Cris had gotten out of bed, too antsy to sleep, and thrown on swim trunks. A few laps across the breakwater would set him straight, he knew. All the way to the beach, the smell of jasmine was so thick, it almost gave him a headache. When he’d gotten down to the beach, there was one small form, wrapped in a towel on one of the sun chairs, holding a book. Some kind of electricity in the air told him who it was before he could see for sure. She noticed him walking toward her at the last minute, as though she was savoring the last drop of what she was reading. She smiled, looking up at him, and held her arms out withouta word. He grabbed her hands and pulled her up into a hug, praying that she couldn’t feel the bang in his chest.
“You got taller,” she’d said. Her forehead tapped against his collarbone as they hugged. He measured the seconds and pulled away before it veered into awkward. They’d hugged hello and goodbye thousands of times, but this time it was not a greeting. It was an introduction. The early sun lit up her eyes, ruining him in the best way possible and carving a memory he’d never forget.
He was actually surprised that Ellie chose Piccolo Bar as the place to meet this morning since it would probably be pretty busy. He knew she wasn’t a fan of chaos, always pulling his arm to walk down the quieter streets of town when they were kids. Chiavari was buzzing with movement as people walked around doing their shopping, taking advantage of the outdoor fruit and vegetable markets, and scrutinizing the wares at the fishmonger. Piccolo Bar sat at the south corner of the busiest piazza in town, which put it directly in the middle of the mayhem. Then again, he didn’t know what she was likely to choose these days. He’d already exhausted his predictions about her by suggesting she wanted a strawberry ice cream yesterday.
A young guy with chestnut-colored hair raked into a bun shoved aside a rolling cart stacked with cases of watermelon and suddenly, there she was. Ellie was sitting at a table under an umbrella in a light-blue sundress and was about to bite into a powdered-sugar-covered pastry while a teapot steamed in front of her. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, revealing smooth shoulders already golden from a half day of sun. Cris felt a squeeze in his stomach and it wasn’t because of the dregs of Campari rolling around in there.
“Good morning,” he said, surprising her as she bit down into the brioche. Powdered sugar blew back up onto her mouth, sticking to herlip gloss and making her cough. She frantically grabbed at the box of napkins on the table, trying to wipe away the sugar. A vision flashed of him leaning over to lick her lips clean, tasting straight sugar.Nope.That wasn’t the way this day was going to get started. “You okay?”
“Yes. I’m fine,” she said. “Guess I’m not used to, umm…” she trailed off, seeming to not know what she wanted to say next.
“Pastry?”
“I was going to say ‘being startled,’ but maybe pastry, too.” She was officially giving him a deer-in-the-headlights face. This was going to be a disaster if they couldn’t even have a conversation about breakfast.
“Well, it looks good, anyway.”
“If you need to order something, I’ll wait for you.” She gestured inside the café.
“I’m good for now. Let’s do this,” Cris said, pulling the tiny aluminum chair away from the table.
Ellie opened a small, very new-looking journal in which she had already written notes. Cris couldn’t read them, but it was hard to miss that there were lines and lines of scribbles ending with giant question marks. “Okay,” she said, picking up her pen. “I’ve been thinking about this and, given your history, I think the most important thing to do here is to humanize you. People find it very easy to launch criticism at others when they don’t see them as human beings because they’re not likely to develop a sense of empathy for someone they would consider to be unrelatable.”
“Unrelatable.”
“Yes. What I mean is, we have to tell your story from the beginning. We have to make people understand who you are, why you made the choices you made, what makes you tick. That way we can make it personal, and people will feel close to you.”
“I’ve never had a problem with people not wanting to get close to me, Ellie.”
“I’m not sure that your personal magnetism counts here,” she said, arching a brow. “There is a difference between that and your ability to generate empathy, I mean. Especially with the public. They have seen you give pat answers to almost every question for a number of years. So now it’s time to break through that. You have to let them see another side of you. And not the glimpse they’ve seen onDouble Shot,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “You know what I mean.” She ran her fingers behind her ear, tucking a phantom lock of hair back, and looked down to her journal. “We have to make you likable,” she said to the open page.
“Because I guess I’m lacking in that department. Now.”
“I don’t know, Cris. I’m sure that some people still find you likable.” She picked her head back up and landed the last sentence with a look dead in his eyes.
“You used to,” he said.
“That’s not relevant to the story.” She paused, pressing her lips together, but then went on like she was reading from a script. “In fact, I typically do not like to know anything about people before they come on the show. That might not be the best idea, admittedly. I need to approach this with a fresh perspective also. So I decided to research you. And take notes.”
“You could have just asked me.” He smiled.
“No. That would inject bias. When I need additional information on a topic, I research. I don’t usually do that with athletes, but this is a special circumstance.”
“So I’m unrelatable. I’m a circumstance. This is fun, Ellie. What other ways can you cheer me up?” He leaned back from the table. Shewas certainly trying to knock him down a couple of notches, and it was starting to feel like she liked doing it.
“Hey,” she said, holding her pen up. “I am not here to make this fun for you. I am working here. That’s it. Neither of us can afford to turn this into some kind of snow job because we used to be friends. So, if you don’t like the way this is going, back out now and I can find some other way to waste my time this summer.”
“Can I get you anything?” A waiter stood at the table and placed a new bowl of sugar packets between them.
“Cappuccinoe una brioche,” said Cris, suddenly starving. “Wait. If you have chocolate, I’ll take that.” The waiter nodded and headed back inside the café. Ellie was still gripping her pen, though she had lowered it down to the table instead of making it look like she was going to jam it into his forearm at any moment.
“Are you gonna tell me what the heck is going on, El? Because I know you’re not happy with me, but I’m pretty sure that I don’t deserve every one of those veins popping out in your neck right now.” She glared at him. “Okay, maybe most of them, but all? Really?”
“This trip is not exactly relaxing for me.” She swallowed. “I have a lot going on right now.”
“Yeah. Well, it’s not relaxing for me either. Would you like to compare notes?”
“It’s not a contest.”
