“What?” She frowns, then returns to… whatever she’s trying to do. “I don’t hate being helped.”
“So, when I saved you from drowning, and you kicked me in the stomach, that was?—”
“Self-preservation. And I wasn’t drowning.”
“Agree to disagree. Anyway, that’s just one example.”
She lets the cushion be and meets my gaze. “And the others?”
“When I tried to help get Nutella off your face. When I chased after the kid who pickpocketed you and now you hate me a?—”
“I don’t hate you,” she interrupts as Giuseppe moves from humming to singing. “I’m grateful you were willing to help. It was unexpected. And yes, I was a little worried about you. So sue me. Having to find a hospital in Venice and communicate to them you’d been stabbed for trying to get my purse would’ve put a damper on the tour, I think. Anyway, I don’t hate help, I just?—”
“Hateme?” I repeat, smiling even though I’m nervous inside. Why do I want her to like me so much? And why do I likeherso much?
“Why do you keep saying that? You’re the one who’s been weird the past few days.”
I tip my head back and laugh incredulously. “I didn’t know youwantedme talking to you, Mia. You don’t seem to like me all that much.”
“Idolike you. I?—”
“What?”
She shrugs. “I’m a little… scared of you, I guess.”
I go still, then shift in my seat to face her better. “Scared of me?” I have no clue what she means.
“Not scared,” she says, not meeting my eye. “Just… wary.”
I search her profile. There are no raindrops on her lashes anymore, but some of them are stuck together. The shoulders of her shirt are dark from before the umbrella. It reminds me a tiny bit of the first night I met her. “Wary of me why?”
She gives a scoffing laugh, her gaze still fixed ahead on the narrow canal and the tall buildings we’re passing between. It’s pretty, yeah, but every sliver of attention I have is on Mia. It feels like I’m on the cusp of understanding her better, and that’s more enticing than these beautiful domed windows and ochre building fronts.
She meets my gaze. “You’re a rockstar, Austin.”
“So?”
“So,” she repeats, “I’m nobody. I don’t party. I don’t sleep around. I don’t even know how to flirt. I come off as rude when I try.”
I’m pretty sure she insulted me, but I don’t care. I’m too busy wondering if I’m registering this right. Has Mia’s rudeness been her trying to flirt with me?
She stares ahead again. “I know not to read into it when you tease and flirt. I’m nottotallystupid. But it’s not something I’m used to. I’m learning how to protect myself, I guess. So… if you could justnot, that would be great.”
It takes me a while to find words. Maybe I’m crazy, but I think Mia’s saying that she’s trying not to like me because she thinks I’m playing games.And—this is the kicker—it’s hard enoughnotto like me andnotto read into things that she’d rather I stop confusing her.
Giuseppe comes to the end of his warbling song, and it’s silent for a few seconds. Long enough that Mia finally looks at me. There’s vulnerability in her eyes, but she’s trying to mask it with her chin held high.
I can’t stop staring at her. This is Mia in a nutshell. She talks a big game and seems like she bites, but really, she’s scared of getting hurt. And that, I totally understand.
No. I don’t just understand it; I feel like I’ve found someone who mightgetme. It’s been so much easier for me to stick with surface-level, short-lived attachments. If I talk a big game and embrace the whole player identity, people don’t get the chance to get to know me… and reject me.
“Want to know why I’ve been avoiding you, Mia?”
17
MIA
I don’t respond immediately.I don’t know if I want to know the answer to his question.
