So sad. “How ‘bout back home? Anyone back home?”
“Well, there’s my sister, and a few friends I’ve lost touch with.”
He really has no one. “Well, all you need is a dog,” I say cheerfully, “and your health.”
“And one good friend,” he says, and shoots me a sweet smile.
God, I know I’m going to hurt him. I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to say goodbye. But I’ve made a promise to John. And above all else, John and the kids come first. God, I’m going to break this man’s heart. I want the ground to swallow me up whole.
He takes me on another ride on his gorgeous Vespa. It’s perfect — the wind in my hair, the fresh air, and the beautiful morning sun. Something about the whole thing makes me feel like I’m in one of those old-time romantic comedies, one of those black and white films starring Audrey Hepburn. Actually, I feel a little bit like Audrey Hepburn. I have the capris, stylish flats, and oversized sunglasses. All I need is a scarf.
He even lets me have a go at it. I go slow, afraid to crash his beloved scooter, and make a fool of myself. It’s a lot of fun. Again, for the millionth time, I feel like a kid. Everything feels new and like an adventure.
Everything tastes so good here too — the local foods with names I can’t pronounce, flavors I’ve never experienced. The open sandwiches are delicious, and the sauces on the burgers are definitely worth a try. We have sandwiches for lunch, but just the fact that they’re not typical fare makes them tastier.
I think that’s the fun thing about travel — for a week or so, or however long you go, you get to live so many new experiences, be immersed in a whole new world. Most of us repeat the same day over and over again, eat the same meals every month, see the same people day after day, and do the same old thing. Our life is like Groundhog Day. Maybe that’s the attraction with Eli. He’s something new — a bright unexpected stroke of color in a bland and grey predictable painting. Every day, he surprises me. And maybe that’s because I barely know him. Or maybe it’s because he’s something special.
After lunch, he plays a few tunes on his guitar for me. He doesn’t have the best singing voice, and his guitar skills are pretty basic, but I love it nevertheless. I make a few requests, and he obliges once or twice, but he only seems to know one or two lines of each song, mostly nineties tunes.
Then, we go downtown again. He knows I love sweets, and he says he absolutelyneedsto take me to this place. It’s a bit of a touristy spot, he says, but apparently, it’s worth the line-up.
Just the shop windows alone are worth the trek. I’ve never seen anything like it; towers of pastel colored macarons, the prettiest cupcakes I’ve ever seen, and the most exquisite cakes; works of art, all of them. I snap pictures with my phone. I’m totally Instagram-ing this. The place is hustling and bustling — a quaint little space with a Victorian flair. Tea cups and tea pots. The walls are pink and the carpet is green with flowers. It’s the place to be.
We have the hot chocolate, and it’s the best I’ve ever tasted. It’s basically pure melted chocolate. In America, hot chocolate is hot water with a dash of chocolate flavoring. In Denmark, it’s actually melted chocolate!
“I want to live here forever,” I tell him.
He laughs. “You should,” he says. It’s a joke. We both know it. I could never. I have a family back home. I’m stuck there forever. In Vermont. And I’m fine with that — I love it there too. I can make my own real hot chocolate at home. I wonder… what would life be like if I didn’t have John and the kids? Would I move out here to be with Eli? I would in a heartbeat. I know I would.
I study the beautiful angles of his face as he peruses the extensive dessert menu. “Are you in the mood for cake?”
The hot chocolate is filling enough. “No, I’m good. I won’t fit into any of my clothes if I keep indulging like this,” I tell him. “I feel like I’ve already gained ten pounds.”
He grins playfully. “You look perfect,” he says. “I love every curve.”
And with those words, he leaves me speechless, yet again.
We stroll and window shop. When I spot one of those fish spas, I go kind of wild. “I’ve always wanted to do this,” I tell him.
He doesn’t seem too enthusiastic. It’s one of those places where you stick your feet in an aquarium, and tiny fish nip at your toes. They bite off the dead skin apparently. It’s one of those weird things people do. I only want to do it because Kayla raved about it. Apparently she had her toes nipped in a cenote in Mexico once, and she couldn’t stop talking about how fun it was.
“Really?!” Eli says.
“Really,” I say. “Let’s do it. My treat,” I offer. So far, we’ve been sharing a lot of the costs of our outings. He sets out to pay, and I often stop him, and tell him I want to cover it. We argue, and end up going Dutch.
He laughs. “I’ll hate it.”
“I thought you were adventurous,” I tease. “I’ve gone along with everything so far.” I inch closer. “Remember… sex in the alley,” I whisper. “That was pretty scary.”
He bites his lip, remembering. “You loved every second of it.”
“That’s not the point.”
I finally convince him to do it. The spa is nice; cherry blossom trees, and floral decals on the walls, candles, and soft music. There are comfortable leather chairs, and in front of each one, there are aquariums on the floor filled with tiny fish.
Our coats and bags are taken, and we’re given flip flops; women’s 8 for me, and men’s 12 for him. We both take a seat on the comfy chairs. He’s sitting right across from me. He hesitates a few seconds, and then he dips his feet in very slowly. His half-smile-half-wince is priceless. I follow suit. The water is pleasantly warm, and the fish get right to work. “It feels so weird.”
“It does,” he agrees.
