Page 70 of The Road to You
To my left, Gianna—his childhood friend, now married with a toddler and a knack for storytelling—is leaning forward, her elbow on the table as she eyes me with a grin. “So,” she says, “has he told you about the treehouse?”
I raise an eyebrow and glance at Michele, who suddenly looks very interested in his wine.
“No,” I say slowly. “But I’m already intrigued.”
Andrea, a tall, slender guy with hair that could only be described as ‘perpetually windblown,’ snorts into his glass. “He was twelve. Decided he’d build his own treehouse. Got halfway finished with the ladder before realizing he had no idea what he was doing.”
“I had a plan,” Michele mutters beside me.
“Yeah,” Alessandro chimes in from across the table. “A plan that involved climbing up with three planks of wood and a single nail in your pocket.”
Gianna’s already laughing. “He got stuck halfway up the olive tree and yelled for his mom like it was a life-or-death emergency.”
Lucia, from a few seats away, waves a hand through the air. “I had to put back the ladder he’d let fall and drag him down myself while he clung to a branch and swore he saw a snake.”
“It moved,” Michele insists, clearly reliving the trauma.
Everyone laughs, and he scowls at no one in particular.
I lean into him, whispering, “You were twelve, building a treehouse with one nail. What exactly did you think was going to happen?”
I can’t hide a chuckle escaping my lips.
“I didn’t expect to be ambushed years later by my own dinner guests,” he retorts, eliciting a new round of laughs around the table.
I bounce my shoulder playfully against his and he glares at me, but a smile is tugging at his lips. He’s embarrassed about the stories his friends are sharing, but I’m convinced he enjoys spending time with them. I see it in his eyes, from the way he looks at them, full of love and a hint of melancholy.
“You invited them,” I point out with a grin.
“That was a mistake,” he rebukes, but I know he doesn’t mean it. The grin trying to escape from his lips says otherwise.
Laughter ripples around the table, warm and contagious, and I find myself laughing too, really laughing, the kind that hurts your ribs and cramps your cheeks but makes your heart settle in an easy rhythm.
“Wait, wait,” Gianna says, wiping tears from her eyes. “What about the pool incident?”
Michele’s groan is immediate. “No. Absolutely not.”
He rubs a hand over his face when it’s clear that his friend has no intention of holding back on this story, and I have to admit I’m curious to hear it. They’re telling me so much, I’m pretty sure he’s lived ten lives. I haven’t done even a fraction of what he did when he was young. He was reckless and completely out of control. I can see how starting his career so young helped him straighten out his head.
“Oh, yes,” Andrea says, already grinning. “He was fifteen, trying to impress Serena. Remember her? Long legs, no patience?”
Lucia raises a brow. “Still no patience, that one. We were at the public pool, right? School had just let out a week prior.”
She doesn’t seem that fond of the girl Michele was crushing on, and I can’t hide a smile spilling from my lips.
“He climbs up onto the roof of the pool storage shed,” Andrea continues, “says he’s going to dive in like a pro.”
A groan escapes Michele’s chest, and I grip my hand around his. I see a few glances from his friends who notice the gesturebut say nothing. I would normally be conscious of public displays of affection, but right now I feel so at ease with the people surrounding us that I don’t mind showing this side of myself, even if I did just meet them a few hours ago. Michele doesn’t seem to mind either, and a flutter starts in my chest when he absently caresses my hand with his thumb.
Alessandro shakes his head. “And he would’ve, if he hadn’t miscalculated the distance he needed to reach the deeper side of the pool.”
“You distracted me with your chatter and jokes,” Michele mutters, but Alessandro shushes him with a wave of his hand.
“Landed where the water was a bit too low. It was memorable.”
Everyone laughs, and a cheer goes around the table, as if celebrating that he didn’t die during that stunt.
“I limped for a week!” he points out, but everyone shakes their heads in unison.
