“And this morning?”
“They were gone when I woke up.” I shrug.
“Hmm.” Nico looks thoughtful as he grabs a stack of waivers from the printer, tapping them against the counter until they’re in a nice straight pile. “Time heals all, Sora. It really does. They’ll come around. You’ll see.”
I appreciate him saying that. There’s something about him—he always seems to so wholeheartedly believe in what he says. I’m used to saying things to make people happy, and now I’m realizing that Wes would say things to get what he wants, but I get the feeling that if I’m honest, if I ask if we can just go back to sleeping in the hammocks—he’ll give me an answer that’s true. That’s what scares mea little—everything had been so much lighter and simpler, and I could go on pretending none of my problems existed.
But I know that’s not possible. I know I wouldn’t be the girl he calledfearlessif I did, and for whatever reason, I want so badly to be the person he thinks I am. So instead, I say, “There’s something I’ve been needing to tell you. I was such a raging bitch to you the day I came in, and I’m sorry. The worst part is that it wasn’t even fair—you work so hard to keep this place running. Every tiny detail you tend to that so many people may not even notice. I was just frustrated that nothing in my life was going the way I wanted it to, and I decided to take that out on you.”
Nico smiles, holding my hands in his and pulling me into a hug. “This job requires a great deal of patience. I’ve seen much worse than you, I promise.”
“Still,” I say to his chest. “I’m very sorry. It’s important to me that you know that.”
“Apology accepted.” Nico pulls back, leaning down to hold my gaze so I know he means it. No games, no coyness. I want to ask him about sleeping out in the courtyard again. Just to spend more time together.
“Nico?”
“Did you say something?”
But I chicken out. I can’t ask Nico to do all that for me again. After Wes, I promised myself to stop reading into things. Five stars for service doesn’t mean he’s interested in being anything more than kind, doesn’t even mean he’s available, and I can’t impose any more than I already havejust because I think his dimples are cute and I laugh a lot when I’m around him. “I think I’m going to head to bed. Tomorrow is a big day.”
“It sure is. Good night, Sora.” And then there Nico is again, a little crinkle between his brows.
“Good night.”
As I make my way back to the room, I try to work up the courage to apologize to Anya and Mari. I rehearse the words, writing a little speech about how sorry I am to have lied to them and how dumb it was to not listen to their advice, but this is, of course, easier said than done, and when I enter our hotel room, I immediately clam up again. I scramble to brush my teeth and tuck myself into bed.
I’m only lying there for ten minutes when I hear the key in the lock. I lose every bit of courage I had worked up.
As the door swings open, I turn toward the window, pretending to be asleep.
CHAPTER 32
This is the second morningin a row that I woke up to an empty room, but I’m able to brush it off a bit more easily this time because today feels a little like the first day of school. It must be all the excitement and novelty of our inaugural tour. It could also be Nico’s mom taking a commemorative photo of us outside of the B and B alongside the fleet of the shiny rented mopeds, his arm flung loose over my shoulder, our helmets dangling from our hands.
Nico had gotten me a thank-you gift wrapped in brown paper with a yellow ribbon around it. He told me to open it afterward; it’s only something small. I tuck it away safely in my backpack for later, but it takes every ounce of effort to not peel back a corner and peek. I’m mostly curious—what kind of gift does a guy like Nico give? What kind of gift would Nico giveme?
The truth is, todayisa celebratory day, one you exchange gifts for. I haven’t told him yet, but I have one for him, too. And the way Nico is jittery with adrenaline and excitement only convinces me more that no one isdying for an adventure like he is, unwilling as he may be to admit it.
We’re ready. My backpack is bulging at the seams like an overprepared mom about to embark on a cross-country road trip. We had even practiced a loose script, he and I, to talk about the landmarks and their history. I have little to offer when it comes to historical facts and expertise, but comedy? I can bring that to the table.
It’s nearly time to leave, and the guests who signed up begin to trickle out of the B and B. We’d generated more interest than expected with our strategically placed flyers—this tour is booked full, necessitating Nico to add a second that only has two spots left. Everyone’s thrilled to have the chance to explore the peninsula from the convenience of a moped, circumventing traffic, being able to fly down narrow roads and pulling over at a whim. All for the price of less than three hundred euro, a customer would get pastries, lunch, coffee, gelato, and the use of the moped for the entire tour. It is a steal, if you ask me, and Nico’s still turning a pretty profit. He’d been able to negotiate low rates for all the stops—an investment by the vendors as well, because it results in us literally delivering a dozen new customers to their door.
I am excited. It’s been rewarding, seeing this come to life, using my powers for good. And it’s nice to have the reminder that Icanstill accomplish what I set out to tackle, and things do still go my way when I try. Nico helps the tour group with their helmets, collects signed waivers,and goes over the safety protocol. He gives the rundown in Italian, and then I do it again in English. I’ll be riding out front with Nico, with the other mopeds following closely behind.
Everyone is loaded up and soon we’re off! The moped lurches forward and I fling my arms around Nico, clutching him for stability, pressed together by the velocity. Tendrils of my hair flutter back in the wind. We hug the coastline. I glance behind me frequently, making sure we still have everyone.One, two, three, four, five. With each curve, I lean closer, until my chest is glued to his back. Nico takes one curve especially tight, and he puts a hand over mine to make sure I don’t fly off. Or maybe just to reassure me that he’s got me, and it’s okay for me to get settled in. We have over three hours of round-trip riding in our eight-hour day.
“You’re like Clooney!” I yell loud enough for him to hear.
He chuckles. “That makes you Amal.”
I laugh as my heart pings.Don’t read into it.
We’re going all the way south down to Ravello, with pit stops at a bakery in Positano, lunch in Praiano, and an early-afternoon coffee in Amalfi before finishing with gelato.
I let myself cling to him, let my fingers linger against the tautness of his stomach.This won’t go anywhere. You’re being delusional again. My chin is so close to his shoulder I could rest my head on it. I close my eyes againsthis back, savoring the smell of Nico’s shampoo, cypress and vanilla, knowing it can’t last.
After a little more than thirty minutes, we cruise to a stop at our first destination: Positano. Arguably the most famous of the towns along the Amalfi Coast, Positano delivers on its promise of beauty and culinary delight. Like the other towns, homes are squeezed into the cliffsides, but where Sorrento is a little wild, everything here is immaculate. Landscaping and florals are so pruned and pristine it’s like they were ripped out of a fancy homes magazine.
