Enemies Abroad

The waiter passes near me and I happily accept another caprese skewer with balsamic drizzle.

“Oh! I’ll take one too,” Gabriella says. “Thank you.”

She takes a bite then comes to stand beside me at the railing.

“All packed up and ready for tomorrow?” she asks.

“Oh…pretty much.”

I’m downplaying it, of course. I’ve had my luggage sorted for days. I have packing cubes for every type of clothing. I label each one. I optimize space in my suitcase with a tried-and-true system I’ve tweaked to perfection over the years. And most importantly, this time, I’m not going to look like a fool at the ticket counter at the airport. I bought a luggage scale at a pharmacy the other day. I’m at the top of my game.

“What about you?”

“Sort of. Actually…not at all.” She laughs. “I’ll probably toss everything into my suitcase in the morning and cross my fingers that it fits.”

I try not to look absolutely horrified.

“The end of the trip just kind of snuck up on me. The last few days have been a blur, haven’t they?”

I nod. “Are things with you and Lorenzo…”

I haven’t heard much about their relationship and I haven’t really seen them together, but admittedly I’ve been a little distracted by Noah. Things could be heating up between them and I just didn’t realize it.

She shrugs. “Eh, it’s casual. He’s nice, don’t get me wrong, but we’re just friends. Like we haven’t even kissed or anything. He asked me to stay on after the program ends, which I thought was sweet. Something about camping with motorcycles?”

Better her than me.

“I can’t, of course. I have to help Ashley get the kids back to New York.”

“You could always fly back after. Do you have the time before school starts up again?”

She makes a face like the idea doesn’t sound all that compelling. “Sure. I could. But there’s a guy back home, actually…a friend who’s been texting me since I’ve been over here. He wants to take me out when I get back to the city.”

She’s grinning like a fool now. It’s obvious where her heart lies.

“Oh! You really like him!”

“Don’t! Don’t make me nervous. I’m already overthinking everything. He and I have been friends for a while. Ashley knows him. In fact, I met him through her fiancé. They’re friends too.”

“Sounds perfect.”

She takes a sip of her sparkling soda and nods. “And you and Noah?”

I look out at the river and the setting sun. Rome is a swirling mess of pinks and oranges. The clouds look like cotton candy.

She bumps her hip against mine. “Is it love, do you think?”

The word makes me practically choke.

“Love?”

Sheesh.

“It’s not crazy to imagine,” she says, sounding defensive. “I’ve seen you two. God, it’s like you guys have this magnetic connection. Even when we first arrived, it was undeniable. All that tension between you when you thought you hated each other…” She shivers. “It was intense to say the least.”

“We’re taking it slow,” I assure her.

Which is actually a bald-faced lie.

Noah and I are careening down a racetrack at breakneck speeds. We’ve slept together every night this week. When we’re not with the kids, we’re holed up in one of our rooms in various states of undress. I miss him when we’re not together. WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME?

I can’t get enough of him and he seems to feel the same. At moments like this, when we’re with the whole group, it’s hard to play it cool.

He’s so handsome tonight, so distracting on the other side of the boat where he’s talking to some of the Lindale boys. He’s dressed up too. Navy slacks and a white shirt, brown belt and coordinating shoes. If not for the kids surrounding him, it’d look like he was on a movie set.

Just a few minutes ago, I went down to use the bathroom below deck and he came after me.

I stepped into the small room and he slipped through the door behind me after confirming the coast was clear.

We were only in there alone for a second, just long enough to share a kiss pressed up against the sink counter. His fingers laced through mine. The faint scent of his body wash still clings to my skin.

Is it love?

Of course it is.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Noah and I are on a plane somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, flying home. Everything is an exact replica of the flight we took to get to Italy three weeks ago. I’m in the window seat, Noah’s by the aisle. He’s reading that book by the French economist and I’m finishing up Where the Red Fern Grows. I’ve looked over my shoulder and counted the kids’ heads a dozen times. I’ve checked that no one is near the emergency exit door. I’ve told the flight attendants to skip the peanuts after I heard Zach double-dog-dare Isaiah to see if he could shove four up his nose. I’m a tight end two yards from the end zone; I’m not dropping the ball now. I’m going to deliver these nine kids back to their parents in one piece, I’m going to get my bonus money, and I’m going to celebrate with a long bath, a glass of wine, and something greasy delivered right to my front door.