Say Yes (Nostalgic Summer Romance)
Like I was all he’d ever need again.
I watched a war rage on within that man as he silently packed a bag, and then he grabbed my hand, and we caught the first train out of the city.
The Art of Nonna’s Tiramisu
We didn’t have a plan when we left the city, but we hopped off the train when we reached a small Tuscan town with rolling hills and lush, green cypress trees every way you looked. It was dark and late when we arrived, so we checked into a hostel and went straight to sleep.
The next morning, I woke to Liam snoring softly next to me, and the ache in my chest to hold him was too strong to override. I wrapped around him like a cat, nuzzling into his back and winding my arm around his stomach. He didn’t move other than to grab my hand and tuck it more around him, to tangle his legs with mine, to pull me closer.
We laid in bed for a long while before he turned to face me, his gentle fingers sweeping my hair from my eyes. “Are you okay?”
I nodded. “I am. I just… the bomb…”
“I know,” he said, saving me from having to describe how awful it felt to have terrorism in our homeland, to have not just our citizens, but those all over the world, put in danger. Hundreds were injured. Two were dead.
“I just wanted to be with you,” I admitted, cheeks heating as I let my gaze drop to his chest. “You disappeared these last few days…”
Liam was silent. His fingertips drew lazy lines over my bare arm. When there was a knock at our door letting us know it was time to check out, he pulled me into him for a long, slow kiss.
“How about we get breakfast and go explore?”
I nodded, reluctantly kicking the covers off and peeling myself out of bed to get dressed.
After a sweet pastry and hot coffee for each of us, I felt marginally better, and as we walked in the sunshine with the Tuscan beauty rolling all around us, the ache in my chest eased more and more.
“Check this out,” Liam said, pausing in front of a small wine shop. He read from the sign out front, “Pick vegetables and fruits from our farm and cook your own fresh lunch. Plus, wine tour. Boarding available. Inquire inside.”
He cocked a brow at me.
“Well, let’s inquire,” I said, shooing him inside.
After speaking to a young man in our best broken Italian while he tried his hand at English, we ended up in a van with seven other strangers — two couples and a family of three — riding along a dirt road. I had my face practically pressed against the windows as we wound our way up and over hills, vineyards and farms spreading out all around us, the deep greens and yellows of the hills playing against the cornflower blue of the sky.
“How badly do you want to paint right now?” Liam whispered in my ear.
“So badly it hurts.”
He chuckled, kissing my shoulder before he sat back, and I flushed at the public display of affection, regardless of how small it was. My eyes caught with one of the other young girls, who held the hand of the tall boy next to her. She smiled in understanding, like we had a secret. I smiled back like I was in her club, even if I wasn’t.
After fifteen minutes or so, we pulled up to a quaint little white stucco house with a burnt orange tile roof, and dramatic arches at the entryway. Trees and vegetation of all kinds surrounded it, including a vineyard that stretched off to the right, and an impressive vegetable garden just before the grape vines. The hills rolled on like a movie backdrop behind the house, puffs of white clouds casting sporadic shadows over the farms beyond.
A couple waited on the covered porch, smiles beaming as a young child chased a giant dog around them. Once we parked, the nine of us filed off the van to stand in a line in front of them.
The couple looked to be in their mid-to-late thirties, their eyes crinkled at the edges, smiles bright and inviting. The man was at least six-feet tall, the woman no more than five, and they both had fawn tan skin and dark, thick hair — his cut trim and neat, hers long and wavy over her shoulders.
“Buongiorno, welcome to La Fattoria del Nortia,” the woman said first. “I am Antonella, and this is my husband, Elio. We are happy to invite you to our home today.”
“I am Paolo!” the little boy said excitedly. “E questo è Biscotti,” he added, scruffing the head of the beige dog that was as tall as he was.
We all chuckled and waved in greeting.