My heart aches for her. “I’m so sorry, Fabiana.”
She lifts her shoulders. “It was a long time ago. It was just my dad and me.” She breaks off. “I spent a lot of time with my grandmother growing up. She taught me a lot about the world.”
It's clear she doesn't want to talk anymore about her dad, and I'm not going to push it. As much as I want to know more about her, I want her to open up when she's ready.
“Tell me about your grandmother.”
Her features relax. “She’s the best. We live in the city together. She’s my strongest advocate, always telling me I can do whatever I put my mind to. This is the longest I’ve gone without seeing her since I was twelve.”
“Do you miss her?”
“I’ve been busy.” She takes a breath and turns to face me. “So, tell me. How did you go from a conversation with Bruno to starting this program?”
It’s an obvious deflection. I’m not going to press her. I'm hopeful that one day she'll trust me enough to tell me everything about her.
Baby steps.
“I wanted to set up something I could be involved with personally, not just a box-checking exercise or raising money. And let’s face it, there are only so many slip n’ slides to throw yourself down.”
Her laughter is soft, and it warms my belly. “I’ll start filming you tomorrow. What’s first on the agenda?”
“We’re heading out for a climb.”
“Perfect.” She moves a little closer, and it isn’t clear whether it’s to take advantage of the fire or to be nearer to me.
Although I know what I want it to be.
We're close enough that I could reach out and touch her, and around us the atmosphere feels charged, like the air before a thunderstorm.
In the firelight, her features soften, and for a fleeting second, I have the strangest sensation that I've known her face for longer than just this past week, not just from her videos and photos.
I shake the thought away.
She looks at me with those impossibly big, gorgeous eyes, and I find it increasingly difficult to remember why keeping my distance seemed such an important thing to do. Because right now, as the dying light of the campfire catches the gold in her hair, I want nothing more than to discover whether her lips are quite as soft and pillowy as they look, whether she would feel quite as good in my arms as I suspect she would.
Suddenly, I don't want to just think about it anymore. I lean towards her, watching her face carefully.
When she doesn’t pull away, I have all the sign I need.
I reach out and cup her face in my hands, and she lets out a light whimper, the soft skin of her cheeks making my heart beat faster. Her lips part, her chest rising and falling with increasing speed, her scent filling the surrounding air.
“Fabiana,” I murmur, her name slipping out rougher than I mean it to, weighted with everything that’s grown between us since the day we met.
She goes perfectly still, her body tense. “I should…the kids might…I’ve got to…” she stammers before she springs to herfeet, this usually articulate woman suddenly incapable of completing a single sentence.
What just happened?
Dazed, I look up at her.
Did I read the signs wrong? Does she not feel this thing between us?
“Of course,” I say, my voice hoarse with desire. I clear my throat. “I’m sorry, Fabiana. I…overstepped.”
“It’s fine. Really. But I should head to bed.” She backs away from me before she turns on her heel and begins to march off toward the house.
I’m an idiot. A total freaking idiot. I’ve pushed her away when all I wanted to do was pull her closer, to show her how I feel about her. To come clean and finally lay it on the table.
I jump up and follow her.
