Page 81 of I Think Olive You

“I”—this time she’s the one to stumble and struggle with the words—“I love you too.”

Hand shaking, I bring it up to her jaw, spanning the side of her face. I rub my thumb against the soft, hot skin of her cheek. We’re suspended in this second of time before we both surge forward.

Lips meet, needy and not enough. Salt against her mouth, I tug her closer to my body and feel the press of her softness and the hard ridges of that fucking journal between us. It’s the kind of kiss that stops time. A connection restored. A love acknowledged bursting between us from embers we’ve harbored all summer to an inferno that rivals the hues of autumn.

I touch every inch of her I can, reverently. Adoration brushed against the edge of her jaw, my fingers trail over the slope of her shoulder and the soft dip at her waist—the one I’ve been stupidly in love with since that first touch on the Vespa. Sound fades and I’m caught up in the feel of her heat, driving away the rapidly dropping temperature. Her heartbeat thunders, or maybe that’s mine, and eventually we realize the carriage has come to a stop.

The driver—bless him—has had the grace not to stop us, just staring out into the street and minding his own damn business. I would too, considering he gets paid based on time and not distance.

Honking cars and music pouring out of a venue nearby filter back into my senses. The light from a nearby streetlamp spills across Giuliana’s face, highlighting kiss-swollen lips and the pink tip of her nose. She stares up at me with her heart in her eyes and I would do anything for this woman.

I’d go down on my knees and kiss the ground at her feet if she asked. Even though it’s New York so it’s fucking filthy.

How do I ask where to go from here? What does this mean?

Sensing my hesitation, Giuliana lifts her hand to my cheek and traces her thumb against my lips. I plant a little kiss against the swirls and ridges there.

“Teo…” Turning my face into her hand, I lean into that touch as if it’s going to fortify every corner of my aching heart.

“Yes, love.” I whisper, afraid of what comes next and worried this is goodbye. This will be the part of the night where punishment comes to greet me.

But as usual she knocks me off my guard, the same way she’s always done.

“Ti perdono.” Her voice is sweet, the words of amnesty sweeter because I don’t need to speak Italian to understand. Written all over her face, it’s in the touch of her hand against my cheek like a boon.

“Come home, please.” She’s the light guiding me, and her words are ones I didn’t know how desperate I was to hear until this moment. Everything I’ve wished for is in the back of a carriage, on a corner of the city that’s never truly felt like mine.

“Yes.”

One Year Later

Harvest comes around so quickly this time. Though, I suppose it makes sense when considering everything we’ve been doing to ensure its success. Giuliana isn’t in the office when I peek my head in. Her empty chair overlooks the grove. Standing there for a minute with my hands on the top of it, I stare out at the place that changed my life.

It looks the same, in the sense that seasons change and fruit grows and ripens before dropping from branches. Rain washes away footprints and colorful birds peck at the ground afterwards. Change is a constant. It’s lifeblood and excitement. A tiny yawn breaks my concentration and I look down to find Cora curled up on the seat of Giuliana’s chair. It took me about a week to figure out she’d named the damn cat after an olive cultivar, but she was sneaky about it. It wasn’t until she’d admonished the kitten and called her Coratina that I realized.

Cuddled into a little ball, Cora gets her fur all over the seat. I know Lia will complain while she wipes the chair down but then leave the door wide open and let the cat right back onto it. Two very headstrong ladies.

On the desk there’s a piece of paper, neatly folded in half with my name on the front. Unfolding it, I smile as I trace the handwriting I’ve become so familiar with.

My chuckle startles Cora and she gives me the cat version of side eye. I never realized Giuliana isn’t a morning person until after we got back from New York. Apparently, I pissed her off every morning last summer by necessitating my little wake-up calls when she’d much rather have stayed in bed until the very last minute.

Oh, she has no idea how much I’d love to escape with her again. We can’t be late though, not like last time. This year Giuliana has to give a speech and I get to stand by her side and look pretty. Pulling a pen from the holder on the desk, I scratch my reply onto the paper.

Cora gets a little scratch behind her ear before I head out to see to my own harvest duties. Isabella knows and the plan is in motion. After things wind down for the evening, she’ll be heading into Gravina with Chiara to give us a little privacy. I just have to survive the heart palpitations until then.

Joining countless others in the rows, my mechanical picker sends vibrations down my arms. Ripe olives cascade onto the netting, hitting the ground with a soft thud as they skid and collect. Sunlight bakes my body, leaving a trail of sweat down my back. I move with a confidence I couldn’t have fathomed last year.

Matt Palmer was soft-handed, arrogant, and lost.

I’m thankful to say I am no longer any of those things. Though Giuliana might disagree on the arrogant front, I know I’ve been humbled by this whole experience. I doubt I’ll ever truly be tamed though.

Catching her eye as she walks among us, I survey the progress we’ve made. We share a secret smile and she gives me a nod—one that lets me know she saw my response on her letter. My thoughts race to that night on the hill.

No, never fully tamed.

By late afternoon my entire body is an ache and my arms are shaky from holding the machine up all day. I’m covered in dust and sweat. We—the workers and the newest batch of volunteers—all head up toward the big house once it’s done. Taking turns, we scrub our hands and gather around the stone courtyard. When we run out of room the crowd spills over onto the grass around the house.

Glasses of sparkling liquid are passed around. The aroma of good food wafts from the house, reminding all of us how strenuous the day has been and how starved we are. But, there’s something else to do first. Giuliana steps up onto a chair, tapping against her glass with a tiny fork to get everyone’s attention.

---