I get pulled up by Gio's hand and suddenly we're running.
We chase after Lorenzo, and we're laughing so hard it hurts. We reach the dance place and…god, it's like stepping straight into the heart of Italy.
Everyone's dancing. And not just dancing, butdrunkdancing. The best kind. The kind where everyone's just loose and laughing and somehow perfectly in sync despite the wine.
People are singing the lyrics so loud, I can barely hear the actual speaker. It's chaos. Beautiful, musical chaos. Gio stops walking. Just stands there, not knowing what to do first.
Daisy grabs his hand and spins him in a full circle, and he laughs. Lorenzo's in the middle of a random dance circle, yelling the lyrics directly into Marco's face like he's serenading him. Marco's laughing and dancing and making these dumb dramatic faces like he's flattered by the whole thing.
Daisy's hands reach for mine, and she starts moving them side to side in rhythm with the song. This is ridiculous. I start laughing. I can'tnot. Everything's glowing. It literally feels like we've wandered into the last scene of a movie.
So we're dancing. In the corner of the fair where a group of strangers just pulled us in. Lorenzo's stomping, while Daisy is doing ballerina twirls in freaking boots. Marco is dancing with a grandma. Gio moves my hands with his, matching the rhythm of the song, and he somehow still looks like he belongs on a fucking Vogue cover. I can't stop laughing.
And just when I think this can't get more chaotic, I hear the unmistakable hiss of a garden hose. I turn my head. It's a tiny but old man. White tank top. Flip-flops. Red cheeks. Holding a garden hose. He's standing on the edge of the table. Beaming.
He yells, "PER LA FORTUNA!" and swings the hose up in the air. Water everywhere. The stream arches beautifully, and slaps Gio right in the face. He gasps. I scream.
Daisy shrieks. Marco howls, "RAIN BAPTISM!" and runs straight into it. We're all soaked in seconds. The old man spins in place, laughing so hard he almost falls over, waving the hose.
I gasp, duck, try to shield my face. Too late. I'm drenched in seconds. Gio grabs my wrist and pulls me into him, both of us laughing, pushing through the spray.
His hair is soaked, curling around his forehead. His shirt clings to his chest. There's a drop of water sliding down the bridge of his annoyingly perfect nose. My arms wrap around his neck slowly. He blinks down at me, confused for a second. Then he sees that look in my eyes I've been trying to hide all night.
I can't hold it back anymore. I lean in. Press my lips to his, gently. Like I'm memorizing the way he feels. I feel him pull me closer.
It's not just a regular, normal kiss. It's agoodbyeI don't want to say. It's anI love youwithout words. It's anI'm coming back, I promise. And he knows.
His hand cups the back of my head. His lips tremble against mine like he's trying not to fall apart. We kiss again. And again. And again. Until I feel his smile through it. He whispers, "Don't cry." I laugh. Just a little. Because I'm trying so hard not to.
But it's okay. Because he kisses me like we have forever. Holding hands, feet splashing in puddles, our clothes clinging to our bodies, strangers clapping and stomping around us. The music gets louder. The laughter too. The hose doesn't stop. This is the happiest I've ever been.
A few minutes later, we break away from the crowd soaked and breathless, still tripping over puddles as we laugh our way through the mess. Gio's hand never leaves mine. He's still shaking his hair like a dog and spraying more water in my face.
"STOP," I yell, laughing. We pass the old arcade booths, the candy stands, the last few stragglers swaying to fading music in the distance. Then I see…the photo booth. I pull Gio back by the arm. "Wait—WAIT!" I say, breathless. He turns. "What?"
"I've always wanted to do this," I say, pointing. "Before we leave. Please?" He doesn't hesitate. "Say less," he grins. "Let's go."
We squeeze into the photo booth, dripping wet and laughing like idiots. My shirt's sticking to my chest, and Gio's hair is falling into his eyes. He reaches out, brushes my hair to the side with both hands, then leans in close.
"You ready to take the best photos of your life?" He grins. "I hope you've got room on your wall for these."
I nod. And then the countdown starts.
We step out of the booth, the photos still printing behind us, and I wipe my wet hands on my pants. The machine whirs and spits out the photo strip.
I take one look.
Photo #1
In the first photo, he kisses my cheek, while grabbing my jaw. I laugh so hard I can barely stay upright.
Photo #2
We held up my hand with the duck ring. Proudly, like idiots. We were pointing at it like it was the most expensive jewelry we'd ever seen.
Photo #3
In this one I'm squishing his cheeks between my hands so hard he can't speak, it's a revenge pic. I regret nothing.
