Page 63 of Chasing Caine
Samantha
Anhourandahalf after leaving the Carabinieri office in Pompeii, Antonio and I were walking out of the outdoor equipment shop. Like so many stores in Italy’s crowded city centers, it was long and narrow, but packed to the brim with everything we needed.
I had a new backpack loaded with day hiking gear and Antonio had stuffed some items into the pack we’d brought to Pompeii. Plus, we’d received advice about the Punta Campanella hike from Termini to the tip of the Sorrentine Peninsula. They’d even given us better directions to the grotto the female officer had recommended.
We both wore our new hiking boots and carried our street shoes in our packs. I’d told Antonio I needed to wear mine in, and he did the same, citing that I was the expert.
“You think Chiara will like all this?” I asked.
“Sì, she will.” He’d insisted on paying, I’d argued, but he explained he’d keep all the gear and introduce Chiara to his new favorite hobby. Despite this being only the second hike he’d ever been on. I’d conceded, he’d winked at me, and I was sure it was all game. But I agreed to accept him for who he was, money and generosity included, so I didn’t press the issue.
The pedestrian street was thick with people, like everywhere else in the city. It was so different from sleepy little Brenton, Michigan. Close enough to Lansing and Detroit to have access to everything you needed, but far enough away from the crowds, you had room to move.
The walkway and roadway were dull gray with long rectangular bricks for the sidewalk, small paving stones in arched patterns for the street.
At the next intersection, we’d hire a car to the trailhead. It would take over an hour to drive from Naples, past Sorrento, and eventually to Termini, but the train could take double that. The buildings were four and five stories high, all stonework and stucco with metal balconies. We passed a leather-goods store with bright pastel handbags in the front window, a tiny alley with a pharmacy and tables set up with tourist knickknacks, and, across the street, posters for exhibits covered the twelve-foot-high windows of a museum.
Tall tables and chairs lined the sidewalk in front of a café, under a red awning. Patrons sat while others hovered at the tables, enjoying their coffees and pastries. We had to walk single-file to get through the throng.
“Smells delicious—” Antonio squeezed my hand and chuckled. “—but our freeze-dried ice cream, trail mix, and granola bars will be far better.”
I snorted a laugh. The first time we’d gone hiking together, those were the foods I’d brought, while he’d surprised me with red wine and a small feast. Today would be more hardcore. More my style. “And no fooling around at the end of the trail.”
“Opportunities to fool around are everywhere.” He veered closer, kissing my temple without a stutter in his step. “You just need to know where to look.”
We slowed as the trio in front of us stopped to admire the display of a gallery at the corner. The gallery building was covered in yellow stucco with gray marble outlining the tall windows at the front. It blended with the sidewalk but stood out with an understated elegance.
One of the three paintings in the window caught my eye. An abstract piece, bright reds and oranges at its center, swirling and radiating out to azure at the corners. A sunset or maybe fire.
“You like this one, bella?” Antonio asked.
I startled, barely registering that I’d stopped to stare. Modern art made you part of it, bringing a lifetime of your own experiences and emotions into the art to find your interpretation. And this one conjured up such a vivid memory, I couldn’t rip my eyes from it. “It makes me think of the sun. The day we went for our hike and I was looking up at the sky.”
“While I was…” He lowered his voice. “Fooling around?”
I nudged him with a hip and feigned a scowl.
He arched an eyebrow. “Practicing my linguistic skills?”
My thighs clenched, realizing on their own where his joke was headed, and I breathed through a sudden need to take him back to the villa or find a hotel. But I wasn’t about to miss Punta Campanella. The staff at the store said it was the best hike in the area.
“I believe I was very…” He came closer, hot breath hitting my ear, creating an energy that curled around in my stomach. “Cunning?”
Heat flushed through my cheeks at the memory of the two of us on the beach at the end of the trail that day. My fingers clutched in his hair while he—
“Wait a second,” I said, pointing at the gallery name stenciled on the window. “Riccardo Emanuele.”
Antonio sighed. “You’re kidding me?”
“Isn’t that where Umberto said his girlfriend works?”
He straightened, stepping in front of me to block my view of the painting. His face pinched, lips tightening until he sucked in a breath and opened his mouth. But no words came out.
We’d been having a moment, hadn’t we? A relationship moment.
But maybe this was a moment, too. Instead of telling me to drop it, he held his tongue. Not something Antonio Ferraro was likely used to.
“You wish to go in and speak with her?” His voice was strained but didn’t hold the disapproval I’d expected.