Olivia
I think things might have gone too far. I don’t mean in the bedroom, though I suppose that part should be included because the lines have blurred. They’re so blurry that I can’t make out what I should be doing versus what I want to be doing versus what I actually am doing.
But despite how murky the waters are, I do know one thing for certain–
Luca and I are dating.
That much is obvious.
And even though the label isn’t sewn in, we check all the boxes.
We are monogamous, from what I know. We aren’t just sleeping together; we are going on real dates.
And everything is getting more tangled up emotionally.
I mean, the man has opened up about his childhood, for crying out loud.
Not only that, but he smiles. And I don’t think I need to mention the significance of showing outward joy for Luca Laurent.
I’m doing everything I said I wouldn’t do.
And while I feel bad about it, I also don’t want to stop.
These dates have been different from anything I’ve ever experienced.
Even now, lying next to him as his breath drifts in and out of his chest rhythmically, I can’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else.
And that is a problem.
Enough so that I throw the blanket off and get up.
I need some air. And on the way to his balcony, I decide I need some wine.
I stop by the wine rack in the kitchen and grab a lonely bottle of Chardonnay.
I’m not surprised he likes red; every man seems to prefer red.
I actually like it, but it gives me a headache if I have too much.
And Chardonnay is drier, so Butter Bay Chard it is.
I pour myself a glass and make my way out to the balcony.
The air is warm, and the sky is bright. After a sip, I am able to exhale a decompressive sigh.
I need a moment to think. Not that thinking is helping.
The more I think about what Sadie would say, the guiltier I feel.
The guiltier I feel, the more I try to validate what I’m doing.
The more I think about what I am doing, the more I can’t stop thinking about everything I am doing, and then I think about Sadie again and... it's an endless cycle.
I take a hefty sip of my wine and nearly choke when Luca is suddenly next to me.
“Is this a private party?” he asks. He’s wearing nothing but a bedsheet around his waist and holding the bottle of Chardonnay.
“By all means,” I wave my hand, and he sits in one of the Adirondacks next to me. “I couldn’t sleep,” I say.
“Why not?” he asks.
“I was thirsty,” I answer.
“Apparently,” he smirks. “Here…”
I hold up my glass, and he tops it off. Then he pours some into a second glass and places the bottle on the side table.
“It’s nice out here,” I tell him.
“Yeah, it’s not too bad,” he agrees. “Good place to clear your mind.”
“Yeah…” I admit. I am staring into the distance, though I can feel his gaze on me, studying me intently. Eventually I crack, smiling and blushing and turning to look at him.
“You know,” he says. “I was thinking.”
“About what?” I ask, taking a sip. The banter never ends with us. It’s a slow, thick, sweet sarcasm. Like hot honey.
I do like to have my cake and eat it too.
“Why podcasting?” he asks, and it catches me off guard a little. “Why dating podcasts?”
“Interesting topic choice at two thirty in the morning,” I say.
“I’ve told you about my job. Why I’ve committed my life’s work to helping people match. Helping them find love. But you haven’t told me anything.”
“I majored in English and Communication and–”
“No, no,” he says with a grin as he shakes his head. “That’s not what I’m talking about. And you know that.”
I open my mouth to answer, and when words don’t come to the surface, I laugh awkwardly. It’s weird. I talk about my job all the time. But something about talking to Luca about it, something about the way he’s asking, it’s different. He’s not going to accept a radio voice answer.
“My parents didn’t love each other,” I answer. Then I wait for a reaction. When his expression doesn’t shift, I keep going. “They were the perfect example of two people who were very wrong for each other but stayed together for the kids,” I say.
“The kids…” he nods.
“My brother,” I say.
“I didn’t know you had a brother,” he says.
“There might be a lot of things you don’t know about me,” I tell him, swirling my wine with a sleepy, buzzy smile. “He’s five years older than me. He lives in Charlotte. Runs a brewery.”
“Ambitious,” he says. “That’s a saturated industry. Is he doing well?”
“He is. He took over a place that was shutting down because the owners were shitty people. Created something of his own. Never had to look in the rearview.”
“What about you?” he asks. “Do you feel like you’re looking in the rearview?”
I think about that before smiling again. “No. I don’t. My parents are still together. Even though Daren and I have been out of the house for years. He’s a narcissist, and she’s a doormat.”
“And yet you believe in love,” he states.
“Not just love,” I say, fully aware of the sparkle in my eyes. “Romance.”
Luca is still smirking. “And how does that add up?”
“What? Believing in romance despite the fact that witnessing my parents dysfunctional relationship literally made me question everything I believe?” I ask.
“Pretty much,” he nods.
“I guess that’s the thing,” I say, staring out at the sky again.
It’s kind of funny. Although I have talked about my job before, it really has never been like this before.
I’ve never even thought about it like this.
“I’m kind of stubborn. Maybe it’s because I’m Irish.
Maybe it’s a retaliation against him. Maybe it’s all those psych classes I took in college.
But the more I saw love die, the more I wanted to believe in the real thing. ”
“Are you sure it wasn’t like the Notebook or something?” he teases, and I swat at him, making him laugh. It’s a gritty, deep sound that I need to hear again and again.
“Okay, I admit I read all of his books. And yes. Knowing a man wrote them did shape a lot of my views on what love should look like,” I say.
“I knew it,” Luca grins as he takes a sip of his wine.
“But in my defense, why not? If love and romance and happily ever after are the one thing that people chase with every fiber of their being, why not believe that it can exist?”
“It does exist,” he says. “It’s just–”
“Don’t say it,” I stop him.
“Don’t say what?” he asks.
“Whatever scientific, logical thing you were going to say,” I tell him, bottoming the rest of my wine and setting the glass on the table.
“Because there is nothing you could say that would change the fact that I believe in fate. I believe in soulmates. I believe in auras, chemistry, love at first sight, twin flames, and happily ever afters. In a world where instant gratification and technology literally put the whole world at our fingertips, I believe the real, genuine thing is more likely to walk through our door when the universe wills it. You know why?” I ask.
“Why?” he asks, with the same amount of passion in his voice, just at a more Luca-esque caliber.
“Because when it’s supposed to happen, it will. For both people, it will.”
“But not through a dating app,” he says, and I shake my head.
“Not through an app,” I echo, reaching for the bottle.
“That’s a shame,” he says. “Considering we met on an app.”
I stop, my hand on the neck of the bottle.
But Luca just smiles. “Unless…the app isn’t the reason we met.”
“What do you mean?” I ask after pouring myself another glass.
“I mean, I have a feeling that you and I would have ended up exactly where we are even if the app wasn’t involved,” he says, and I search his eyes.
My heart is pounding against my rib cage. Does he know? Does he know that Sadie asked me to fuck with him? Does he know about the podcast? I’m inwardly panicking. But Luca’s smile tells me that’s not where he is going with this.
“So how would we have made it to where we are now then?” I ask. “If our algorithms hadn’t matched, and I hadn’t swiped right?”
“Hard to say,” he tells me, his eyes warm on mine. “Maybe fate.”
I swallow hard. “You don’t believe in fate,” I remind him.
“I think I might be starting to…” he says, and my heart slingshots to the moon.