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Families are packing up picnics.

Children chase each other across the grass.

For a while we talk as we walk. I tell him about my life in Italy and why my parents eventually moved here, and he tells me about his dad’s dream and about Lander, the place that had been his home for most of his life.

My nerves slowly disappear, and Damiano makes me laugh so much I have tears in my eyes. Somehow, it feels like I've known him much longer than three days.

We reach an empty bench beneath a large oak tree.

I sit down beside him.

The silence that settles between us isn't awkward.

It's comfortable.

Dangerously comfortable.

Then Damiano pulls out his phone. “Eleonora?”

“Yeah?”

He stands up and holds his hand out to me. “Dance with me.”

I stare at him. “What?”

A song I know too well starts to play, and his smirk appears.

The opening notes fill the evening air.

My breath catches.

“Why La donna cannone?” I whisper.

Damiano's smile softens, his hand still outstretched toward me.

I look around the park, suddenly very aware of all the families still scattered across the grass and the joggers passing us on the path. There are people everywhere, and he seriously expects me to stand up and dance with him where everyone can see us.

“No.”

His smile grows. “Yes.”

“Absolutely not.” I shake my head, even though I'm already fighting a smile.

He laughs and takes a step closer, still holding his hand out to me like he already knows I'm going to give in.

“Please.”

I stare at him, then back at his hand.

Against my better judgment, I take it.

His fingers close around mine, warm and steady, making me feel safe.

He pulls me gently into his arms.

One hand settles at my waist.

The other remains wrapped around mine.