Gabriella and Ashley are lost in their own world, talking a mile a minute about people we don’t know, and Noah is…Noah.
He sits quietly, listening to Lorenzo talk about what our plans are for the next few days. Starting tomorrow, the students will begin to follow a strict schedule. In the mornings between nine and eleven, they’ll be in a classroom learning Latin with a teacher from St. Cecilia’s. They’ll get a one-hour break for lunch, and then in the afternoons, Lorenzo will lead us all on an excursion somewhere around the city. Some days will differ, of course. For instance, our trip to the Vatican will take two full days, so the students will have to skip Latin. Otherwise, Noah and I will be duty-free in the mornings. I’ll have Rome at my fingertips.
I’m already daydreaming about what I’ll do with my time. Sleep in, wander, find a cute café, drink too much coffee.
When our food arrives, I can barely contain my giddiness.
“This is polpette all’amatriciana,” Lorenzo says, pointing to a dish with tiny meatballs served in a tomato sauce. “And that’s baccalà, which is oven-roasted salt cod. Make sure to get some of that, but leave room for the cacio e pepe.”
My plate is overloaded in no time. I won’t be able to move once I’ve finished this meal. They’ll have to get a wheelbarrow to cart me back to the school.
Every bite is more delicious than the last. The sounds coming from my mouth are pornographic.
Noah telegraphs his annoyance with me, but my attention is laser-focused on my pasta.
“Good, right?” Lorenzo asks me as I sop up the leftover tomato sauce with the last of my noodles.
“I never want to leave.”
He grins. “I’m so happy you enjoyed it.” He wipes his mouth with his napkin and leans back in his chair. “So how long have you two taught at the same school?” he asks, gesturing toward Noah and me.
I shoo away his question. “Oh, not long.”
“Three years,” Noah says, matter-of-factly.
“And do you both enjoy it? Working together?”
Noah sets down his utensils on his plate and simply replies, “It’s fine.”
And we leave it at that.
Only as we walk to our next stop, the Marcus Aurelius Column, Lorenzo nudges me with his shoulder.
“Noah is a piece of work, no?” he asks quietly.
I can’t help but laugh. “Is it that obvious?”
“He dislikes you?”
I press my hand to his forearm for a moment to emphasize my point. “The feeling’s mutual, I assure you.”
His brows furrow in confusion. “So then how did you two get paired together for this trip?”
“Bad luck.”
He nods, beginning to understand. “Well, tomorrow morning, if you’re free, I was thinking you and I could go out for a walk? Maybe get breakfast? I can show you around the neighborhood.”
“Oh, yes! That would be so helpful.”
“It’s a date,” he says with a confident grin before stepping back to get the group’s attention.
Butterflies dance around in my stomach. I can barely contain my excitement.
Lorenzo is everything I could want in a man, and I know this because I’ve had a lot of time to think about it.
A lot of time.
In high school, boys looked right over me. My big eyes and big lips weren’t in vogue then. I looked like an alien life-form compared to cute little Susie So-and-So.
Cut to college. Everyone who didn’t peak in high school peaks in college; that’s the promise we’re made. Unfortunately, it didn’t work out that way. I lived off campus and had a job at a library with a bunch of older women. My English and poetry classes were filled with a lot of ladies and a few gay men. If I peaked, I didn’t know it.
I did eventually get asked out, and I did eventually date here and there.
Jeff was a serious contender for my heart, or so I thought.
Looking back, I might have just been with him for the perks. He was an engineer (mechanical or electrical, I can’t remember), and the guy could hang a TV, optimize my Wi-Fi range, replace my broken iPhone screen (twice)—no problem. I never had to worry about what weird thing my computer was doing because he could always fix it. And he was nice enough. It wasn’t a bad relationship all in all, but in the end, Jeff said it was too painful to love me and realize that in return, I only ever just liked him. It was true of course. A few times after we broke up, I almost drunk texted him looking for broken printer advice. “You up?” I’d type, followed by “If so, what does it mean by Error: PC load letter?”
Lorenzo has real potential.
Looks-wise, he’s got it all. Personality-wise, check-check. The Italian accent doesn’t hurt, and his knowledge of Rome is an added bonus too. It would only be a fling since I’m headed back to the States in three weeks, but that’s okay. A little romance is better than none at all.
I’m gloating already when I look up to see Noah staring at me.
He has his detective cap on. His eyes are narrowed and assessing.
I ignore him.
We’re at our destination now and we’re supposed to be listening to Lorenzo talk about the Marcus Aurelius Column. I do just that. Oh yes, Doric column. Modeled after Trajan’s Column. Completed in year 193.
“What?” I hiss at Noah, who’s come to stand right beside me, casting me in his shadow.
“Oh nothing…”
“Spit it out.”
“Fine.” He turns to face me, blocking me from view of the rest of the group. “I was wondering if you want to get coffee with me in the morning.”
“Pah.”
“What?”
“You’re hilarious. You got me good. Coffee—yeah, right. Would you have laced my drink with poison? Had the barista double-dose me with four espresso shots so I’d be jittery the rest of the day?”
“I’m being serious.”
For an instant, I think I see an expression on Noah’s face I’ve never seen before: earnestness.
It quite simply takes my breath away.
Spiteful Noah I can handle. Aggressive, cunning, rude Noah? Sure.
But not this.
His brown eyes are puppy-dog sweet.
My eyebrows furrow and I take a step closer, poking my finger into his chest. “Tell me what you’re doing.”
“I want to have coffee with you.”
His expression doesn’t crack.