We park and secure our mopeds, leading the group down a winding cobblestone pathway until we reach the bakery, pasticceria La Zagara, right on time. We’re escorted inside, past a glass display case overflowing with pastries. They’ve reserved a section for our group on their picturesque patio. There are twelve seats and place settings dotted on a long rectangular table beneath a pergola crawling with leafy vines. In front of each chair is a plate with their famous lemon confection: the delizia al limone, a world-renowned dome of pillowy lemony perfection, consisting of a small mound of sponge cake filled with lemon custard, covered in lemon cream icing, all drizzled in limoncello syrup. It’s everything I imagined a dessert on the Amalfi Coast to be. Each bite is better than the next—creamy, light, tart but sweet. Perfect.
But as I watch the tour group chatter excitedly, I can’t help but think Mari and Anya would love this, exploring,helping Nico build this venture, this mouthwatering dessert. All of it. I wonder where they are, what they’re doing, if they’re having as much fun as we are, even if my joy is imperfect. But I can’t stay sad for long, because—
“Take it easy Michael! We still have four more stops!” I cackle. One of our tour participants is using his spoon to scrape up leftovers from other plates.
Busted, Michael breaks out into a sheepish grin. “It’s too good to let it go to waste.”
I really can’t argue with him there.
People laugh and I steal a glance at Nico. This could not be going any better. People are having fun. They fawn over the pastries and line up at the counter to take a couple back with them.
A part of the tour we had both been committed to was making sure that everyone had some free time to explore. So to stay on schedule, we instructed everyone to meet us back at the mopeds in forty-five minutes—long enough to take a leisurely stroll through the streets, snap a photo in the main square, pick up a souvenir or two. But, as it always does when you’re living your best life, the time goes by fast and soon everyone had congregated back by the mopeds.
“All right, everyone. We are about to head out!” I gather the tour group together and, after a quick head count, we’re off again. “Hold on to your hats!”
This time, we have a short ride to Praiano, where we will stop at a café to get lunch. I’m looking forward to thechance for more closeness with Nico. I climb on the scooter after him and whisper, “How do you think it’s going?”
“Couldn’t be better. Thank you, Sora. For pushing me to do this.” And then his hand squeezes my bare knee. And when his hand is gone, the only thing I can think is how badly I wish he’d put it right back where it was.
“I only gave you the little nudge you needed.” I wrap my arms around him until my chin is resting on his shoulder, because it feels good, seeing that something I did could bring joy to a friend. Is that what we are—friends? But before I can decide, Nico hits the gas and we are off, cruising along the coastline once again.
The water twinkles under the sun and I have one of those moments where you realize how fleeting perfection is. I’m never going to be here again, at eighteen, on the Italian coast, behind a hot guy on his moped. If Mari were here, she’d insist on taking a Polaroid so we could keep the image forever, but instead, I have to tuck the memory away as something that will fade someday. I swallow back the bitter taste in my mouth. She’d been right. I wish I could tell her that. For a split second, I can almost imagine snapping a selfie as Anya rides behind us, Mari latched to her back.
The twenty-minute drive goes fast, and soon we pull to a stop outside the café—one of Nico’s favorites—where he will lead everyone inside to place their orders at the counter. We’ll then have a walking lunch, eating sandwiches and slices of pizza while working our way throughthe village, where there are a couple of incredible boutiques we have picked out for souvenirs.
“You okay?” Nico asks as I secure the mopeds.
“Yep. I’ll be right behind you.” I’m smiling as I make sure the mopeds are properly locked. It’s been a really good day, the first time I’ve felt like this is truly a vacation. The sun is shining, the sky is blue, and things are finally looking up.
I should have known this was too good to be true.
“Sora?” A familiar voice calls my name.
CHAPTER 33
“Wes?” I stand and brushthe dirt off my shorts. A mix of shock and uneasiness hits me right in the belly. He looks a little rough—his hair isn’t as carefully styled as it normally is, and his clothes are a bit rumpled. He even has bags under his eyes. It’s maybe the first time I’ve ever seen him not be completely magazine-shoot ready. “What are you doing here?”
I look around, wondering if I’m having another sugarinduced hallucination. It’s got to be from the sponge cake—what too much lemon can do to a person.
“Um, Graham’s parents are visiting and staying at a hotel here in town. We’re about to get lunch with them.” He looks around, at everything other than me. He shifts from one foot to the other as silence hangs in the air.
I blink. It isn’t a hallucination. It really is Wes.
“Hey, Sora. I have to get this out.” Wes rubs the back of his neck. “I, um, have typed out a million messages to you since that night, but none of them were good enough. I even walked past your B and B like a dozen different times. Thought about leaving a note at the front desk foryou. But it’s awkward, you know? I don’t really like to get all serious like that, which is what I love best about us, but the more time that’s passed, the harder it’s been to find the right words. The shittier I realize I was.” Wes jams his hands down in his pockets so hard he must be at a real risk for punching holes straight through them. “I was such a dick.”
“Yeah, Wes. I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have put you in that position,” I say. I’ve been angry and I’ve been sad, but right now, standing in front of him, it all just floats away. This is about as genuine an apology as I’ve ever gotten from him, and it does mean something that he’s been trying to find a way to broach the topic. But it means something too that all this agonizing has never actually gotten me anI’m sorry,not in the whole week it’s taken to get here. Would we ever have talked again if we hadn’t run into each other? Would he ever have summoned up the courage?
Fearless Sora. I had been brave enough to tell him I loved him, and all he’s been doing ever since is run from it, dangling enough of amaybeand asomedayto keep me chasing after him. But when has he ever been brave when it’s come to me? When has he ever mustered up the courage to stay when shit got hard?Things will be so different once you’re at Armstrong.
Wes takes a couple steps closer. Before I even know what’s happening, he reaches for my hand. “Can we please have a do-over? I would do anything to be able totry again. To make things right. Go back to the way things were.”
I don’t know what to say. If you would have asked me this morning, I would say I’d never talk to Wes ever again. If you would have asked me before this trip, I would say that a real, genuineI’m sorryis all I’ve ever wanted. I stare at the tiny freckle under his right eye, chewing my lip. Here he is, the beautiful boy I’ve dreamed about, asking for my forgiveness. But it doesn’t escape me that, even now, what he’s asking isn’t love or commitment or even really me—it’s to reset to our familiar dynamic. What he wants isn’t to move forward, it’s to go back. I open my mouth, to say what, I don’t know.
“You almost done? I ordered you a caprese…” Nico walks out to find Wes holding my hand like he’s about to drop to a knee and propose. He stops short, nearly dropping my sandwich.
My stomach turns into brick. I yank my hand away and run it through my hair, like if I force myself to do a separate motion it will make Nico forget what he just saw. I don’t know why I tried to use that tactic again. Last time I tried, I was speeding past a cop and then swerved three lanes over to try to distract him. It hadn’t worked then—the proof being the $243 ticket and a very demeaning scolding from said cop—and it’s very clearly not working now.Say something, Sora. It’s silent as everyone stares at each other. Finally, I put my hand to my forehead, like I’d simply forgotten my manners. “Oh,Nico—meet Wes! Wes, this is Nico. His family owns the B and B we’re staying at.”
Wes relaxes. “Oh, hey, man.” He sticks out a hand and I have to sit back and watch Nico stare at it for a long time before giving the stiffest, least hospitable handshake I’ve even seen. Nico doesn’t even say hi back. He just turns and hands me my sandwich.
