Page 6 of The Fear of Falling
Clutching the straps of my backpack, I lean out to see if anyone has gotten a ride yet, but it looks like the same people are at thefront of the line that were there when I got here. Are we all just going to stand here for the next hour?
I’m so tired. I want to collapse in my hotel room and sleep until morning, even though it’s two in the afternoon here in Florence. Experience has taught me that I should stay up as late as I can tonight to acclimate to the time change, but I doubt I’ll be as energetic as young Avery was. An afternoon nap will fix me right up, and I’ll hopefully have energy to find a nice restaurant tonight and settle in.
If I ever get a cab.
Sighing, I try my phone again, begging it to get enough data to download the route to the hotel. If it isn’t too far, maybe it will be worth the walk.
“Hey, Avery, right?”
I tense, but the male voice that says my name is mildly familiar. Looking up, I’m shocked to see Benson looking at me from a taxi window. Goodness, he’s more handsome in the Florentine sunshine than he was on the plane, and heat floods my cheeks. Which is ridiculous. “Oh, hi. It was Benson, yeah?” As if I don’t vividly remember his name after that humiliating conversation during the flight. There is nothing more mortifying than being caught mid-sob by a total stranger. Especially one with enough swagger to have walked out of an edition ofGQ. I’ve never even seen that magazine before, but I’m pretty sure it’s full of hot men.
Benson’s eyes trail along the line of people, his eyebrows dipping low as if he’s thinking about something. When he looks at me again, there’s a soft hint of a smile on his lips that makes my stomach squirm. The man has asmile. One that has been haunting me in the back of my mind since disembarking in Rome a few hours ago. “Need a ride?”
A few of the people around me murmur varying degrees of disgust and envy.
I bite my lip. Part of me knows it’s a bad idea to climb into a car with a strange man, particularly one who looks like he regularly charms women with his sharp, scruff-covered jawline and sky-blue eyes. But the other part of me knows it could be hours before I make it to my hotel at the rate this line is moving. “Um, I don’t want to make you go out of your way.”
Saying something to the driver, he slips from the car in a smooth motion, looking for all the world like he was made for Italy. His white button-down shirt may not be crisp—he wore it on the plane, after all—but the way he starts rolling up his cuffs as he approaches is completely movie-worthy. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” he says in a voice so low that I have to lean in to hear him, “but it’s not going to be easy for you to get a car. Our plane came in at the same time as a train from Venice, and this is right at the edge of peak tourist season.”
“Then where did you get yours?” I ask, forcing my eyes to focus on the taxi rather than Benson’s muscled forearms. But he doesn’t respond, so I look up at him—up because of course he’s tall too—and meet his gaze.
My breath slides out of me the moment he smirks. “Trade secret,” he says and winks.
I have never seen a guy wink and found it attractive, but Benson manages it. Is this guy real? Maybe he’s a strange jet lag hallucination.
“Come on,” he says, wrapping a hand around the handle of my bigger suitcase. “It’s just sharing a taxi.”
Praying I’m not about to be set upon by a charming scoundrel, I nod and follow Benson to the cab. He helps me get my luggage into the trunk and opens the door for me, and I’m more convinced than ever that this is all a dream and I’m really back in my office, passed out at my desk because I stayed at work too late again.
But when Benson climbs into the taxi after me and his fresh, masculine scent envelops me, I decide there’s no way I could dream up a man this enticing. He’s real, and we’re really sharing a cab, and his shoulders really are that big.
What am I supposed to do with all of this information?
“Where to?” he asks, fixing me with those stunningly blue eyes again.
It takes three tries to unlock my phone so I can find the name of the hotel in my spreadsheet because my hand is shaking. “Um, Villa Fiorentina dei Fiori.”
After looking at my phone, Benson repeats the name to the driver. Only, his version actually sounds Italian, unlike my butchered one. When we’re on our way, he leans his head back and closes his eyes. “I thought maybe you were going to be in Rome,” he mutters. “I was surprised to see you here in Florence.”
“Oh, uh, no.” I don’t know what else to say because Ididknow Benson would be here. I passed his seat when boarding the small plane in Rome and felt a stupid thrill of excitement over the fact that we would be in the same city. I’m not here to have an Italian romance…with an American…who is way out of my league, so I shouldn’t be allowinganyattraction.
Besides, it’s only been a couple of months since Eric and I called things off. I’m in no way ready for a relationship.
“Any fun plans while you’re here? Whole itinerary?” He sounds either tired or bored. Or both. Something about the way he asks that second question rubs me the wrong way, though I can’t figure out what it is. It’s like he already knows the answer and disapproves.
“My fi—my ex and I made sure we wouldn’t have any wasted time,” I say, looking back down at the spreadsheet we made, complete with screenshots of our tickets for the museum and thewalking tour. “I only get to be here for a week, so I don’t want to miss—”
“You have it planned down to the minute?”
I look over, shocked to find Benson looking down at the schedule on my phone again, a furrow in his brow. “Huh?”
He scoffs. “I thought you said you used to travel all the time.”
His condescending tone makes me feel itchy, and I lock my screen and tuck my phone between my legs as if that might erase the last few seconds. “What’s wrong with a schedule?” I ask indignantly. “Unlike you, this might be my only trip to Florence.”
“What a sad way to live.”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion on my life, Benson.” My sharp retort catches me off guard, leaving me hot and dizzy. When did I get so rude?
