“What?!”
“I’d never seen any photos of you,” I explain. “And the name ‘Kelly’ threw me off, I guess.”
He laughs. “Wow. So you definitely did not have a crush on me,” he says. “Or did you?” he says with a wink.
I crack up. “A little bit… even before I saw your insanely gorgeous face. I was in love with your art and your words.”
He shakes his head, and his gaze shifts. He’s adorably bashful, and it baffles my mind. Does he not realize how beautiful he is?
“And when we started chatting, I kind of went insane,” he says. “And I knew that you were across the ocean, and happily married, but I just couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
“Me too,” I confess. “Same.”
We stare at each other without a word for the longest time. Finally, I break the silence. “Do you think we could be soulmates?”
He smiles. “You never know.”
I shouldn’t have gone there, I realize instantly. It’s one thing to sleep with him, but this emotional intimacy is going over the line. John and I agreed on sex only.
“Uh…” I say. “I nearly fell off my chair the first time I saw that photo of you… the one on the Vespa.”
He smiles. “You liked it, I assume.”
“I thought you were catfishing me, I really did.”
He laughs so hard, the couple next to us turn in our direction.
“You were too beautiful to be true,” I tell him. “You still are.”
His gaze clings to mine, and I stop breathing for a second. “You are too,” he says quietly.
God, this is going nowhere good, and fast. “Um… isn’t the food here great?!” I say, attempting to change the subject, not so subtlely.
He shoots me a tight smile. “It’s one of my favorite restaurants.”
We turn back to our food, and make small talk. I consciously stay away from anything too intimate. And I realize that I will constantly need to remind myself not to profess my undying love.
This is just sex, I remind myself.
Extraordinary, beautiful sex.
I have a husband and kids.
An ocean separates us.
I need to say goodbye in five days.
But damn, those eyes.
God, Why are you so cruel?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
FLOYD IS FULL OF ENERGY, and very curious. He’s still a young dog, only two years old. He’s already done his business, so he’s happy. Every now and then, he stops to smell something. I’m just as curious as he is. Although I’m not stooping to sniff benches, my gaze darts around Eli’s very interesting neighborhood. I snap photos with my phone; the cool buildings, quirky coffee shops, colorful street art, and the vibe and energy of the place; young families, fellow dog walkers, artists carrying large canvases and boxes of who-knows-what.
“How long have you lived here?” I ask him. I want to know more about him — I want to know everything.
“Well, I’ve been at Albert’s for two years. He took me in right after the break-up, and he gave me Floyd to cheer me up. I was in a really bad place.”
