Page 11 of The Road to You
A sharp laugh bursts out of her, and she shakes her head. “You’re not wrong.”
There’s something about the way she looks at me, like she’s seeing me differently. She seems surprised that I don’t act like the men she is used to, and the idea makes me sad for her. How can someone live always expecting the worst from the people around her? Maybe it’s just her recent breakup making her distrusting, but still, it’s sad.
“But seriously,” she says, shifting the conversation, “where are you taking me?”
I grin. “We’re here.” I gesture toward a glowing neon sign up ahead.
Her face lights up, and it damn near knocks the breath from my lungs.
“Gelato?” She lets out a delighted laugh. “Are you serious? I don’t know if I have room for it after that dinner, but I’ll run ten laps around the block if it means I get to eat some.” She giggles, and the sound tugs at something deep inside me.
When we get closer to the outdoor space, she studies the display case like a kid in a candy store, eyes wide as she scans the endless rows of flavors. “Okay, I recognize pistachio, but the others? I have no clue. I need your help.”
I go through them one by one, answering every question as she listens, completely enraptured. The woman behind the counter watches us with amusement, probably used to the locals not making a fuss about it, but with Lena, it’s all marvel and awe.
She settles on pistachio and hazelnut, her voice stubbornly wrapping around the Italian words. “Nocciola,” she repeats until she gets it right and orders by herself. Her accent makes the word sound ten times sexier than it should.
We sit outside with our cups, and every time she takes a bite, she lets out a soft, appreciative moan that sends a low hum of amusement through me.
“So,” I say after a comfortable silence, “are you actually going to travel around Italy this summer? Or are you planning to hide out until it’s safe to go home?”
She exhales, stirring her gelato absentmindedly. “I’d love to. But the paparazzi are everywhere, even here. Trying to visit tourist spots turns into a nightmare fast.”
I know it too well. After my accident, they were relentless, circling like vultures, reminding me every damn day how much I fucked up.
“There are places that aren’t swarming with tourists,” I say. “And ways to avoid being seen.”
She laughs. “Easy for you to say. You live here. You speak the language. I can’t even read half the street signs.”
“I could go with you,” I blurt out. I don’t think. I just say it.
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize how insane it sounds. I barely know her. She barely knows me.
She turns, watching me with open skepticism. “Is that a serious offer? Because I’m waiting for the punchline.”
I rub a hand over my neck, ruffling my hair. “I know it sounds crazy. But if you want, I’d be happy to show you around.”
And the thing is, the more I think about it, the more I actually want to. Because I don’t have anything to lose. I’m stuck, floating in limbo, with no real direction. And for the first time in months, today felt like a breath of fresh air. It’s almost exhilarating thinking about forgetting all my problems and living in the moment.
She tilts her head. “You expect me to travel with a stranger I just met?”
Fair point.
I reach for my wallet, pull out my ID, and hand it to her. “Take a picture. Send it to whoever you trust. If anything happens to you, they’ll know exactly who to blame.”
She snorts. “Not exactly reassuring. I’d still be dead in a ditch.”
I sigh. “You’re right. But this is the best guarantee I can offer. You’ve been with me all day. If I gave you bad vibes, run. Trust your gut. But if you do say yes, know that at any point, if you feel uncomfortable, you can ditch me. No hard feelings.”
She studies my ID, then snaps a picture. “I’ll send it to my lawyer. If you turn out to be a serial killer, he’ll make sure you rot in prison.”
I grin. “Fair enough.”
And just like that, I find myself agreeing to something completely insane. A spontaneous trip with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.
For the first time in a long time, without a plan or even a vague direction, I don’t feel lost.
6
