Page 69 of The Slug Crystal
"I know," I admit, the words feeling like release. "I've always known, I think. I was just afraid."
"Of what?" His voice is barely above a whisper, his hand returning to its task of cleaning my face, though his eyes never leave mine.
"Of ruining what we had. Of losing you." I swallow hard, the truth harder to admit than I expected. "Everyone else in my life has been temporary. You're the only constant."
The handkerchief drops forgotten to his side as his hand moves to cup my cheek, his touch warm against my skin. "I'm not going anywhere, Emma. Not unless you want me to. These other guys,” he says, gesturing in the direction of the car. “They aren’t going to scare me away.”
In this moment, on a dusty roadside in Tuscany with the taste of sickness still faint in my mouth, Jake has never looked more beautiful to me, his light brown hair ruffled by the breeze, his blue eyes clear and honest, his familiar features arranged in an expression of such open affection that it makes my heart stutter.
"I don't want you to go anywhere," I whisper. "I never have."
He leans forward slowly, giving me every opportunity to pull away. His lips meet mine with gentle pressure, nothing like the urgent passion of Luca's pool kiss or the hesitant exploration of our first kiss in Venice. This kiss feels like coming home after a long journey, familiar and new simultaneously, grounded in years of friendship but opening into something deeper.
My hand finds his shoulder, anchoring myself as the kiss deepens. He tastes like coffee and certainty, his fingers threading through my hair with careful tenderness. There’s no performance here, no challenge or game. Just Jake and me, finally acknowledging what's been between us for years.
When we break apart, his forehead rests against mine, our breathing synchronized in the quiet moment. His thumb traces my cheekbone in a gesture so tender it makes my throat tight with emotion.
"I've wanted to do that again since Venice," he confesses, voice rough around the edges.
"Me too," I admit. "I was just?—"
"What's happening? You puking or making out? Just need to know what I'm walking into." Ben's voice shatters the moment like a stone through glass. His green eyes are dancing with mischief, beard framing a smirk that's equal parts amused and curious.
Jake sighs, pulling back slightly, though his hand remains on my back. "Your timing is impeccable as always, Ben."
"It's a gift," Ben agrees cheerfully.
"Can I get you anything else?" Jake asks, his fingers gentle as they brush a strand of hair from my face.
I shake my head, the worst of the nausea receding, but I still feel shaky and weak. "Just give me a minute."
The others have retreated slightly, giving us space while remaining close enough to help if needed. Marco examines Alex's terrarium on the dashboard, making adjustments to ensure proper ventilation. Ben has spread a travel map he bought back in Florence across the hood of the car, apparently for planning alternative routes, and he turns his attention back to the map after ruining our moment. Luca leans against the car, phone in hand, presumably searching for the nearest pharmacy.
"Maybe we should find a place to rest," Jake suggests, his hand still steady on my back. "Assisi can wait until tomorrow."
"No," I insist, pushing myself to a standing position though my legs feel wobbly. "I'm not delaying because of a little car sickness. Sarah's already weeks ahead of us."
Jake studies my face, clearly weighing my determination against my physical state. "At least let's take a break somewhere comfortable. There must be a town nearby with a café where you can rest properly."
I nod, conceding this much. "But then we continue to Assisi today."
"Stubborn as always," he says, but his tone is affectionate rather than critical.
As we rejoin the others, I notice how they've each found practical ways to help—Marco with a detailed list of remedies for motion sickness, Ben with an alternate scenic route that avoids the worst curves, and Luca with the locations of three pharmacies between here and Assisi. Their concern wraps around me like a blanket, unexpectedly touching despite the embarrassment of the situation.
"I'm okay," I tell them, forcing a smile. "Let's findsomewhere to stop briefly, then continue. We have a witch to track down."
Marco gestures to Alex's terrarium. "Our blue friend seems completely unaffected by all the excitement. Gastropods have no inner ear mechanism to cause motion sickness."
"Lucky snail," I mutter, which earns laughter from all four men, lightening the mood as we prepare to continue our journey.
Marco’s eyes scan over my face, like he’s cataloguing me.
"I look terrible, don't I?" I attempt a weak joke, painfully aware of my sweaty forehead and tear-streaked face.
“Not at all,” Marco disagrees. “But, may I?” He asks, providing another handkerchief and holding it up between us.
When I nod, he gently dabs at my face, cleaning away the traces of sweat from my sickness with such tender care that my chest tightens with an emotion I can't quite name. His touch is careful, almost reverent. Afterwards, he places his handkerchief back into his pocket and picks up the terrarium, gently offering Alex to me.
