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My bag of books sits beside me.

For a while we watch sailboats move across the water, my head on his shoulder, his hand running circles over mine.

“Vita?”

“Yeah?”

He brings his hand to my cheek, his eyes searching mine for a few seconds before drifting toward the skyline. His thumb brushes over my skin once, then again, and he takes a breath.

“Do you ever think about the future?”

The question catches me off guard. “Sometimes.”

“What does it look like?”

“Books.”

He laughs. “Besides books.”

I think about college and my family, about all the things I always imagined would be part of my future. But then I look at the boy sitting beside me, and all I can think about are blue eyes and Vespa rides, Sunday lunches and kisses that make me forget my own name.

And before I can stop myself, the answer slips out.

“You.”

Damiano goes completely still, and it takes me a second to realize what I just said.

Oh my God.

Apparently I've lost my mind.

I bury my face in my hands. “Pretend I didn't say that.”

His laughter is soft this time, almost disbelieving.

When I peek through my fingers, he's watching me.

“I like that.”

I lower my hands. “You do?”

His fingers tighten around mine. “Because my future looks a lot like you too.”

Those three words that scare me so much sit on the tip of my tongue, but I hold them back.

“You’ve never told me what you actually want to do.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“With your life.”

I stare out at the water. “Honestly?”

“Always.”

“You know how much I love cooking.”

“I know.”