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“The fabrics are so beautiful!” She makes a sound of pure bliss. “I can’t tell you how much. I feel like I’ve taken such a huge step forward in my career. This stuff usually goes to high-profile designers and the rest of us have to order mass-produced fabric.”
“You’re a high-profile designer now, Maddie. Accept it.”
She sighs. “I do. I do accept it.” There’s a pause. “Are you doing okay?” she asks. “Really? I get so worried about you.”
I’m standing beside the fountain now, admiring stone cherubs, trumpeters, angels and dancing maidens. I want to tell her I’m not a kid anymore, with no one to lean on but my barely adult sister, begging her to take me with her when she moved out of the apartment we shared with an alcoholic, abusive father. Instead, I shrug. “I’m doing great, Mads. You can chill.”
She exhales. “Well, I dragged you to Europe and forced you to take a vacation. That’s a lifetime of good karma for me. Knowing you, it’ll be decades before you take another one. I have to go now. I love you, kiddo.Ciao.”
I slip the phone back into my pocket. Maddie is right. I should stop wishing the week would go faster so I can go back to work. Instead, I should slow down and let myself enjoy this vacation.
At the edge of the fountain, a pretty girl in a short summer dress meets my gaze and smiles.
I smile back and she waves. Women don’t see the skinny nerd I still am inside my head. They see the height and the face and the muscles that appeared at the end of my teens. And while I love women, sometimes, like now, I just want to be that skinny nerd, alone in my head.
With a small nod of acknowledgement, I head in the opposite direction and enter a small cafe close to the square.
Inside, it’s cool and quiet, with a tiled stone floor and dark walls, with sunlight spilling in from long, narrow windows.
After a quick glance around, I head for the counter, then stop. My eyes go back to a corner of the cafe, where a girl is seated alone at a table for two, reading a book.
You walk past hundreds of people every day, and none of them makes more than a passing impression, and then there’s that rare moment, you see someone in a crowd, or your eyes meet at an intersection, or across a grocery aisle, and you know there’s a connection there that has nothing to do with you wanting it or creating it. It’s just there, and if you give it a chance, it will flare to life in a way you’ll always remember.
Light from the windows creates the impression of a halo around wavy blonde hair that falls past her shoulders, which are bare in a sleeveless pink top. Her skin is richly tanned. Her lips are wide, and across her nose, I can see a few tiny freckles, adding just the right amount of detail to her heart shaped face. On the table in front of her, there’s a fruit cocktail with chunks of chopped fruit mounded at the top. As I watch, she picks up a piece of fruit with her fingers and pops it in her mouth.
I feel almost as if I’m looking at a painting, and I can’t shake the feeling that I know her in a way that has nothing to do with having met her before.
Without warning, she looks up and meets my gaze, catching me staring. Our eyes hold. Hers are a lively gray, ringed with long dark lashes. I don’t look away, and neither does she.
Suddenly, the door opens behind me, letting in a wave of noise from the square. A group of three guys and two girls enter, chattering in rapid Italian as they head for the counter. I follow behind them, wondering why I feel like the earth just moved beneath me. I can still feelhereyes on me.
I want to go to her table and introduce myself.
I want to know if I’m the only one who feels like we’ve always known each other.
One of the guys from the new group noticesherand struts over to her table, smoothing his dark hair and smirking.
“What’s a beautiful girl like you doing sitting here alone?” he asks in Italian.
She gives him a tired look that tells me what she thinks of getting hit on in a cafe. “I’m not alone,” she replies. Her Italian is so horrible, I almost burst out laughing.
Undeterred, the guy takes the seat across from her. “American.” He nods approvingly. “What brings you to Italy? Let me guess. Tourist? Student? Love?”
She eyes him thoroughly, her face expressionless. Then her eyes flick to mine for an instant before going back to the guy across from her. “That seat isn’t free,” she says in English.
“But right now, it’s just you and me, no?”
“No.” I reach her table so fast I surprise even myself. “That’s my seat.”
Something in my smile makes him think better of objecting. He rolls his eyes, grunts under his breath, then returns to his friends. I remain standing by the chair whileshelooks up at me, an amused smile on her lips. She doesn’t look like she needs me or anyone else to take care of her.
I knew that before I came charging to the rescue.
I just wanted a chance to talk to her.
She closes her book and continues to study me silently.
I give her what I hope is a charming smile. “Do you mind if I sit?”
