3. Chapter 3
Avery
I didn’t think getting a taxi would be this hard, but there’s a whole line of people waiting to grab a cab, and there are no cars in sight.
If I were still the Avery of a decade ago, I would start chatting with the group of people waiting in front of me, maybe start wandering the city on foot to find my hotel.
But I am not that Avery, and there’s no way I’m lugging two suitcases and my backpack down cobblestone streets when I have no idea where I’m going.
This is what I get for stress-packing.
It would help if my phone had better service, but I can’t get enough bars to pull up the hotel’s address on my maps app. According to someone a few groups ahead of me, the McDonald’s across the street has Wi-Fi, but I don’t want to lose my place in line to test that claim.
Clutching the straps of my backpack, I lean out to see if anyone has gotten a ride yet, but it looks like the same people are at the front of the line that were there when I got here. Are we all just going to stand here for the next hour?
I’m so tired. I want to collapse in my hotel room and sleep until morning, even though it’s two in the afternoon here in Florence.
Experience has taught me that I should stay up as late as I can tonight to acclimate to the time change, but I doubt I’ll be as energetic as young Avery was.
An afternoon nap will fix me right up, and I’ll hopefully have energy to find a nice restaurant tonight and settle in.
If I ever get a cab.
Sighing, I try my phone again, begging it to get enough data to download the route to the hotel. If it isn’t too far, maybe it will be worth the walk.
“Hey, Avery, right?”
I tense, but the male voice that says my name is mildly familiar.
Looking up, I’m shocked to see Benson looking at me from a taxi window.
Goodness, he’s more handsome in the Florentine sunshine than he was on the plane, and heat floods my cheeks.
Which is ridiculous. “Oh, hi. It was Benson, yeah?” As if I don’t vividly remember his name after that humiliating conversation during the flight.
There is nothing more mortifying than being caught mid-sob by a total stranger.
Especially one with enough swagger to have walked out of an edition of GQ .
I’ve never even seen that magazine before, but I’m pretty sure it’s full of hot men.
Benson’s eyes trail along the line of people, his eyebrows dipping low as if he’s thinking about something.
When he looks at me again, there’s a soft hint of a smile on his lips that makes my stomach squirm.
The man has a smile . One that has been haunting me in the back of my mind since disembarking in Rome a few hours ago. “Need a ride?”
A few of the people around me murmur varying degrees of disgust and envy.
I bite my lip. Part of me knows it’s a bad idea to climb into a car with a strange man, particularly one who looks like he regularly charms women with his sharp, scruff-covered jawline and sky-blue eyes.
But the other part of me knows it could be hours before I make it to my hotel at the rate this line is moving.
“Um, I don’t want to make you go out of your way. ”
Saying something to the driver, he slips from the car in a smooth motion, looking for all the world like he was made for Italy.
His white button-down shirt may not be crisp—he wore it on the plane, after all—but the way he starts rolling up his cuffs as he approaches is completely movie-worthy.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” he says in a voice so low that I have to lean in to hear him, “but it’s not going to be easy for you to get a car.
Our plane came in at the same time as a train from Venice, and this is right at the edge of peak tourist season. ”
“Then where did you get yours?” I ask, forcing my eyes to focus on the taxi rather than Benson’s muscled forearms. But he doesn’t respond, so I look up at him—up because of course he’s tall too—and meet his gaze.
My breath slides out of me the moment he smirks. “Trade secret,” he says and winks.
I have never seen a guy wink and found it attractive, but Benson manages it. Is this guy real? Maybe he’s a strange jet lag hallucination.
“Come on,” he says, wrapping a hand around the handle of my bigger suitcase. “It’s just sharing a taxi.”
Praying I’m not about to be set upon by a charming scoundrel, I nod and follow Benson to the cab.
He helps me get my luggage into the trunk and opens the door for me, and I’m more convinced than ever that this is all a dream and I’m really back in my office, passed out at my desk because I stayed at work too late again.
But when Benson climbs into the taxi after me and his fresh, masculine scent envelops me, I decide there’s no way I could dream up a man this enticing. He’s real, and we’re really sharing a cab, and his shoulders really are that big.
What am I supposed to do with all of this information?
“Where to?” he asks, fixing me with those stunningly blue eyes again.
It takes three tries to unlock my phone so I can find the name of the hotel in my spreadsheet because my hand is shaking. “Um, Villa Fiorentina dei Fiori.”
After looking at my phone, Benson repeats the name to the driver.
Only, his version actually sounds Italian, unlike my butchered one.
When we’re on our way, he leans his head back and closes his eyes.
“I thought maybe you were going to be in Rome,” he mutters.
“I was surprised to see you here in Florence.”
“Oh, uh, no.” I don’t know what else to say because I did know Benson would be here.
I passed his seat when boarding the small plane in Rome and felt a stupid thrill of excitement over the fact that we would be in the same city.
I’m not here to have an Italian romance…
with an American…who is way out of my league, so I shouldn’t be allowing any attraction.
Besides, it’s only been a couple of months since Eric and I called things off. I’m in no way ready for a relationship.
“Any fun plans while you’re here? Whole itinerary?” He sounds either tired or bored. Or both. Something about the way he asks that second question rubs me the wrong way, though I can’t figure out what it is. It’s like he already knows the answer and disapproves.
“My fi—my ex and I made sure we wouldn’t have any wasted time,” I say, looking back down at the spreadsheet we made, complete with screenshots of our tickets for the museum and the walking tour. “I only get to be here for a week, so I don’t want to miss—”
“You have it planned down to the minute?”
I look over, shocked to find Benson looking down at the schedule on my phone again, a furrow in his brow. “Huh?”
He scoffs. “I thought you said you used to travel all the time.”
His condescending tone makes me feel itchy, and I lock my screen and tuck my phone between my legs as if that might erase the last few seconds. “What’s wrong with a schedule?” I ask indignantly. “Unlike you, this might be my only trip to Florence.”
“What a sad way to live.”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion on my life, Benson.” My sharp retort catches me off guard, leaving me hot and dizzy. When did I get so rude?
To my surprise, Benson’s lips curl up in a smile before he looks out the window to his right. “No, you didn’t,” he mutters. “But could I give you a little advice?”
I don’t want his advice, but I’m too curious to say as much.
When I stay silent, he glances at me and smiles wider. “A city like Florence is better enjoyed as a discovery than an itinerary. Would you agree, Enzo?”
The driver glances back at us in the rear view mirror and nods vigorously. “ Sì, signore. Signora , let Firenze tell you her secrets.”
Before I can say anything, Benson points out his window, then takes my hand like it’s a totally normal thing to do. “Case in point.”
I’m about to tell him to let go of me when the most beautiful building I’ve ever seen comes into view, and all my stranger danger vanishes in an instant.
Bathed in sunlight, the building appears out of nowhere, its patterned bricks of white, pink, and green giving it an ethereal feel beneath a massive dome of deep orange.
Ignoring propriety and politeness, I lean over Benson’s lap to get a better view as we drive past, marveling at the arches and details and oh my gosh it has bells . I didn’t know it had bells!
With a chuckle, Benson rolls the window down, letting the sound of the bells fill the car. We’re driving too fast, and I’ve only gotten a taste of the majesty before it’s out of sight, the bells’ music fading behind the buildings.
I’ve seen pictures of the Duomo—the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore—but none of them came close to doing it justice.
“Don’t worry,” Benson murmurs, and his breath brushes my hair and sends a shiver through me. “It’ll still be there tomorrow.”
Oh, I am full-on lying on this man’s lap.
Mortified—again—I twist and look up at him.
Logically, I should sit up, but that building hit me like the ton of bricks that it’s made from, and I am overcome with awe.
“That was…” I don’t have words. It’s been so long since I saw anything like that that I’m completely overwhelmed and apparently totally cool with staying where I am.
Maybe Benson wasn’t judging me as much as I thought he was, because the smile he’s giving me is enough to warm me to the bones. He’s looking at me the same way Eric looked at me when we first met, and my stomach does a little flip as my imagination sparks to life.
One of Benson’s fingers loops around a bit of my hair, pulling it from my face in the most romantic gesture I’ve experienced in I don’t know how long, and he is not helping me cool down.
“The whole city can be like that if you do it right,” he murmurs.
“A schedule won’t give you that feeling you just had. ”
No, he’s not wrong, though right now I’m more focused on the attraction burning through me than the lingering effects of seeing the Duomo in the afternoon sunlight.
If ever I wanted a fling—not that I do—this would be the guy to do it with.
With his handsome face and silky voice and rugged build, he’s likely the man of many a woman’s fantasies.
He doesn’t seem to mind that I’m lying here in his lap like it’s perfectly normal after freaking out about a building .
“Those bells…” I whisper, trying to distract myself from imagining the whole of this trip with Benson at my side.
That’s not a fantasy I need to conjure right now.
Or ever. “They were…” Again, words can’t do the moment justice.
“I’ve been to Notre Dame, and I didn’t think it was possible for anything to top that. ”
Chuckling, Benson moves more hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear as he gazes down at me. Crap, maybe I do want a fling. He opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, the taxi pulls to a stop, and he looks out the window. “We’re here.”
“We?”
He helps me sit up. “Coincidentally, I am also staying at the Villa Fiorentina.”
This has to be fate, right? Poppy would call it fate. Cosmic coincidence has pushed us together, putting us next to each other on the plane and making him notice me waiting for a taxi and setting us up in the same hotel.
Do I want it to be fate?
As Benson climbs out of the car and starts unloading luggage with the driver, Enzo, I take a moment to breathe and look down at the few texts I’ve gotten from Eric over the last day.
Real life, with all its stress and awkwardness, will still be waiting for me when I get back.
Indulging in a fantasy will likely only leave me even more brokenhearted when I have to let it go.
I don’t know anything about Benson—where he’s from, what he does for work, whether he’s even single—but he radiates adventure and passion and the energy of a person I used to be.
I miss that more than I realized.
Benson opens my door and holds out a hand to me with a dazzling smile brightening his features, and my stomach twists in a knot of apprehension and excitement.
It’s just a week. It’s not like I’ll fall in love in a week, so I’ll be fine.
I’ll just have a little fun and make the most of this escape from reality, and then I’ll be able to go back to work feeling refreshed and energized and ready to face this beast that is my company and failed relationship.
As I step out of the car, my foot catches on the edge and sends me tumbling straight into Benson’s chest. He catches me, of course, looping an arm around my back to steady me. “You good?” he asks, and his voice rumbles in his chest, where I’m getting a noseful of his clean scent.
Oh boy. “Never better,” I breathe.
I’m pretty sure I mean that.