Page 41 of Head Over Wheels

He painted a vivid picture and it was striking how much I wanted to meet them in real life. ‘Not quite like my dad, then,’ was all I said. And unlike my mum, his family seemed to value him just the way he was, regardless of his achievements.

‘No, not like your dad,’ he agreed emphatically.

The lane opened out up ahead and we emerged onto the Piazza del Campo, the scene of our ignominious race finishes today. Seb stopped so suddenly I walked into him – a rather soft landing against his pliant, tired body. He turned to me, standing close, and I wouldn’t have moved for the world.

The crescent of warm stone buildings with wrought-iron balconies and the crenellated town hall looked different at night from this afternoon, when the square had been filled with barriers and marquees and officials with lanyards. Staring at the stunning white loggia at the top of the tower, while Seb did the same, I thought that this quiet moment in a place I loved would surely turn my luck around.

His fingers brushed mine and I froze, my heart pounding. I was tense, mixed up, with no idea what I wanted from him – except definitely more touching. The world seemed different when we were together. But I wasn’t supposed to be indulging inromance.

He swept past without taking my hand. ‘I’d rather not look too closely at the piazza,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘I hope someone’s cleaned up after me at least.’

I caught up to him quickly and we dawdled together, the cold air swirling around us while heat gathered between. It had been a hellish day with a fruitless, painful race and tears – far too many tears.

More of them gathered as my thoughts flitted aimlessly over the events of the day. Laura and Gaetano, the armchair in Seb’s room, his dimpled cheeks and my cute mental image of his mother and grandmother in rain gear, failure, rejection, a saint’s severed head and this overwhelming feeling that I would do it all again if it meant we got here. I didn’t even know where ‘here’ was and he wasn’t even holding my hand.

A car clattered past on the flagstones and we veered off onto a little piazza to make room. It was ridiculous that cars were allowed to drive these narrow lanes but I didn’t mind squeezing off the road because it brought me back into a full-body nudge against Seb, his arm slipping around me.

Nudging. That seemed to be where we were at.

I recognised the drinking fountain with the brass statue of a panther and realised we weren’t far from the hotel now.

He saw me looking at the fountain. ‘Maybe we were on the wrong track with the coin and Saint Catherine.’

‘You think?’ At least the weird, romantic mood hadn’t killed my sarcasm yet.

‘Since your bad luck has been distinctly zoological, we should have been visiting all these animals around Siena and rubbing the statues for luck. How’s your calendar looking for tomorrow?’ he asked with a little huff.

My throat was thick. ‘I’m leaving tomorrow.’

His gaze shot to mine. ‘You should at least rub this one. The bones of Saint Francis are too far away, in Assisi. He’s the patron saint of animals.’

‘I think we established that looking at bits of dead bodies isn’t the right way to turn my luck around,’ I muttered as I ran my hand over the cool brass. Seb did the same and when our fingertips brushed, we both paused, but he didn’t look up. His throat bobbed and, after a long hesitation, he drew his fingers back.

‘That will— Ehm… Surely the panther is a good-luck animal,’ he said softly, taking a step back. When he glanced at me, the wariness in his gaze sucked me in.He feels all this too.

As we set off again in the direction of the hotel, I scuffed my feet, my mind racing. Digging my hand out of the pocket of the hoodie, I let it hang, my knuckles grazing his while I tried to decide if I wanted to take his hand and ridiculing myself for agonising about something so simple, given the places on me he’d already had his fingertips.

Hecould make a move, although I wasn’t usually one to stand around waiting. But maybe he didn’t want to. Hand-holding was some whole different shit to banging the tension out of our systems and that’s all we’d done – as well as spend a couple of hours together trying to shed my bad luck while nudging each other.

We passed under another brick archway near the hotel and I wondered with some detachment whether I was going to hyperventilate, my body was so wound up. About nudging and hand-holding! What was wrong with me?

Although we were walking more slowly than a nonna with a Zimmer frame, it was only when we reached the stone porch that my thoughts progressed to goodbye kisses and that dilemma landed on me with a whump to my stomach.

He paused by the first step, opening and closing his hand. ‘I— Erm… You—’ He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at me and away again as though there was something painful about the action. ‘What time are you leaving tomorrow?’

I gulped, trying to switch off the prickle of awareness of everything he did, but he drifted closer and, instead of turning off, I zoned right in. As though I was on the bike, every fibre of my being trembled into focus.

His gaze rose warily to mine, all warm amber and confusion. I wanted to rub my thumbs in the hollows of his cheeks, kiss his angular jaw. I forgot everything except how the air buzzed when he was this close and how it had felt to kiss him – like letting go.

His nostrils flared and his chest rose sharply on a ragged breath. We stood so close the steam clouds of our breath dissipated as one.

‘You…’ he tried again.

His brow dipped as a sigh escaped his lips and he studied me, my mouth. He’d done nothing, but I still felt the look in my spine.

‘You left your phone in my room. Do you want me to get it for you?’

Only when I stumbled back onto my heels did I realisehow close I’d swayed to him and with the crash of my feet came the tumble of my pride.

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