I give her a full perusal from her wild curls, down her curvaceous body, to her adorable sneakers. When my eyes linger on her sparkling bright smile, I ask, “What do you do?”
She’s the first woman I’ve found myself intrigued by since I was injured and released from my contract with the Lightning. Almost a year of physical therapy, relocating to Italy to assume responsibility for the family vineyard, and of all places I find a woman I’m interested in, it’s here at a look back at what could have been. An insight into my past. But maybe I’m being given a look into my future as I study the pretty woman who holds me captive. Her answer interests me even more. “I’m a travel photojournalist.”
There’s no way my luck could be this good, I think to myself. I lean closer. “Do you get to Europe much?”
She shuffles closer. “Actually, I do. I…”
But she never finishes her sentence. The door behind us slams open, startling us both. Her head snaps around and a smile the likes of which I’ve never been the recipient of blooms. It speaks of care and devotion. With that, I feel my stomach drop to the bottom of the shoes she was mocking earlier. I wonder what kind of man is lucky enough to earn her attention?
Slowly, I turn and gape when Bryce strides toward the two of us. His trademark grin is in place when he slaps me on the shoulder. “Hey buddy. I see you’ve met Maya.”
Even as I try to recover, I turn back to Bryce’s fiancée and offer her my gratitude again. “Not officially. She just prevented me from taking a header.”
“Ahh. Then let me be the one to make the introductions. Maya, I know you’ve heard me talk about Troy. Troy, my girl, Maya Cox.”
“A pleasure to finally meet you, rescue notwithstanding.” Maya holds out her hand. “I apologize for not recognizing you. Bryce has mentioned you often. And fondly.”
The moment I clasp her fingers in mine, I feel a spark shoot up my arm. I keep my eyes on her and manage, “No apologies necessary, I promise you, Maya. The pleasure is entirely mine.”
“Thank you, Troy. That means a lot,” Maya murmurs as she leans into Bryce.
Even though she may hate me for it, I kept that promise. Maya deserves someone who will cherish her every single day of her life, not someone as fucked up as Bryce in her life. Still, I wonder—even after I showed her the video last night—does she still link the two of us together?
I thought it was fate that had her booking a room here for a month. Still, she could walk away at any moment, slip through my fingers without looking back. And the worst part? I wouldn’t even blame her.
Would I want to stare into one man’s face and remember the humiliation I suffered at another’s?
I roll over and howl into my pillow before lifting my head and sighing, “There’s only one way to find out.”
It involves getting out of this bed and pulling up my big-boy underwear along with swallowing a healthy dose of courage.
When I make it into the kitchen, it’s silent. I move over to my American coffee maker and get a pot brewing. While that’s percolating, I pull out a cutting board and slice up some crustybread. In the middle of the third slice, I hear Maya’s voice ask, “Tell me there’s enough coffee for two?”
She’s still here.A pervasive relief travels through me. Pausing in my cutting so she doesn’t need to rescue me again, I set the knife aside before greeting her. “Buongiorno, Maya. Did you sleep well?”
She side eyes me before sliding onto a stool. “Can I answer thataftercaffeine?”
“Absolutely. Do you have a preference—American or Italian-style?”
“Yes.”
“Which is it? What do you like?”
“Volume and immediacy.” She sounds like a cranky child being denied sugar.
I grin. I can’t fight it. Reaching up, I pull down the largest mug I have—my own. As I pour, I ask, “Room for cream?”
“Please.” When I set the cup in front of her, she inhales deeply. I gesture to sugar, as well as a jar of spoons in the center of the table for her to doctor her coffee.
“And I thought I was the only one who needed a tank of coffee in the morning.”
She shakes her head, setting her curls shaking. “Must. Have. Coffee.”
I move swiftly over to the refrigerator to pull out the carafe of fresh cream. Not bothering to transfer it to a more guest-appropriate vessel, I plunk it down in front of her only to have her snatch it up almost before the glass touches the countertop. Once it’s mostly filled, Maya snatches the mug to her lips and takes a small sip.
Then another.
Finally, she lets out a small sigh before lifting her bright blue eyes to mine and proclaiming, “There’s hope humanity can live another day.”
