Marina wrinkles her nose and her voice has a sheepish tone to it. “She thinks you’re all dumb and spoiled.”
I bark a laugh before tipping my head from side to side. “I mean, she’s not far off.”
Marina laughs at that and looks relieved.
“So, how do you know her?”
“Oh, we dated.” Marina says it so nonchalantly, then picks up her wine and sips again, that it makes me reach across the table and poke her.
“Well, no wonder she doesn’t like me.”
“Trust me, that’s strictly about your homeland.” But there’s a soft twinkle in her eye.
“Why didn’t it work out?” My question is genuine, not teasing, and I hope she sees that.
“Well…” Marina wets her lips as she gathers her thoughts, and I try not to audibly clear my throat at the sight. She waves a hand toward the band. “First of all, the hours are terrible. She sleeps all day and is up all night. I don’t work that way. I’m more of a morning person, and I need my sleep. Second, we are just very different people with different goals in life.” She shrugs to punctuate the simplicity of it.
“And you stayed friends. That’s awesome.”
“We did. I like her a lot. We just made very bad partners.”
“I get that.”
The restaurant has really filled up since we got here, and as the band returns, the vibe is even more palpable. Applause breaks out as Gina returns to her mic and smiles.
Marina and I have slid our chairs around toward the back of our small table so we’re sitting next to each other. I reach over and grab her hand, and when she looks, I lean close and say in her ear, “I’m having a really good time.”
Her smile is bright and warm, and she squeezes my hand inreturn.
She doesn’t let go of it.
We leave the restaurant before the band is finished. It’s my suggestion, and I’m okay with that. I’m ready to have quiet, and also to have Marina to myself again. Plus, I don’t want to take too much advantage of Serena, who has Reggie.
“Are you kidding?” Marina asks as we step out of the restaurant and onto the cobblestone street. “Serena loves that dog. She’d keep him forever if you asked her to.”
I’m not sure if she’s trying to make me feel better or if she’s angling for more time, and I’m not sure I want to know which it is. Because I’m not sure which I want it to be.
We stroll casually, hand in hand, back toward where we left Marina’s scooter. Her hand is warm, soft, and strong. I like the way it feels in mine.
“I can’t remember the last time I walked holding hands with somebody.” It’s a thought in my head, and I’m a little surprised when it comes out of my mouth.
“No?”
I shake my head.
“I think holding hands is underrated,” she says, and that somehow seems odd to me coming from somebody under forty.
“You do? How come?”
“Because it carries so much weight.” Her voice gets softer. “You just said, you can’t remember the last time you held hands with somebody. Which means you don’t do it often at all. It’s not a regular, everyday thing. But when you do hold somebody’s hand, it’s likely somebody you trust. Somebody you care about. Somebody you want to keep safe or that wants to keep you safe.Somebody who cares enough to lead you or be led by you.” Her thought seems to trail off and she shrugs in kind of an offhand way, like she’s worried I might think her reasoning is silly.
I don’t think that at all.
“That’s beautiful,” I say, and I mean it. “I’ve never really given it that much thought, but I agree with everything you said.” I give her hand a squeeze to punctuate my words.
We walk quietly for a bit, and I just take in my surroundings. It’s fucking gorgeous here, there’s no way around it. The heat has eased enough where I’m not actively sweating the way I have been pretty much since my arrival. There’s even a bit of a breeze coming in from the direction of the river. Now that it’s dark and all the shops and restaurants are lit up, now that there are lights all along the river, now that people are strolling, just like us, I feel like I’m walking in a painting. One titledEvening Stroll Through Trastevereor something factual like that, featuring cafés and bistro tables with wine glasses on them, maybe a faceless couple kissing in the shadows, the whole thing with a tint of moonlight blue. It’s dreamy and romantic.
For a moment or two, I start to think about my pastry chefs—my fictional characters who’ve been ever so stingy with the chemistry—and I wonder about putting them in a similar situation. Someplace where they’re together, physically close to each other in the evening light. Surrounded by other people, but feeling like it’s just the two of them. There’s nothing more romantic than that feeling of the rest of the world just melting away…