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“Relax, babe.” He glances in my direction and gives me a lopsided grin.
There’s that word again…Babe.
“I am relaxed,” I counter after several moments of silence.
“Your posture says otherwise.” He flicks his eyes to mine for the briefest moment, his smile not faltering for even a second.
I open my mouth to argue but realize he’s right. I instantly make a point to sink back down in the seat, though I don’t feel any more at ease in doing so.
“So what do you want to see first?” His fingers tighten around mine, pulling my gaze to his. “When we get to Manarola,” he clarifies, his eyes bouncing back and forth between me and the road.
“I haven’t really thought that far ahead,” I admit, wanting desperately to pull my hand away so I can think clearly, yet not wanting to ever take it away at the same time.
“You said your great grandparents lived right by the water, yeah?”
“Yes,” I barely manage to get out past the knot in my throat.
My god this man does something to me that I just can’t explain. It’s like I can’t keep a single thing straight in his presence and this fact has only intensified given that he’s currently holding my hand.
What exactly is happening here?
That’s what I want to ask him. I want to know if he feels it too. The zing of chemistry between us, the pull of something more. I’m convinced he does,he has to, and yet I’m afraid he doesn’t. Then again, I might be more afraid that he does.
“I’m not really positive on that, but from what I’ve gathered from pictures I believe so,” I eventually add.
“We will have to stop by and visit.”
“Visit what?” I question, not sure what he’s talking about.
“Where your great grandparents lived.” He flashes me an amused smile and I swear my heart flips in my chest.
Why does he have to be so beautiful? Why can’t this be easy? Come to Italy, reconnect with myself and my roots, and gain a good friend in the process. That’s what I wanted. A friend. Someone who understood what I’m going through. Someone I could offer some understanding too as well.
Instead I find myself off in la la land, dreaming about Kane’s mouth and hands and every other part of him I haven’t been able to stop staring at.
“We can’t. Someone else owns it,” I say after composing myself.
“And?” Kane questions, his gaze fixed on the road.
“And you can’t walk up and knock on someone’s door and expect they will let you inside their house.”
“Says who?”
“Says any sane person alive. Would you let someone into your house?”
“If the reason was valid, yes I would.”
“There’s a valid reason for letting complete strangers into your home?”
“We’re not in America, babe.”
Babe…God I wish he would stop saying that word. Every time he does I feel myself slip a little further, my heart beat a little faster, and my stomach knot a little tighter.
“If I explain to them the significance of the house and that it once belonged to your grandparents, I’m certain that they will at least let us in long enough to look around. To experience the place where your great grandparents lived. Where your grandfather was born. Where your father might have been raised had they not moved to the States. This is a part of your history, Elara. It’s important.”
“I still don’t think they’ll let us in,” I counter, trying my best to focus on that and not his mouth which I can’t seem to stop staring at.
“We’ll see.” His eyes briefly glance my way and I quickly pull my gaze from his mouth to meet his dark eyes.
