13
I always thought throwing rocks at a girl’s window only happens in movies. But there’s Caleb, looking straight out of a fevered daydream, hair windswept and tousled. He’s in a plain white T-shirt that has no business hugging his torso like it does. As if that isn’t enough, he’s leaning casually against a shiny red Vespa, shiny black helmet tucked under his arm.
He pats the seat of the Vespa, and I swear his eyes sparkle. “You up for an adventure?”
Teller comes down to see me off, and to pepper Caleb with questions:
Do you own this bike?
Do you have a license to drive it?
Caleb assures him the bike was rented legitimately and that he knows how to drive it safely. He even pulls out an extra helmet for me from the storage compartment under the seat.
“I’ll have her back by midnight,” he promises once I’m secured on the back of the Vespa.
I wrap my arms around his hard stomach, and with a gentle roar of the engine, we’re off into the glittery night.
We zip through the narrow streets, weaving through the late-night traffic and down hidden alleys and squares. Occasionally, he points out things, like a gorgeous Gothic cathedral and street art. He gives tidbits about some of the sights, although I can’t fully hear him over the hum of the engine. That’s okay. We’re pulsing in sync with the city’s energy.
I try to log this memory. The smell of oregano wafting from the tiny trattorias. The reflection of lights on the Tiber as we cross over the bridge. Caleb’s hair blowing in the breeze from under his helmet, tickling my nose.
We stop in a square that boasts ruins just below the street level, history seamlessly blending with modern day.
“This is Largo di Torre Argentina, the site of Julius Caesar’s assassination in 44 BC,” Caleb explains while pulling his helmet off. He may look like a hippie-surfer dude, but he has this uncanny ability to read something once and retain it. He gets off the bike first, then turns to help me. “Now, this place, you might think it’s just another set of ruins, but it’s special.”
“Special?” I ask as he leads me up a small staircase. It’s well preserved compared to some of the other ruins we’ve seen.
“Look closer and listen.” He closes his eyes, and we’re silent for a moment.
Somewhere over the hum of traffic, I hear it. Soft meows. “It sounds like ... cats?” I open my eyes and Caleb points to movement in the darkness.
Sure enough, there’s an adorably fluffy ginger cat hanging out atop one of the walls, watching us. As my eyes adjust in the darkness, it becomes clear there are dozens of cats hanging out among the ruins.
“Oh my god!” I say, bending down to pet a particularly curious little guy. “Why are there so many cats here?”
“The ruins were excavated in the early 1900s, and a bunch of feral cats moved in. A group of ladies started taking care of them and established a sanctuary. The shelter is over there,” he says, pointing to a far corner of the site.
“There’s one right there!” I say, pointing to a tiny gray cat walking toward us. I stroke its back, and it immediately starts purring and rubbing its bony body along my legs. “They’re so freakin’ cute.” I’m suddenly very aware of my high-pitched cat-baby voice. I rub the ear of another curious little ginger cat that seems to have only one eye. “And misunderstood.”
Caleb bends down to let another calico sniff his hand, but it’s skittish and runs away. “How so?”
“Well, everyone talks about the bond with dogs, right? Don’t get me wrong—dogs will always be number one in my eyes. I have two. They’re blindly loyal. They live to please their human. But cats deserve credit too. They don’t care about pleasing anyone else. You really have to earn their love. It might take some effort, but once they trust you, you’re in. It’s a huge deal.”
We hang there for at least fifteen minutes, making a game out of spotting new cats and coaxing them to come greet us. I take selfies with every one, basking in the softness of their fur against my skin.
“Thanks for bringing me here. It was really sweet. And thoughtful,” I say, cheeks aching from smiling so much.
“Hey, I still have one more place I want to show you.”
He drives us a ways from the bustle to an area with fewer lights, fewer people. It’s quiet, more intimate. He parks on a side street and leads me up a hill toward a massive stone gate, its dramatic silhouette casting shadows on the cobblestone.
From there, we stroll through the garden pathways and make our way to a terrace.
“Best view in Rome,” he says, gesturing to the panoramic view of the Colosseum and the Roman Forum.
We saw it earlier today, but it’s an entirely different experience at night. It’s almost majestic against the black sky, arches dramatically backlit in rich gold.
“You mentioned you were going to major in history?” I say.
“Yeah. I love history. But I’ve never been a good student.”
“Really? That surprises me. It seems like you know everything. Dates, facts ...” And I mean it. Every time someone asks him a question, he can pretty much answer it.
“I don’t learn well through books and research,” he says. “I learned most of what I know from actual travel, from talking to people and listening.”
“Is there anywhere you haven’t traveled?”
“Tons of places. All of South America, and the US.”
“Where in the States do you want to go?”
“I want to see New York City for sure, and the entire West Coast. And your hometown, of course,” he adds with a wink.
My heart thumps at the thought. “God, it would be so depressing showing you around. I mean, it’s nice. It’s home. But compared to this ... and the food. It would be embarrassing.”
“First, you can find beauty anywhere. And I wouldn’t be going there for the food.” At that, my heart soars. It’s confirmation all this isn’t in my head.
“Have you always been this way?” I ask, unable to pull my gaze from the freckles on his nose, sun kissed from hours spent exploring the world.
He gives me a goofy smile. “What way?”
“Free spirited, curious, easygoing—”
“Keep it coming,” he says with a smirk, clearly flattered. “But no, I was actually the opposite. I was kind of an outcast growing up.”
“You? An outcast? I don’t see it.”
“Oh yeah. I was obsessed with nature. Always running around in the woods at our cottage, making random animal traps and bows and arrows. Trying to pretend I was a Swiss Family Robinson kid.”
“Okay, but at what point did you become this super fit surfer type who meditates daily?”
He wrinkles his nose. “Literally last year when I left home.”
“Only last year?”
“I had a bit of an epiphany while watching the news with my parents. All I kept seeing was conflict, mostly over religion or ideology. I just thought ... so many things in the world would be solved if we understood each other better, really lived in each other’s shoes. And then I realized I’m a huge hypocrite who doesn’t know anything about the world and lives in a bubble. If I really wanted to make any change and avoid the rat race, I should get off my ass and walk the walk. So I did.”
“I love that you’re so passionate about travel. It’s contagious.”
“I can’t picture doing anything else,” he says. “Like a desk job? Forget it. It seems like everyone—my siblings, for example—is living this corporate bore of a life. My sister is super materialistic. She’s always buying the newest bags and shit just to compete with friends or to take a picture for social media. And sure, getting something new makes her happy for five minutes. But it’s fleeting. At the end of the day, I think she’s pretty miserable.”
I think about Aunt Mei and how hard she’s worked to achieve her position. Sure, she’s got money, but she doesn’t like to spend it unless she’s getting a deal. Between all the late nights and weekends spent in the office, I’m not sure she’s any happier than she was at the beginning of her career.
He continues, “I actually think I’d die if I couldn’t be out in the world, living and experiencing. Without adventure.”
“Are your parents supportive?”
He frowns and I immediately feel bad for asking. “Eh, they aren’t thrilled. But luckily my older brother is the one they put all the pressure on. He’s supposed to take over the lodge my family owns in cottage country—as the responsible one.”
“You’re not responsible?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Depends on who you ask. Let’s put it this way. While my brother is in grad school, I’m backpacking around Europe and living in random hostels.”
“I get feeling like you don’t live up to expectations.”
“Anyway, sorry for the tangent. You barely know me and I just dumped all that family stuff on you,” he says, a soft grin playing over his chiseled face.
“No. Thank you for sharing,” I say. If only I had even 10 percent of his passion for ... anything. I imagine my life with Caleb. How much bigger it would be, not just living in a boring city with my dad and pets.
“Well, I promised Teller I’d get you home by midnight,” he reminds me earnestly.
“Ah yes. My curfew,” I joke.
“I’ve been meaning to ask, what’s the deal with you and him?”
It’s not the first time someone’s inquired about us. People in high school used to think Teller and I were dating because we were together all the time. Even Bianca teases me about Teller being my boyfriend. “Me and Tel?”
“You two are just friends?”
“We’ve been best friends since tenth grade. Totally platonic,” I assure.
His brow pinches, skeptical. “Really? You haven’t even kissed or anything?”
“Oh god no!” I make a sour face as though he’s suggested I share a romantic kiss with my dad or something. “No kissing. Or anything else.”
“Interesting.”
“Why? Does it seem like there’s something between us?” I ask, face aflame and suddenly paranoid as an image of Teller’s abs rockets through my mind.
He shrugs. “Nah, I mean, he just seems ... suspicious of me. He was also grilling me about my intentions with you when we were touring the Vatican.”
I face-palm. I had no idea. “He’s just overprotective. I’m basically like his sister,” I explain, though he’s never referred to me that way.
“So you’ve never even talked about it?”
“No. We’ve always been with other people. And we’re just friends, anyway.” Even during that first summer we were both single, I was too busy trying to make him like me as a coworker and friend. Besides, he’s always just been ... Teller. “Actually, Teller and his long-time girlfriend broke up. That’s why I invited him on this trip. To help him get his mojo back.” Caleb gives me a look, and I can’t tell if he believes me or not. “Anyway, we should probably get back. We have a busy day tomorrow,” I remind him. Teller booked us a day trip to Viterbo, a medieval town outside Rome.
“Ah yes. The itinerary,” Caleb says. I get the sense he’s been less than thrilled about all the scheduled tours.
“I’m sorry if it’s been a bit much for you. I know you’re not huge on plans and stuff—”
“It’s not the way I like to travel. But can I tell you a secret?”
“Of course.”
“I’m putting up with the itinerary because I want to spend more time with you.”
A quick shiver surges through me. “Really?”
He watches expectantly. “I like you,” he says. “Is it too soon to say that? It’s probably too soon—”
If you only knew. “It’s not,” I murmur. “I feel the same way.”
“Your hair is ...” He tries to fix it, but I can already tell it’s too far gone. My bangs are all tangled from the wind.
I pat it down, embarrassed. “How bad is it?”
“Oh, terrible. You’ll need all the help you can get.”
I hold back a snort, body seizing under his adorable gaze. I wish I could read his mind. “Oh yeah?”
“Yup.” He leans forward to smooth stray hairs away from my face, gently placing them behind my ear. I shiver at his touch and he smiles, eyes fixed on me. He slowly closes the gap between us, tilting my chin up to bring his lips to mine. They’re soft, yet firm, demanding in a way that strikes me like a match. One spark and my body whirs, forever altered in the best way.
I think about fate and how much had to line up for me to be here, right now. Teller coming home after his breakup, Bianca injuring her foot, Teller choosing the hostel in Venice, next to the hotel with the runaway trolley.
My fingers curl into his thick hair as he pulls me closer. My back is pressed into the cool grass. I burrow my face into his neck, memorizing the feeling of his pulse thrumming against my skin, all that nervous energy coursing through me. I inhale his espresso scent one last time, freezing that moment in my mind.
He kisses me again and again, and I’m overcome with a bubbling from deep within. It feels like I could float up and away. I don’t ever want to come back down. I imagine this is how Mom felt when she met Dad. How all the women in my family felt when they just knew they’d met their soulmates. It’s nothing short of magic.
I squeeze him tighter, delighting in the weight of him, as though holding on to him will prolong the moment. We find a rhythm, him leading the way, me following in sync. He brands me with each kiss, each caress.
I could do this forever. In fact, I have no idea how I’ve gone so long without him.
He finally stops to take a breath, resting his nose against mine. “All right. We better go before we get too carried away.”
I run my hand over his T-shirt, tempted to pull him back to me. The separation feels unnatural. “That wouldn’t be the worst.”
“Same time tomorrow night?” he asks, almost teasing, eyes sparkling.
It’s the easiest yes of my life.