No. I didn't just say that out loud, did I?
In the split second after realizing that the barrier between my brain and my mouth malfunctioned for a moment, his muscles tense up as well. "This isn't my homeland."
My gut tells me he wanted to add something more, but he doesn't. At least he doesn't condemn me for my clumsy collision or my thoughtless words. I exhale in relief and make sure to put some distance between us. "But you grew up here, right?"
As if having trouble staying still, he starts walking again. "I haven't lived here for a long time." The winding path levels out, and even with his mismatched footwear, he moves faster now.
I catch up to him. "Where do you live instead?"
He gives me a meaningful look. "Everywhere."
Everywhere? What does he mean by that? No one can live everywhere. Everyone needs a place to call home, offering them safety and stability.
"It confuses you." It's not a question; it's an observation. And he seems to find it amusing.
Should I admit he's right? Probably not.
"You are…" What was that in Italian? "Senza dimora?" I finally ask, not finding the exact translation.
I can hardly believe he's really homeless. True, his clothes don't suggest he's swimming in money, but he's definitely lying to me. He's testing me to see if I'm a serious businesswoman or just a naive dreamer. Perhaps.
Better not let any uncertainty show.
As we walk, he scans the vastness of the valley that lies before us in all its idyllic beauty. The gentle wind blows his hair into his face. Not for the first time, I wonder what he's thinking. And I can't wait to hear his response.
"Something like that," he replies mysteriously.
