Page 56 of The Slug Crystal
"Like Italy?" Marco's eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles.
"Maybe," I laugh. "Though my Italian begins and ends with 'grazie' and 'per favore.'"
"I may actually be experiencing the reverse journey soon," Marco says, selecting a few pastries from the case. "Mymother hasn't been well lately. I'm considering a position at an American university to be closer to her."
"Oh, I'm sorry about your mom," I say. "Where in America?"
"Massachusetts, actually. A small university just outside Boston. Westfield College. Do you know it?"
The name hits me like a physical shock. "That's less than an hour from my apartment," I say, unable to keep the surprise from my voice.
Marco's eyebrows raise slightly. "Is it really? What a remarkable coincidence."
But is it a coincidence? In the past few days, I've learned to question whether anything happens by pure chance. First, Alex becomes a snail. Then, we somehow assemble this unlikely group of men to help me fix it, and now Marco, brilliant, gentle Marco, might be moving practically to my backyard?
"The universe works in mysterious ways," I say, echoing Mirella's words from Venice.
As I reach for my wallet to pay for our coffees, Marco places his hand on top of the terrarium, stabilizing it on the counter. "Allow me," he says, gesturing to the cashier, then accepting our coffees from the barista, and handing one to me.
"No, it's fine, I can—" My words cut off as his fingers brush against mine on the glass surface. The touch is brief, innocent, but it sends an unexpected jolt through my body, like static electricity but warmer, deeper. Our eyes meet over Alex's blue shell, and for a moment, neither of us moves.
Then the train lurches again, breaking the spell. I steady myself against the counter, heart racing from more than just the movement of the train.
"We should get these back while they're hot," I say, my voice sounding strange to my own ears.
Marco nods, carefully lifting the tray of additional pastrieswe've selected for the others. "After you," he says, gesturing toward the corridor with a formal little bow that somehow doesn't feel pretentious coming from him.
Walking back to our compartment with coffees and pastries balanced precariously in our hands, I find myself hyper-aware of Marco beside me. The narrow corridor forces us to walk closer than necessary, our shoulders occasionally brushing when the train sways. I wonder if his interest is genuinely in me or if I'm just a convenient gateway to studying Alex. The thought is unexpectedly disappointing.
When did I start caring what Marco thinks of me? As if my life wasn't complicated enough with Jake's confession, Ben's lingering flirtation, and Luca's Italian charm offensive.
"Careful with that step," Marco warns as we approach another car connection. His voice has lost some of its formal academic tone when it's just the two of us, becoming warmer, more natural.
I navigate the gap successfully this time, but the momentary triumph is short-lived. The train rounds a curve, and I stumble slightly, the coffee in my hand sloshing dangerously close to the rim. Marco's reaction is immediate. Despite holding a pastry tray and balancing a holder of four coffees, his free hand catches my waist to steady me, his touch firm but gentle. For a brief moment, we're pressed together in the narrow space, his tall frame supporting mine.
"Sorry," I mutter, though I'm not entirely sure what I'm apologizing for.
"No need to be sorry," he replies, his voice closer to my ear than I expected. When I glance up, his clear hazel eyes meet mine, the green flecks in them catching the light filtering through the train windows. This close, I can see the faint smile lines at the corners of his eyes, softening his scholarly appearance. His curls are slightly tousled from repeatedly tugging at the ends of them, a habit I've noticed when he's deep in thought.
The moment stretches a beat too long before we both step back simultaneously. I adjust my grip on Alex's terrarium, using it as an excuse to look away from Marco's searching gaze. The blue snail is pressed against the glass, as if watching our interaction with interest.
"I hope he's not too stressed by all this travel," I say, desperate to fill the silence with something safe.
Marco nods, his expression shifting back to professional interest. "Helix species are surprisingly adaptable. Though I imagine the transformation itself was quite traumatic." He pauses, then adds more softly, "For both of you."
The gentle understanding in his voice catches me off guard. Unlike Ben's constant joking or Luca's flirtatious remarks, Marco's concern feels genuinely focused on my well-being rather than how it might benefit him.
"It's been... a lot," I admit.
We continue down the corridor, and I notice how different Marco seems when we're alone. His scholarly demeanor isn't entirely an act, but it's clearly a professional shell he can step out of when comfortable.
When we reach our compartment, the sounds of an argument greet us before we even slide the door open. Jake's voice rises above the others, his tone exasperated.
"That route will take twice as long!" he insists as we enter. His light brown hair is rumpled from repeatedly running his hand through it in frustration, his blue eyes bright with conviction. "We should head straight to the historic center."
"The historic center will be packed with tourists," Ben counters, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. The afternoon light streaming through the window catches in his light beard, highlighting the auburn undertones. His green eyes gleam with the pleasure of debate. "If Sarah's running any kind of mystical shop, she'll be on the outskirts where rents are cheaper."
Luca, one arm stretched casually along the back of hisseat, observes their argument with amused detachment. His dark hair remains perfectly styled despite hours on the train, and his warm brown eyes light up when he notices our return. "Ah, the provisions have arrived! Perhaps food will improve everyone's mood."
