I’m me.
I pause after captioning a selfie Troy sent me of the two of us lying tangled together in bed yesterday morning before we dragged ourselves begrudgingly out of our cocoon of blankets—him to make coffee, me to follow him while grunting unintelligible sounds until forced to chug the first vat of life saving nectar.
It’s become our routine, and that scares me as much as it comforts me.
Sitting back at the desk in my room, I think about how much has changed in four weeks. If I were sticking to my original timeline, I’d be packing for my flight back to the States. Instead, I’m wondering if the golden shade of the chestnut trees is going to be more pronounced today.
When I first arrived, there was no way I’d have thought a friend would become the man I can’t imagine tomorrow without. There’s no way I could have expected that Troy, who I considered a friend of my ex, would take up such a prominent place in my mind. My heart.
A month ago, I would easily have dismissed the idea of feelings growing between us. I’d have lied to myself and pushed forward, deluding myself that it was the Italian ambiance pulling me into its allure—a combination of cool days and warm nights at the villa. I easily could have brushed aside my emotions as romantic for being around the scent of the rich earth, the sweetness that never leaves the air, and grounding myself under the Piedmont sun. But I’d be leaving out one crucial element.
Troy.
We balance.
We make sense.
It thrills me even as it scares me senseless because there’s more than this previously dormant spark of passion that’s been unleashed. If it were just sex, we’d have been mature enoughto act on our attraction without it impacting our underlying friendship.
But we’re more…so much more.
Our routines click. Our lives fall together seamlessly. It’s just…easy.
Sometimes, we talk about nothing. Sometimes, about everything—books, family, the things we’ve done, the things we’d do again, and the ones we’ve yet to try. But it’s the silence between those words that tells me more than the words themselves. I don’t feel the need to fill them with idle chatter—to be constantly “on” the way I have to with more than a select few.
Silence is just another way for us to communicate contentment with one another. It doesn’t weigh down on me or make me feel like I need to perform. It just is. Silence gives me time to think, to consider.
It’s also given me time to realize this is what my heart’s been searching for—a place to land softly. A haven. A home.
It might just be because this is new, but with Troy, we haven’t hit upon a topic yet we’ve put off limits. Wryly, I thinkthat might be because the worst of what’s happened has been spread around the world and archived in perpetuity.
But there are pieces of us we share that I know aren’t available for public consumption. Troy has shared with me not only the public history about how his ancestors cultivated the first vines here, but the burden that weighs on him every season the harvest comes in. How he traded in a football uniform and play memorization for studying soil erosion and probability of precipitation. In exchange, I share with him things I’ve told no one else about my work—including how a camera can be treated like a window or a weapon depending on where you are in the world.
Thinking back, I recall lying in his arms in front of a roaring fire a few days ago.
Curiosity softens his voice when he asks, “So, how does a small-town girl end up taking world-renowned photographs?”
I snuggle my head back against him. “Truthfully?”
“Of course.”
“It started out because my dad is our town’s middle-school shop teacher. My mom runs the front office at the high school. I’ve always had a passion for learning.”
“How’s your relationship with them?” His fingers comb through my hair.
I give it some thought before replying. “They’re proud of me, but I think they…expected something different.”
“Like what?”
“That’d I’d follow in their footsteps.” I hesitate before sitting up.
He frowns. “What is it?”
“This time is supposed to be about us, and I’m…uncertain how much you already know. Or how much you want to know about my past…relationship.”
“Well, I sure as shit don’t want to know if he’s a better kisser than I am,” Troy says immediately.
I snicker. “Yeah. There’s zero chance of that.”
