “And it’s taken years of experience to develop it.”

  “I just don’t think it’s right to call a quest over after only one city, that’s all I’m saying. What if we’re wrong? I think we owe it to the Spirit of the Quest to at least keep looking.”

  He looked at me sideways. “The Spirit of the Quest?” he said, and I nodded. “Okay. We’ll look, but I want the record to reflect my assertion that the challenge has already been completed.”

  “As you wish, Counselor.”

  “See, the problem here,” I said as we wove through the souvenir vendors on the street with nothing even REMOTELY as tacky as those boxers in sight, “is that—”

  “I was right?” Asher said.

  I hit him on the arm and continued. “Is that I think Italy is totally missing out on an entire Tacky Souvenir Empire.”

  “Really.”

  “Like those hats up there.” And I pointed to these large, bright-colored patchwork Cat-in-the-Hat types and long pointed witch hats above a row of tame-but-lame touristy t-shirts. “They are ridiculous, yes. And anyone would look like an idiot wearing one—oh! Except for you, sir. You look GREAT,” I said to the guy who’d just bought one and was giving me the stink eye from underneath it. Asher threw back his head and laughed so hard some pigeons flew away.

  I ducked around the other side of the stand, laughing until tears ran down my face and I couldn’t breathe. I sat down hard on the ground and leaned back on my pack, staring up at the clouds passing by until I could speak again. God that felt good. I hadn’t laughed that hard in a long time.

  “But the problem I see,” I said, picking up where I’d left off, “is that Italy is severely underestimating tourists. I bet the ding-a-ling boxers are a big seller. I mean, even I bought a pair. But why stop at boxers? Why not have David’s bits and pieces hanging from a key chain?”

  Asher had this look of wonder on his face as he laughed.

  “What?” I said.

  “Josh would have liked you.” He said it like it was a huge compliment. And I took it as such.

  Then the butterflies began again in earnest.

  That night we wandered the streets, ending up in St. Mark’s square where chairs had been brought out and placed around stages set up along the perimeter. People either sat or stood, listening to musicians filling the air with song. The square was lit all around, the light glowing softly on faces while a sliver of moon hung in the sky.

  It was beautiful out, and unbelievably romantic with the stars and music i
ntermingling in the night. Asher looked at me, his gaze going to my lips, and I forced myself to turn away.

  Sometimes timing was everything, and at the moment, my timing completely sucked.

  eleven

  After three days amidst the crowds and the unbelievable art and history of Venice (seriously, it’s like whoa), all I wanted was to find a little town to hole up in for a couple of days of quiet. To get away and immerse myself in the local culture.

  I needed it. My senses were overwhelmed—totally in a good way, but still overwhelmed—and I wanted to catch a glimpse of life away from the tourist traps. It’s not like I hadn’t loved everywhere I’d been—I totally had—but in some ways it didn’t seem real. I wanted more—more intimate, more authentic, more Italian. So we picked a little town neither of us had ever heard of and hopped on a bus.

  Barolo lay atop a hill, nestled between a few trees and fields upon green fields of grape vines. A visage of mostly white and tan buildings with burnt sienna roofs, it took my breath away as our bus followed the dirt road into town. Cypress trees lined the edges, standing tall and skinny, as if at attention. Lush green rolling hills surrounded it, with houses scattered amidst the patchwork fields.

  Picture perfect. I was starting to think Italy was one giant magical kingdom.

  The only hotel in town was completely booked with a wine-making group, so we were told to go to the visitor’s office to find a place to stay. The man behind the desk smiled delightedly at us and introduced himself as Alessandro. He told us he had a room and quoted a price so low that I was sure I’d misunderstood him. I was also slightly freaked that he’d said room in the singular, not plural.

  “One room?” I said.

  “Si! Si!” Alessandro said, nodding enthusiastically. He pointed at Asher and me. “I have just the room for you.”

  He waved for us to follow and slipped out the door. Asher and I looked at each other for an unsure moment, but there wasn’t any time to discuss it—we practically had to run to catch up. We followed Alessandro down the cobblestone streets. The stone walls of the buildings were water-smooth and cool under my hands—I couldn’t help but touch them as I watched Asher reaching out as well. Alessandro stopped at a building on the edge of town and went inside.