‘I need to collect some establishing shots of the city. My team is short-staffed for the next few days as two guys are on leave.’
‘Ok. What are you thinking for the photos?’
‘I haven’t decided yet. I was hoping you might be able to help me. C’mon, get up. You need to get out of that bed and into the shower!’ He exited her room before she had the chance to ask any further questions.
Through a half-smile, Stella reached for the plate of almondbiscottionly to find a small white envelope by its side. She paused, intrigued, and she craned her head from her position in bed to see if Vincent was watching her.
No prying eyes could be seen.
She slipped her fingers under the lip of the envelope and withdrew a small rectangle of card, upon which was written:
1: Made you look
2: Ireallyam sorry
3: You have to get up now
4: (Still sorry)
The move, sweet and thoughtful, drew her from under the covers. She propped the little note by her laptop and exhaled. Vincent had ignited a flame of curiosity under her and whatever it was that made her cheeks warm; she wanted more of it.
Half an hour later, Stella emerged from the bathroom feeling like a new woman. Dressed in her skinny black jeans and breton striped top, she slipped into her red flats and grabbed her satchel.
She didn’t know if it was the caffeine hit or nervous adrenaline, but something chemical tingled its way through her. Time with Vincent. Alone.
She took a deep breath and headed into the kitchen.
‘That’s better!’ Vincent announced. ‘Not that the pillowcase wasn’t a flattering choice, of course.’
‘I’m showered, dressed and vertical. A positive start,’ she laughed.
‘In that case, let’s go before you return to your previous horizontal state!’
Just before she turned to leave, she said, ‘Cute note, by the way. I don’t often get mail delivered to my bedroom.’
He gave a humble nod of acknowledgement, then smiled. ‘Get used to it.’
Together, they explored the narrow streets of Trastevere, with Stella pointing out notable places of interest to help Vincent settle into his new home; thetavola caldawith some of the bestsupplìin Rome, the ‘reliableedicola’ that stocked most of the foreign papers, and the closest pharmacy and supermarket.
Eventually leaving Trastevere’s comfort and charm behind them, they stepped onto the banks of the Tiber. The river, which had both supported and divided Rome for thousands of years, made up in character for what it lacked in beauty. Its murky brown waters left much to be desired, but of more interest was what took place along the banks and many crossings. This particular day had much to offer: street artists and buskers, a collection of second-hand book stalls, as well as fresh air and the promise of a lovely afternoon together.
‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ Vincent said, gesturing across to the eastern bank.
‘Intoxicating,’ Stella corrected as they walked northbound along the winding west bank, carefully dodging absent-minded pedestrians and cyclists.
Stella watched Vincent from the corner of her eye. He was a good foot or so taller, with most of his height stemming from his incredibly long legs. One strong stride from Vincent equated to two or three little shuffles from Stella.
The October sun brought with it a kiss of unexpected warmth, beaming down on them as they continued to walk.
Vincent stopped to remove a layer. ‘Can you hold this, please?’ he asked, passing her his tripod case. Stella obliged.
Vincent peeled his cotton knit up and over his head, inadvertently catching his undershirt as he did so. Stella snuck a glimpse of his perfectly toned torso, exposed for the quickest of moments. Vincent righted himself, not noticing the momentary colour to Stella’s cheeks.
‘So, where are we going?’ she probed.
‘Ponte Sant’Angelo?’ he suggested. ‘Might be a good place to start. Let’s see what we can get.’
In that moment, the breeze changed direction, playfully catching Vincent’s scent as it glided past them. His smell lingered under her nose for a torturing second before disappearing over the river.
