Realizing I’ve been woolgathering about the promise of what was likely nothing between us, I offer him a vacant smile. “I apologize. I’ve kept you from your work.”
He stares down at me, searching my face for a moment for what, I don’t know. Then he gestures for me to go to the exit. “Let me just check all the locks and I’ll meet you on the far side of the gate.”
“Of course.” Quickly making my way outside of the stone relic, I mentally give thanks to the fact I decided to vacation in Italy and won’t have any problems accessing my go to self help quorum. After all, if there isn’t a Reddit sub-board for situations like this, something like r/is he into me, r/buy a clue, or r/plot their downfall, I might need to start one.
Quickly.
Somewhere inside, Troy is making sure every door and latch is closed properly. As well as ensuring every modern keypad affixed to an ancient keyhole is re-armed. Maybe that’s what he just did with whatever flickered between us—locked it down. Tucked it behind a stone wall before either of us could do something we’d regret.
Would I have regretted if Troy had kissed me? Part of me is screaming, you just got out of an engagement.Plus, he’s just myfriend! Right? That’s all the vibes he’s ever thrown your way. But then there’s the part of me that, on some level, recognizes there was more than friendship pulsating between us.
Even from the very first night we met.
I think back to the rooftop where I caught him after his knee buckled. He had no idea who I was. His words, his whole manner—now that I really think about it—were of interest.
That was before Bryce joined us.
Could it be…nah. I dismiss my wayward thought. Then I can’t talk myself out of it. Whipping out my cell, I search Reddit, “I think my ex’s former friend is interested in me.”
I’ve already scrolled through three Reddit posts which go on and on about mixed signals, emotional unavailability, and crude men whose responses just show they’re just on Reddit to figure out how to get laid. None of them are helpful in my trying to decipher Troy as an individual. I groan. “This means I’m going to have to get the girls involved.”
“Involved with what?” Troy asks, sneaking up behind me.
Whirling around, my hand flies to my heart—still clutching my cell. “Give me a heart attack, why don’t you?”
“I didn’t think I was being that quiet.”
I shake my head to get my bearings. “Sorry, I was…lost in thought.”
“We can head out. Everything is secure.”
“Great. Fabulous.”
He asks cautiously, “Is everything okay?”
“It’s fine.” I shrug. No, it’s really not. I don’t know if I want to taste your lips or run as fast as I can back to the villa and lock myself in my room.
Obviously, the universal “fine”, interpreted by many as a global cautionary warning, makes Troy nervous. He takes a small step back. “Did I do something?”
“Have a flower whose petals I can pick?” I ask.
“Now, I’m really confused.”
“I just need to decide,” I explain.
“Want to talk it out?” He offers.
Kiss me, kiss me not. Kiss me, kiss me not…If you only knew.“Maybe later. Why don’t you tell me about the harvest on our way back to the villa?”
He steps closer. Once I get a good kick of his aftershave, every solid piece of advice I read about “not reading into things” goes straight out the window. My thoughts turn to devouring him, here and now. Bury my face in the space where his neck meets his shoulder and just inhale his intoxicating scent mingled with the fresh scent of the vineyard mixed in.
But my heart? My heart has been so bruised, I’m afraid of the rejection.
I force myself to move forward. He matches his stride to mine and provides me with some behind-the-scenes education. “Harvest isn’t romantic the way the tourists like to imagine it.”
“No Lucy and Ricky? No Under the Tuscan Sun?”
“Not exactly. People imagine golden light spilling over the hills, a glass of red caught in the sunset, and think everything we do here is based on some glamorized movie set.”
