Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Brody
A fter the goddamn torture of the hike all the way back down—replaying the kiss in my mind about ten thousand times—then a flight from France where Avery might as well have been in a different time zone, Italy’s romantic energy made me feel like I'd stumbled ass-first into some kind of love potion brewery explosion.
And now, finally close enough to touch her again, I was vibrating like a damn tuning fork. Or maybe it was just the aftershocks of that mind-melting kiss still short-circuiting my brain.
Christ, even her eyes were doing that whole Disney princess sparkle thing in the soft light, curiosity… and something else swirling in their depths.
“Jesus,” I growled, waving my hand at the love fest surrounding us like a caveman trying to swat away a swarm of bees. “This is… something else.”
Real smooth, Romeo. Maybe next I could impress her by grunting and dragging my knuckles on the ground.
Avery nodded, a smile playing at the corners of her lips.
“It's magical,” she agreed, her voice softer than a down pillow and twice as inviting. “Like stepping into another world.”
The air was thick with the scent of spiced wine and various other rich and delicious aromas.
Everywhere I looked, couples were wrapped around each other tighter than a boa constrictor on its prey, lost in their own private universes.
As we stepped up to a wine stall, the vendor launched into an explanation so enthusiastic, I half expected him to whip out jazz hands and start tap dancing on the spot.
Avery tried to listen, her brow furrowed in concentration like she was trying to decipher ancient hieroglyphics while blindfolded and drunk. Her attempt to follow his rapid-fire Italian was adorable and about as successful as my attempts to give up swearing.
Which is to say, a fucking failure.
“Grazie,” she said carefully, accepting a small glass. Even I could tell her pronunciation was off, and it shouldn't have been cute, but damn if it didn't make me want to scoop her up and do unspeakable things to her right there in the middle of the square.
“What?” she demanded, her tone sharp. The fire in her eyes made me want to fan the flames until we both went up in smoke.
“Nothing,” I grinned, accepting my own glass and trying (and failing) to look innocent. “Just appreciating your linguistic skills, Spark. You're like a walking, talking Google Translate… if Google Translate had a stroke.”
The way Avery's eyes flashed when she was riled up was too much to resist, but I caught the hint of a smile tugging at her lips.
“Well, we can't all be natural-born charmers like you, Hawkins. Some of us have to make do with a real personality and a functioning brain.”
I barked out a laugh that was about as elegant as a foghorn at a classical recital.
As we sipped our wine and meandered through the festival like two tipsy tourists on a scavenger hunt, I was completely mesmerized by Avery.
For a dangerous moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like if this wasn't just an elaborate charade, if we were really here as a legit couple, exploring and falling in love.
I tried to shove the thought away, but my brain wasn't cooperating, no matter how dangerous the territory was.
I'd been down this road before, letting myself get too close, too invested. It had only led to heartbreak, guilt, and a brief but intense addiction to Rocky Road ice cream. I couldn't go through that again.
We approached an elderly woman selling scarves so intricately woven I could barely make sense of them. Her face was more wrinkled than a prune, but it creased into a warm smile as we admired her handiwork.
“Ah, young love,” she said in heavily accented English.
Her eyes twinkled like she knew every dirty secret in the village and was itching to share them all. She looked between us with a gaze that made me feel like I was buck naked in church.
As we continued our exploration, weaving through the crowd like two bees in a field of flowers, we took turns interviewing locals about the festival's history and traditions.
I couldn't help but be impressed by Avery's genuine interest. She wasn't just going through the motions; she was truly immersing herself in the culture.
While filming B-roll footage of the festival, my camera lingered on Avery more often than not. The soft light illuminated her features, casting a warm glow on her skin that made me want to lick it like an ice cream cone on a hot summer day.
She looked beautiful, yes, but it was more than that.
There was a passion, an authenticity in the way she interacted with the locals that made her absolutely fucking radiant. It was like watching a butterfly emerge from its cocoon, if the butterfly was a sexy, intelligent woman and the cocoon was a sundress that I wanted to rip right the hell off.
I was seeing a different side of her, one that was making it harder and harder to keep my distance. This wasn't the rigid, spreadsheet-obsessed Avery I'd first met. This was a woman full of curiosity and warmth, with a depth I was only beginning to understand.
As the night wore on, the festival's romantic atmosphere became increasingly hard to ignore.
Couples around us kissed and embraced, the air thick with passion and possibility. I gravitated closer to Avery, our hands brushing as we walked, and I was surprised by how much I wanted to take her hand in mine, to claim her as my own and make sure everyone around me knew it.
A group of musicians struck up a crazy, upbeat song, and before I knew what was happening, we were being pulled into a traditional dance faster than you could say “two left feet.”
The steps were as unfamiliar to me as rocket science, but the rhythm was infectious. Avery laughed as she tried to follow along, her usual grace abandoning her like rats from a sinking ship as she stumbled through the movements.
I felt a warmth in my chest that had nothing to do with the wine, and that, my friends, was scarier than facing down a grizzly bear with nothing but a butter knife and my winning personality.
Without thinking, I reached out, my arms wrapping around her waist. Suddenly, we were face to face, barely inches apart.
The world around us faded away, the music and laughter of the festival becoming a distant buzz.
All I could focus on was Avery—the warmth of her body against mine, the faint scent of her perfume that made me want to bury my face in her neck like a truffle-sniffing pig, and the way her breath caught as our eyes locked.
My hands itched to explore every inch of her, but I held back because underneath all the gruff exterior and dirty thoughts, I respected the hell out of her.
I forgot about all my fears and doubts. I forgot about my guilt over Jason and my online persona. All I wanted was to close the distance between us, to taste her lips again and lose myself in her completely.
A laughing couple emerged from the nearby shadows, wrapped up in each other tighter than a burrito. Christ, the festival's romantic energy was so palpable you could practically see little cartoon hearts floating in the air.
Avery fit perfectly in my arms, the scent of her making me dizzy; the warmth of her body—it all felt too damn right to be just pretend. We swayed together, our bodies moving in perfect sync like we'd been dancing together for years. I could feel Avery's heartbeat, rapid and strong, matching the frantic pulse of my own.
Her hand rested on my shoulder, and I fought the urge to pull her closer, to eliminate any space between us like a black hole consuming everything in its path.
As the song came to an end, I couldn't bring myself to let go, stuck to her like static cling. I rested my forehead against hers, my heart pounding so hard I was pretty sure it was trying to break free and make a run for it.
I leaned in, closing the gap, and as our lips met again, I knew this was the moment that changed everything—for better or worse.
The kiss was soft at first, tentative, like two shy teenagers at a school dance. But it quickly deepened into something more passionate, more urgent, like we were trying to make up for lost time.
It was ease and adventure all at once. It was comfort food and exotic spices, cozy blankets and white-water rafting, Netflix and skydiving… all rolled into one mind-blowing package. It was more delicious than the best meal I'd ever had, more intoxicating than any top-shelf whiskey, and hotter than the business end of a blowtorch.
When we finally parted, both breathless, I searched Avery's eyes, my heart pounding.
Both desire and uncertainty reflected back at me, mirroring my own turbulent thoughts. It was like looking into a funhouse mirror, but instead of distorting our appearances, it was amplifying our feelings.
I had a choice to make.
I could retreat back behind my walls, protect myself from the possibility of pain and loss like a turtle hiding in its shell. Or I could take a chance, open myself up to whatever this thing with Avery might become, no matter the risks.
The only question was, did I have the guts to do it?