Nico smiles and looks at me for a long beat that makes my cheeks start to flush. “That’s because you’re brave, Soraya.”
My face twists, confused. I couldn’t even tell my best friends the truth about how I feel; there is nothing brave about me. “I’m not—”
“You came to Italy, got on a plane, and crossed an ocean to have a chance at love. Consequences be damned.You know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you’re meant for more than the world has to offer you right now. You’re fearless.” He’s looking into my eyes with such transparent admiration that I feel heat on my neck, my ears, my face. My breath is caught in my throat. But then Nico looks down at his hands, breaking the moment, his smile turning sad.
“But maybe you don’t have to be as brave as you think you need to be. Maybe the opportunity to be happy is waiting there with its arms open and you just don’t know it yet. How do you know if you don’t try?”
He has no answer for that, but I think I understand what he doesn’t want to say—that if you do try, and you fail, the door slams shut and that failure will be yours forever. But if you don’t, in your heart, there will always be a place where hope still lives, because you’ll have chosen failure for yourself. Would I have felt better having never applied to those schools I didn’t get into? Would I have felt better still pining after the possibility that Wes and I could work out, instead of seeing it through to its car crash of an end? Anya, Mari, and I would still be friends. But then I would still be miserable every time they made fun of the way I felt about him.
I’m not sure exactly how long we both stay awake reading in silence, but it’s the first time in a long time that my mind isn’t racing too quickly for me to catch up, and I’m finally able to sleep through the night.
CHAPTER 26
The peace does not last,because dinner service the next night is busier than I’ve ever seen it. Despite his objections—you should be out exploring—I’m helping Nico run food and bus tables, which are all skills I’ve perfected in my family’s restaurant. There’s a wedding in town, and part of the wedding party is staying at the B and B. They have nine of the twelve rooms booked and have decided to dine in tonight, even inviting over some of their fellow guests from a neighboring hotel.
Nico and I run the front of house with the help of a server while his mom cooks up a storm in the back. We’re putting in orders almost as rapidly as his mom is slapping plates onto the counter.
“Nico”—his mom flags him down, breathless—“we only have four bottles of wine left. How is that possible?”
“I don’t know; it’s not like I’ve been drinking them!” Nico says, in a way that makes it obvious he’s been caught filching them before. I eye him, curious. He’s such a straightlaced rule follower—has he thrownragers?
“No, no. It’s a good thing. We’ve been busy,” his momtuts. “But can you get some more from Vittoria? She owes me a favor.” She pauses as we all watch the server, Alfonso, grab one of the last bottles from the walk-in fridge. “Quickly!”
“Yes, yes, Mama.” Nico tugs my elbow gently.
“I can come with?” I ask, my eyes bright with optimism.
“No way I’m leaving you here,” Nico laughs under his breath. “You’d never survive.”
“Here, here. Bring this.” Nico’s mom shoves us a canister of fresh biscotti and a basket of sun-ripened tomatoes. “And this!” She gathers a few fresh flowers and wraps twine around their stems before pushing us out the door. “Grazie!”
I laugh, grateful to have the opportunity to escape the chaos. We walk down the narrow village roads, turning down one street then the next. I’m lost in minutes, but Nico keeps a healthy pace. As we make our way to Vittoria’s, my steps fall in line with Nico’s, our heels syncing against the cobblestone. It’s a perfect night. A light breeze blows my loose hairs back from my face, billowing Nico’s thin linen shirt around his lean arms and carrying the distracting scent of his cologne.
“Everyone always talks about gelato when they visit Italy, but have you ever had granita?”
I snap out of it. “What’s that?”
“It’s like a mix between gelato and a slushie.” Nico points to a stand with an orange-and-white-striped awning that covers a row of machines churning with brightlycolored flavors. “It’s decided. I’m buying you one.”
“No, Nico. You don’t have to.” I start digging for euros in my pockets, but before I’m able to find any coins, Nico has already paid.
“You would think you should order limone, being on the Amalfi Coast and all, but it’s melon that’s the most underrated.” Nico orders one of each.
The attendant fills two seafoam-colored bowls with swirls of granita and sticks neon-orange spoons into them. Nico grabs both, refusing his change, and hands the melon to me. He leads us to a bench a stone’s throw away, one that faces out over the water.
I glance back in the direction of the B and B. “Do we even have time? Don’t we have to get back?” I stare down at my bowl, mouth watering, as I take a seat.
“Eh, nothing here is actually a rush. It will be okay.” Nico nods his chin toward my bowl of granita. “Go on and try it already.”
“Okay!” I dig my spoon in for my first taste. The flavor is incredible, like I’ve just taken a bite into a juicy cantaloupe that has been ripening in the summer sun. The crushed ice melts on my tongue. “I can’t believe how good this is. Like ice cream, but not as rich?”
“Told you.” Nico licks his spoon, all smug. “Here, try the lemon.”
He’s right again. What’s that like? The lemon is refreshing, but the cantaloupe was worth harvesting your organs for.
“So good,” I murmur, stealing another scoop. His arm is cool when I brush up against it, warming when he doesn’t shift away.
From where we sit, we can see a sliver of water, the jagged cliffs that drop into the sea. “Have you heard the story of those cliffs?” Nico asks, pointing toward them with his spoon.
