I wanted to throw up. Cry. Stomp my feet.
He dropped his shirt, caught sight of me, and let loose a devastating smile.
“Morning G.”
He’d taken to calling me G, which in that moment, nearly made me cry from the unfairness of it all.
“Here, you go,” I croaked, dropping his coffee onto the floor and sort of toeing it toward him so I wouldn’t have to step closer. He could definitely see how severely I was blushing. Most blokes would have smirked and spouted off something crap like, Enjoying the view?, but Gianluca wasn’t like that. He was quietly confident, the kind of man who knew he was handsome, but didn’t make a real show of it. His chocolate-brown hair was wavy and tousled because that’s how it dried on its own. I knew because I’d asked him about it once. He didn’t know what pomade was, and said he hadn’t owned a bottle of gel since he’d quit his job in finance, which made me smile.
“Have you brought any of the croissants? Or did you end up eating both again, like yesterday?”
He was teasing me then with that smile of his, and it was the same teasing and the same smile I’d endured the day before, but for some reason that day my knees were weak and I was scared my voice would break if I tried to speak.
I nodded dumbly and turned on my heel, aware for the first time in months that I was maybe, possibly, most likely getting myself into real trouble. I gripped the railing on the stairs, annoyed with my shaking hands. Gianluca followed after me—for his croissant, of course—and I tried to push myself back into my comfort zone, back to the early days when we would just work together in silence.
“Are you all right? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost. Did that spider come back?”
“I’m fine,” I squeaked, tearing open the brown paper sack and pushing it in his direction.
“None for you? I normally have to pry the bag from your fingers.”
“No. Not hungry.”
I’d been starved up until a few minutes ago.
Instead of accepting my answers and tucking into breakfast, Gianluca circled the front counter and came to stand in front of me.
“I don’t buy it. You’re never this quiet.”
“You’ve only known me for a few weeks, remember?”
He narrowed his dark eyes, studying me.
“I’ve known you for nearly three months, but it only took a few days to learn that words are not something you lack.”
“Yes, well, maybe I’m feeling a bit off today. Lay off, will you?”
He smiled. “What was it you said to me in Massimo’s restaurant? That most people keep private things private, but you don’t operate like that. Wasn’t that it?”
I pinched my eyes closed, annoyed with him for having listened to me.
“C’mon, just get on with it so I can go back to eating my croissant.”
“Okay fine, let’s lay it out.”
There were a hundred warning bells ringing in my head, but words spilled out of my mouth anyway.
“You know how I first came to Vernazza because I wanted to get out of London and meet new people, maybe find a nice Italian man, all that?”
He nodded.
“Well, I’ve been traveling for over three months and have yet to go on a date with a single decent bloke. And before you say anything, the blind dates Katerina and Massimo force me into don’t count.”
His eyes narrowed gently.
“At this point it’s not even the relationships I’m missing. It’s that I’m a bit…”
“Lonely?”
Sure, if lonely was a euphemism for desperate, horny, burning up inside.
“Yes, sort of.”
He chewed a bite of croissant, mulling over my dilemma before turning back to me. “And you’ve worked out this list of all the things you want in a man, right? He’s got to read and all? Specifically Dickens, if I remember?”
I blanched. “I didn’t think you were listening to that conversation.”
He rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. “It’s better, really, that you’ve got this list, because I nearly suggested that you and I—”
A little squeal escaped my mouth, like I’d swallowed a mouse and it desperately wanted out. I masked it with a loud, aggressive coughing fit and only stopped when I was sure he hadn’t noticed my slip.
“We what?” I stammered.
He shook his head. “It’s just that we really happen to get along—though I didn’t think we would at first—and any guy would crawl on his hands and knees to spend this much time with a woman like you…”
Oh my god. Have I died?
“But, you’ve got this list a mile long of what you want in a boyfriend, and frankly I don’t meet many of the requirements—I mean, I didn’t make it even halfway into Great Expectations—and that’s good, really. I don’t quite feel ready for any sort of relationship right now. It’s good to know that you and I can be friends without the other stuff getting in the way.”
Our conversation was giving me emotional whiplash. One minute I was soaring on the back of a miraculous unicorn, so prepared to say, YES! YES! TAKE ME TO BED, YOU LOVELY MAN! and then in an instant, he’d slapped me across the face and stabbed my unicorn, reminding me that regardless of the feelings I’d developed while working on the B&B, he and I were a million miles away from having any kind of romantic relationship.
I recovered quite quickly though, so fast in fact that I was pleased with myself for how cool and calm I could be under such extreme circumstances. “Yes. I couldn’t agree more.”