working, and for three months before that traveling in the north. I am ready to go home and eat my mother's cooking." He grinned. "I am what you Americans call 'a mama's boy'. I am not ashamed of this. My mother makes the best food in all of Italy, I think."
"I think it's sweet that you're close to your mother," I said, sipping the wine he'd ordered, something dry and unpronounceable and delicious.
"Europeans are often much closer to our families, I think. I have traveled in America a few times, and I think this is true."
"I think you're right," I said. "We move away when we're old enough, and it gets hard to travel back home. It's at least partially because America is just so big."
"It is also a matter of culture, and the raising of children, too," Luca said. "Not to mean that Americans do not love family, but for us it is different, I believe."
I let Luca order for me, and we ate slowly, enjoying each bite, trading stories of childhood. I'd managed to avoid any discussion of my reason for coming to Italy thus far, and I was proud of it. Don't talk drama, George had told me.
"So, why have you come to Italy? Just for vacation?" Luca had a sly look on his face, as if he knew differently. "I think it is more. You are alone here, yes? No friends, no husband, no travel group?"
I hesitated, wondering what to say. Eventually I decided on some of the truth. "Yes, I'm alone. I just had to get away from everything for awhile, and the thought of going with a bunch of random strangers, just seeing a few tourist-y spots and moving on...no thanks."
"What is it you are getting away from?"
I shrugged, trying for casualness I didn't feel; it was still a store spot. "Just...you know. Life, drama. The usual."
Luca waved his fork. "Ah. Drama, this I know. Perhaps you do not wish to discuss it, I think. You are on holiday to forget, no?" Our waiter brought dessert, spumoni for each of us. "Ah, now this looks delicious. You have had spumoni before?"
And with that he was off again, the topic mercifully changed to our favorite desserts.
When we finished, Luca paid, refusing to let me contribute, and we walked again, strolling aimlessly. Night fell gradually, time slipping away beneath our feet. We rested now and then, sitting on benches, our conversation endless and naturally flowing from topic to topic. Luca was careful to keep our conversation away from anything serious. Eventually we ended up on a high hill overlooking the city, leaning back against an ancient stone wall. We were sitting close enough that our shoulders and thighs touched, and with every brush of clothed flesh I felt a current of electricity buzz through me. I wished, like a school girl, that I was brave enough to kiss him, or even hold his hand.
"I leave for home tomorrow," Luca said, apropos of nothing. "I was thinking...perhaps you might like to travel with me? It would be a free ride to Firenze, after all, and if you did not mind my boring company on the way..."
My heart leapt into my throat. "I...you aren't boring, Luca. Just the opposite." I was thinking, frantic as a lovesick teenager, he likes me, he likes me, he likes me! "I would love to, thank you."
We wended our lazy way back to my hotel, and Luca stood with me outside my door. My heart was hammering in my chest, although I wasn't sure why.
I'm going to kiss him, I realized. My nerves knew before I did.
My back was to my door, Luca standing in front of me, one hand planted next to my head. We weren't speaking, for the first time in hours, just staring at each other. I was waiting for him to kiss me, wondering if he would, wondering if I should make the first move or if that would be offensive.
"I would like to kiss you, Delilah," Luca whispered, interrupting my thoughts. His voice was a breath on the breeze.
I tilted my head up, lips parted, and then my hand was in the feather-soft black locks by his neck and our lips were touching, barely grazing at first and then with more urgency.
He tasted so
"I think it's sweet that you're close to your mother," I said, sipping the wine he'd ordered, something dry and unpronounceable and delicious.
"Europeans are often much closer to our families, I think. I have traveled in America a few times, and I think this is true."
"I think you're right," I said. "We move away when we're old enough, and it gets hard to travel back home. It's at least partially because America is just so big."
"It is also a matter of culture, and the raising of children, too," Luca said. "Not to mean that Americans do not love family, but for us it is different, I believe."
I let Luca order for me, and we ate slowly, enjoying each bite, trading stories of childhood. I'd managed to avoid any discussion of my reason for coming to Italy thus far, and I was proud of it. Don't talk drama, George had told me.
"So, why have you come to Italy? Just for vacation?" Luca had a sly look on his face, as if he knew differently. "I think it is more. You are alone here, yes? No friends, no husband, no travel group?"
I hesitated, wondering what to say. Eventually I decided on some of the truth. "Yes, I'm alone. I just had to get away from everything for awhile, and the thought of going with a bunch of random strangers, just seeing a few tourist-y spots and moving on...no thanks."
"What is it you are getting away from?"
I shrugged, trying for casualness I didn't feel; it was still a store spot. "Just...you know. Life, drama. The usual."
Luca waved his fork. "Ah. Drama, this I know. Perhaps you do not wish to discuss it, I think. You are on holiday to forget, no?" Our waiter brought dessert, spumoni for each of us. "Ah, now this looks delicious. You have had spumoni before?"
And with that he was off again, the topic mercifully changed to our favorite desserts.
When we finished, Luca paid, refusing to let me contribute, and we walked again, strolling aimlessly. Night fell gradually, time slipping away beneath our feet. We rested now and then, sitting on benches, our conversation endless and naturally flowing from topic to topic. Luca was careful to keep our conversation away from anything serious. Eventually we ended up on a high hill overlooking the city, leaning back against an ancient stone wall. We were sitting close enough that our shoulders and thighs touched, and with every brush of clothed flesh I felt a current of electricity buzz through me. I wished, like a school girl, that I was brave enough to kiss him, or even hold his hand.
"I leave for home tomorrow," Luca said, apropos of nothing. "I was thinking...perhaps you might like to travel with me? It would be a free ride to Firenze, after all, and if you did not mind my boring company on the way..."
My heart leapt into my throat. "I...you aren't boring, Luca. Just the opposite." I was thinking, frantic as a lovesick teenager, he likes me, he likes me, he likes me! "I would love to, thank you."
We wended our lazy way back to my hotel, and Luca stood with me outside my door. My heart was hammering in my chest, although I wasn't sure why.
I'm going to kiss him, I realized. My nerves knew before I did.
My back was to my door, Luca standing in front of me, one hand planted next to my head. We weren't speaking, for the first time in hours, just staring at each other. I was waiting for him to kiss me, wondering if he would, wondering if I should make the first move or if that would be offensive.
"I would like to kiss you, Delilah," Luca whispered, interrupting my thoughts. His voice was a breath on the breeze.
I tilted my head up, lips parted, and then my hand was in the feather-soft black locks by his neck and our lips were touching, barely grazing at first and then with more urgency.
He tasted so
Similar Books
