“You want to come visit me?” I ask, startling slightly when an overhead announcement is broadcast through the terminal. People walk around us, wheeled bags scuffing over the floors, vague conversations a muffled buzz. I feel separate from all of it, safe in my little bubble with Roman, listening as he offers a future I didn’t realize was an option.
“Yeah, I’d like to. If you want me to, that is. It probably wouldn’t be fun to visit me in Seattle.” He chuckles awkwardly. “If you even wanted to. You could, though. I live sort of in the middle of nowhere, and?—”
“Roman,” I whisper. He sends me a grateful look which makes me smile, despite the miserable morning. “I would love to visit you in Seattle, and I would love for you to visit me in Finland. I think I will come to you first, though, so that you do not have to make trouble at your work so quickly after getting back from vacation, okay?”
“Really? You will? Like…next week, maybe?”
I laugh—the first real one of the day—and Roman’s face breaks out into a wide smile moments before he pulls me into a bear hug. I grip the back of his shirt so tightly, the joints of my fingers pop. He still smells like the coast—amber and citrus and magic; the ocean, and endless possibilities.
“Probably not next week. But…maybe in a few months? If by then you still?—”
“I’ll still want you to,” he interrupts sternly, voice rumbling against my neck where he’s bent almost double to press his face in.
“Okay,” I say on an exhale as we break apart. “Okay, so we have a plan. This isn’t goodbye.”
“Goodbye just for now,” he agrees, before kissing me goodbye. Or rather, kissing me goodbye just for now.
Alone, I sit in the hard plastic seat by my gate and try to work up the enthusiasm to read my book. Instead, I scroll through the hundreds of pictures Roman sent me, smiling as I favorite all the ones of us together. I’m looking at the screen when it rings, his name popping up along with the picture I’d set for his contact—Roman leaning on the railing of our hotel balcony in Positano, framed by the Tyrrhenian Sea and the spill of bougainvillea down the wall of our room.
“Hello?” I answer, closing my eyes and tipping my head back, picturing us united by an invisible string, connected even across the expanse of the airport.
“Niilo, hi. Long time no see,” he jokes, making me laugh. “Listen, I forgot that I needed to tell you something. I didn’t want us to fly off without saying it.”
“Oh?”
“I’m going to sound a little crazy, but”—he takes a deep inhale—“I think you might be the love of my life.”
Across from me, an older man with a cane hands a paper McDonald’s bag to his wife, sitting down next to her and kissingher cheek. A woman wearing a suit, hair pulled back in a severe bun, types on a laptop and talks into her phone in clipped French. Children, seated on the floor between rows, play a game, laughing and screaming until they are shushed by their parents. Throat tight, I look around at all these people, passing through the way I’ve done a dozen times in a dozen different countries. What an incredible act of fortune that, among the thousands of travelers in Italy, I found my person.
“No, Roman, I do not think that sounds crazy at all.”
EPILOGUE
3 Months Later
Roman
“I’ll emailyou everything I have from the booking,” Olivia gushes, keyboard clacking in the background as though she’s compiling a file right now. “Can you imagine how poetic it would be to get married at the same place you met? Oh my gosh, it’s so romantic. I?—”
“Olivia!” I cut her off, wishing I’d pretended to be in a meeting when I saw her name pop up on my work phone. I should have known what the call was really about. “We aren’t getting married, that’s…we’re dating.”
“Two weeks! You went on dates for two weeks! And now he’s flying overseas to visit you? You’re absolutely getting married,” she surmises.
“We talk on the phone,” I add, thinking of the past three months. My empty house had felt a little bit fuller every day when Niilo would call. I’d pop an earbud in and go about my work, his silky voice in my ear and a smile on my face. We might have only spent two weeks together in person, but these pastthree months have been spent doing just as much dating as we did in Italy.
“I’m just really excited about this,” Olivia continues. On my computer, an email pops into my mailbox. I groan. “I’ve just sent you the info from the venue we booked in Tuscany. You’d better put a deposit down now—they schedule pretty far in advance.”
Shaking my head, I refresh the airline page and watch the progress of Niilo’s flight. Still on time, just the same as it was thirty seconds ago when I checked. The same way it has been every time I’ve checked since the plane took off. It’s possible I’m a little bit excited for this visit.
“Did you get the house ready?” Olivia asks suddenly, bringing my attention back to the conversation and thankfully having moved on from future wedding plans. I glance around from my perch at the dining room table.
My house isn’t anything exciting on the inside—exposed beams and tall ceilings; the bare minimum of furniture that I’ve gathered over the years, none of which matches. The real treasure is the location. Surrounded on all sides by towering spruce and maple trees—a sea of green. You can walk out on my deck, which wraps fully around the house, and breathe nothing but fresh air; hear nothing but birdsong and the rustle of leaves as animals scurry through the woods. A different kind of refuge than the one we had in Italy, but hopefully just as appealing to Niilo.
I glance out the double patio doors, watching the rain patter against the decking. It’s been coming steadily down for the last hour, but it’s soft enough that I hope it won’t interfere with any flights.
“Yeah, the house is ready. Not much I had to do,” I admit. It’s not as though I’m a slob. Getting the house ready was as simple as changing the sheets, filling the refrigerator and pantry, and giving the space the same sort of clean I give it every week.
“Gosh, this is so romantic,” Olivia repeats. “I bet you’re so excited. Are you going to hyphenate your name, do you think? Or will you take his? I bet?—”
