Page 9 of I Think Olive You
Dario perks up at the mention of his name and gives her a sheepish smile, his cheeks staining as red as the wine being poured. The bottle clinks as he sets it down on the counter and rings her up for a second time today, I assume.
“So, you said something about making it up to me?”
“I did…” Please don’t let this come back to bite me.
“You can start here. I had dinner plans and those got thrown out, so we get to rebuild them together.”
I pull out my card and hold it out to Dario, only for Giuliana to give me a little “Uh, uh. Cash only for totals under ten euros.”
My fingers are clumsy as I fumble to pull out the money and pay. Fucking Italy and no one wanting to take credit cards for small purchases. Eventually, I manage, and Giuliana greets Dario with a cheerful little “ciao,” before she struts out the way she came and sits her delectable ass back on the Vespa seat.
“Where to next?”
“Down the street to the salumeria. I’ll grab us a few things and then we’ll head to one of my favorite spots.”
And that’s how we end up on a tiny, precarious set of stairs winding down beside the aqueduct bridge. The ravine below looms far too close. Giuliana walks without fear, a new bag of goods clutched in her hand—including different kinds of alcohol and food items. She even talked a shop owner into giving us dinnerware for our impromptu picnic.
“Are you sure about this? Wouldn’t it be better to be on the bridge rather than beneath it?” Now might be a good time to tell her heights aren’t my favorite. I try to forget the moment on the rooftop of my party a few nights ago.
“Matteo… trust me. Up there, it’s tourists taking pictures, far too busy. Down here, we can take in the ravine—admire the old ruins and the city on the other side.”
She ignores my grumpy noises behind her, forging on until the stairs turn into a metal walkway connecting us to the bottom half of the aqueduct. Giant arches rise above us. Trees and rock slope up on either side of the ravine, and I follow her to the center.
“Are you sure we won’t get in trouble for this?”
“No offense, but based on your driving, you don’t come across like the kind of guy that worries about trouble.”
Mouth gaping as I sputter, I can’t help but admit she’s right. Giuliana sinks onto the stone walkway and unloads our feast. There’s no choice but to join her, I suppose. Tummy gurgling in desperate hunger, I settle down beside her, and she hands me a drink she’s poured into our borrowed glasses. Far be it for me to turn down a drink, but one mixed on a bridge is a little suspect.
“It’s to open up the palate and whet your appetite,” she explains, taking a sip of her own. The bright orange liquid is a compliment to the fiery sunset lighting up the horizon. We sit side-by-side, staring up at Gravina and her grandeur, and for the first time I can remember, I don’t have the urge to outrun my own mind.
The anxiety abates for now. There’s a novelty to sitting down for a meal with someone instead of being alone and forcing myself to soak up some of the night before. The new experience sends a fizz of something I can’t name to my insides. Yeah, I’ve heard the term butterflies, but can they apply to a situation as a whole and not just the rush of desire I’m used to?
I take a hefty swig, a bitter taste coating my tongue. Despite trying to stay cool, my face twists in disgust, and she laughs at my dismay.
“It’s an acquired taste. If you’d prefer, I can pour you some of the wine?” The unlabeled bottle from the vino sfuso dangles from her fingers and I accept with gratitude.
“I am sorry to have disrupted your day,” I say as she fills my glass, a sheepish smile punctuating my apology.
“And almost killing me?” Rolling her eyes, the answering smile she gives is radiant.
“And almost killing you. It won’t happen again.” I solemnly cross my fingertip over my heart.
“Of course not. You’re not driving that thing again until you’ve learned how.”
Giuliana picks up the keyring from her side and dangles them. The metal clinks together before she closes the keys into her fist and tucks them into her pocket.
Since the shock of our initial meeting, I’ve had time to get a better look at her. And what I see sends a heavy feeling into the pit of my stomach. Giuliana is arresting. Long lashes over big brown eyes that would be demure if not for the wicked glint in them when she teases. Her dark hair is thick and slightly windblown from our ride. The bite of the breeze and the tease of alcohol give her cheeks the slightest blush.
If I were a better man, my assessment would stop there, but I’m not. I note the way she fills out her jeans, and the dip of her soft waist where I’d love to span my hands again. This time I want to trail my fingertips along her sides and see if she’s ticklish.
Two parts of me are at war. Now, it’s not the voice inside my head drowning out reason—it’s the spiral of desire snaking down and settling low in my abdomen. I want her, but perhaps, for a change, I want to know her a little too. If I’m going to turn over a new leaf, I might as well start here. So, I figure I’ll enjoy whatever I can get.
Gathering the bits she’s procured along the way, Giuliana puts together a few helpings of bruschetta. I pop a piece of bread topped with tomato, cheese, and balsamic into my mouth in one bite—starved.
“You Americans always get the name wrong. The ‘ch’ in bruschetta doesn’t make the same sound in Italian. There is no ‘sh’ sound. It’s ‘SK.’”
I only raise my eyebrows, urging her to say it again, enjoying the warm tone of her voice—like daylight… but the kind that makes your body lazy and turns your skin a shade darker without the hurt.