FINN: Did you make it to Rome?
ME: I did. Even threw the obligatory coin into the fountain.
FINN: As you should. I don’t like you are there alone.
ME: I will be fine.
FINN: Come back to Dublin. I miss you.
ME: I need to do this.
FINN: Just be careful, goddess.
ME: Always.
A wave of contentment comes through me. Finn being able to make me smile with a few sentences and turn me around. As I pocket my phone back into my purse, I suddenly feel off. That feeling you have when someone is staring at you from across the room. I look up slowly, surveying my surroundings. Everyone minding their own business and talking amongst themselves. I searched everyone in the crowd around me, but no one is looking at me. The feeling of prying eyes never stopped. My breath catches in my throat as I am overcome with nervousness. I stand up and turn to leave the fountain and meet eyes with the most piercing set of blue eyes I have ever seen. They were glacier blue, almost crystal. They commanded attention, but I wilted like a flower. I look away from the staring eyes in the opposite direction and see several people walking around with gelato. I walk quickly in their direction. Silently praying, I can flee these piercing eyes.
Was it nervousness? How can a set of eyes be so nerve-wracking?
As I walk into Gelato in Trevi, I am met with fragrant aroma of waffle cones mixed with espresso, with hints of caramel and chocolate. It was intoxicating. The line wasn’t as long as I thought it was, and as I stood in front of the cooler full of alluring metal bins of colors swirled together in flavors of citrus, berries, vanilla, almonds.
Dolce latte.
Fregola.
Tiramisu.
Caffe.
Mango.
Limone.
How can I possibly decide?!
An older man around my father’s age stood behind the counter. His contagious smile in full beam.
“Buongiorno,” I greet.
“Buongiorno!” He exclaims.
I took a deep breath, praying that the small amount of Italian I have studied will help me in this moment.
“Vorrei un gelato medio in cono, per favore,” I say.
“Si, si,” he replies, grabbing a cone from the counter beside me.
This man with his handlebar mustache and white hair was the cutest thing I have seen in a while. His good-natured smile reminded me of my Nonno.
“Un cioccolato e fragola, per favore?” I ask.
“Of course!” He exclaims in broken English.
“You speak English?” I ask.
“A little English. A little,” an amused chuckle escaping from his lips.
“My Italian is very rusty, I apologize.”
“No, no it’s perfect. I will get that for you.”
I watched him carefully and expertly gather a scoop of pale pink gelato on top of the dark brown chocolate inside the waffle cone in his hands. He hands it to me with a knowing smirk, and I accept it gratefully before handing him the money for my bill.
“Grazie.”
“Grazie. Enjoy Roma,” he says, his head nodding slightly to me.
As I leave the small shop, I inhale the sweet smells of the chocolate strawberry richness from the gelato in my hands.
This may possibly be better than sex. Oh my God.
The same feeling, I had re-emerged as I feel eyes on me. I don’t feel like I am in danger. Or someone stalking me. But a powerful presence making me feel nervous. I look for any kind of exit, and ducks into a nearby alleyway. My back resting against the pumpkin and ruby colored walls of the building behind me. My chest rising and falling in rapid and shallow breaths. A man goes running past me, not seeing where I hide. His thick build and muscular body accentuated by the tightest navy suit pants I have seen a man wear before.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He stops mid-step and turns around to face me. I come face to face with the piercing glacier eyes at the fountain. Seeing them this close in person is hypnotic. His black button-up polo shirt showed off his muscled arms. The words failed me. My thoughts left me.
“You are melting,” his thick Italian accent causes me to skip a breath.
“What?” I ask.