“Great. The modeling career can continue unabated.” I moan, glancing down at the scrape on my knee, which is a little bloody.
“You’ll need a Band-Aid,” he says.
“Will I, Dr. Leo?” I say, licking my thumb and clearing the blood. “Bloody bikes.”
“Sorry. I thought it would be fun cycling the Tuscan hills,” he says.
“You know these hills, don’t you? These very steep hills flanked by nettles!” I say.
“Sorry,” he says again, trying not to laugh. “It was a good idea in my head.”
I giggle and then wince. I use every ounce of will I have to avoid scratching the stings, and then slowly the pain subsides, and I feel like I can finally breathe out.
“I’m ready,” I say. “I’ve survived. Not as bad as I remember, in fact.”
“You’re a grown woman now, Olive,” he says, laughing.
I watch as he examines the scratch down his own leg and then nods for us to continue. “Let’s go,” he says.
“I’m going to walk the rest of the way down Death Hill, though, if you don’t mind.”
He waves his hands out at the view, not quite yet dusty with heat.It’s clearer than yesterday and you can make out the different farming fields. A wheat field to one side, a vineyard farther in the distance. On one field, a tractor makes its way slowly, driving the tramlines in a golden sea of rapeseed flowers.
“Still do love a big red tractor,” he says, before looking down at me with a twinkle in his eye.
“Are you manly enough to admit you owned a Barbie?”
“Yes. I have no choice with Chiara running her mouth off like she does,” he says, gazing out to the rolling hills, a smirk across his face.
“I hope she’s going to be a little nicer to me today,” I say, nodding to Leo and raising my eyebrows as though I’m asking a question.
“She’ll be fine,” he says. “She’s wonderful once you get to know her.”
I tip my head and shake it slowly, smirking at him in disbelief.
We continue the walk down the hill, holding our bikes as we do, walking under the heavy branches of hazelnut, cypress, and occasionally a chestnut.
“There was a huge chestnut tree at the green near our home in London,” I say, as we enter a dappled section of the path and disappear under the foliage. “I played in it as a kid. You know what it’s like as anonly child. The tree was basically my brother.”
Leo looks across at me and frowns. “I know that feeling.”
“I do want another chestnut tree one day,” I say, running my hand along the branch of a young silver birch.
“I like that goal,” he says, grinning.
I find myself wanting this walk to go on forever, as occasionally we catch each other’s eye, the sweetest tingling of chemistry between us. It is becoming so I can feel his presence as he moves beside me,as though a million little threads are binding me to him and I’m allowing it.
“Leo, do you really think you could have turned Nicky’s around?” I ask him, careful to put the past tense on everything.
“If your dad had let me, I could have given it a good shot, I think. I had this idea for a take-out window, serving focaccia sandwiches at lunchtime. You know, over the pandemic? Seven bucks. One meat, one vegan, every day. Classy. Wrapped in paper and brown string.”
“Good idea,” I say.
“Goodmargins,” he says. “But your dad didn’t want it. Said Nicky’s was for sitting with your meal. Not feeding people who eat in offices.”
I nod. “Hmm. Sounds like Dad.”
“And yet, you know how in most cafés it’s polite to buy an hourly coffee and whatever if you’re going to, like, co-work at the table?”
