Chapter 28
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
ZACH
T he car I rented for the day is a vintage convertible…a cherry-red Alfa Romeo Spider. It’s not the most practical choice for a day of exploring ruins and villages, but practicality wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I booked it. Something about the car felt… right. Maybe it was the idea of driving through the countryside with the top down, the sun warm on our skin, and the wind tangling our thoughts into knots we couldn’t ignore.
Jenny stands by the curb when I pull up to the hotel entrance, her sundress fluttering faintly in the breeze. She looks hesitant, almost shy, but when she sees the car, her face lights up. That smile…damn, that smile could power a city.
“Wow,” she says, trailing her fingers along the polished red hood as she circles to the passenger side. “This is… unexpected.”
“Good unexpected or bad?” I ask as I step out to open her door. The old-fashioned gesture earns me a raised eyebrow, but she slips into the seat without a word.
“Good,” she admits, glancing around the interior with wide eyes. “Definitely good.”
As soon as we hit the road, I regret leaving the top down. The wind kicks up, tossing her hair into a chaotic storm that she keeps trying to bat out of her face. It’s distracting…not just for her, but for me. Her laugh bubbles up every time she loses the battle, light and unrestrained, and I have to grip the wheel tighter to keep my focus on the road.
“Do you want me to pull the top up?” I ask, already reaching for the latch. “It’s going to drive you crazy.”
“No!” she says quickly, pushing my hand away. “It’s fine. I love it.”
Her fingers brush against my arm for barely a second, but it’s enough. The heat of her touch lingers, igniting something I’ve been trying so damn hard to suppress. I stay stoic, my hand falling back to the wheel, but inside, I feel the crack forming in my resolve.
I don’t care that the original goal was to get her to forget about Brett. That doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters is her…her boundaries, her comfort. I won’t do anything to make her uneasy again, not after the way she looked at lunch the other day. She’d seemed so dejected, her shoulders hunched, her gaze avoiding mine at all costs. And since then, she’s done everything in her power to avoid me altogether.
Even now, as she grins and tries to wrestle her hair into submission against the wind, I can’t ignore the distance she’s carefully built between us. But her laugh, her touch…even brief…remind me that the distance isn’t unbridgeable. I just have to tread lightly, even if it means denying myself the pull I feel toward her.
“Are you sure?” I press, glancing at her as another strand of hair whips across her cheek. “You’re going to end up with it in your mouth.”
She shakes her head, grinning as she wrestles it back again. “I’ll manage.”
I hesitate, then pull my baseball cap off and hold it out to her. “Here. Use this.”
She blinks, surprised by the offer, but takes it without comment, sliding it onto her head. The cap is too big for her, the brim casting a shadow over her face, but it works. Her hair settles, the wind no longer able to tug it free, and she leans back into the seat with a contented sigh.
“Thanks,” she says softly, adjusting the brim slightly.
I nod, keeping my eyes on the road, but once again there is that strange warmth in my chest I can’t quite push away. It’s ridiculous, really…handing over a damn hat shouldn’t feel like anything. But it does. And that’s exactly why I shove the feeling aside and focus on the drive.
The ruins are everything I hoped they’d be: quiet, sprawling, and steeped in history. Jenny steps out of the car first, her sneakers crunching on the gravel as she takes in the massive stone archways and crumbling columns. Her awe is infectious, and I find myself watching her more than the ruins themselves.
“This is incredible,” she murmurs, turning in a slow circle. “It’s like stepping back in time.”
I gesture to a small map of the site I grabbed at the entrance. “There’s a trail that leads to the amphitheater. You want to check it out?”
She nods eagerly, and we fall into step together, the gravel crunching softly beneath our feet.
Around us, the air hums with the chatter of other visitors, the occasional laughter of children, and the murmur of tour guides explaining the ruins. But the energy of the crowd only seems to amplify the magic of the place…the ancient stone arches, weathered walls, and the faint scent of wildflowers carried on the warm breeze.
Jenny’s eyes dart from one structure to another, her curiosity evident in the way she pauses to take in the details…the carvings on a crumbled pillar, the way sunlight filters through the gaps in a ruined roof. I find myself watching her more than the scenery, the way her expression lights up, the faint furrow in her brow when she’s reading a plaque.
“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” she says, her voice filled with awe as she gestures toward a towering archway ahead of us.
I nod, though my gaze lingers on her instead of the structure. “It is. Makes you wonder how they managed to build something so massive without modern tools.”
“Right?” She glances at me, her excitement contagious. “But you should know though, since you’re in construction.”
“I’m an investor, and my involvement is more on the real estate side,” I reply, and she nods at the clarification.
We step closer to the archway, and the guide’s voice carries over to us as he describes its history in a mix of Italian and English. Jenny leans in slightly, her shoulder brushing mine as we listen. It’s a fleeting touch, but I feel it down to my core. I shove my hands into my pockets, trying to focus on the guide’s words instead of the warmth of her skin.
The path winds around to a small courtyard surrounded by more ruins, with a few benches scattered under the shade of ancient trees. A couple sits on one, sharing a quiet moment, while others mill about, snapping photos or examining the stonework.
Jenny points toward a shaded corner with a small fountain, its water trickling softly. “Can we stop there for a bit? I just want to take it all in.”
“Sure,” I say, following her lead. As we settle onto the low wall near the fountain, she tilts her head back, letting the dappled sunlight play across her face. The breeze lifts her hair slightly, and I resist the urge to reach out and tuck it behind her ear. Instead, I let my gaze linger, the sight of her etched into my mind like a memory I don’t ever want to fade. I can’t remember the last time I allowed myself to be this idle…to simply exist without the weight of my responsibilities pressing down on me. There’s always something to do, some deal to close, some problem to solve. My life is a constant forward march, with no time to stop and savor anything.
But here, with her, all of that fades into the background. The world narrows to just this moment…the sound of her laughter mingling with the rustle of leaves, the way the light catches in her hair, the soft curve of her lips when she’s lost in thought. I don’t want to leave. Not the ruins, not the serenity of this place, and definitely not her.
It’s unsettling, how much I want to stay. How much I want to see her smile like this forever, unburdened and free. The realization creeps up on me like a quiet storm, and I can’t decide if it’s comforting or terrifying. Because I know this feeling won’t last. It can’t. And yet, for the first time in a long time, I find myself wishing it could.
“Have you ever been here before?” she asks suddenly, breaking the quiet. Her voice is soft, like she’s afraid to disturb the peace around us.
“Once,” I reply. “Years ago, for business. I didn’t have time to actually see much of it.”
Her eyes light up, and I know she’s about to ask me more. “And now?”
“Now,” I say, glancing at her, “I suppose I have the time to actually take it in.”
Her smile widens, but she doesn’t press further.
Jenny’s smile lingers as she stretches her legs out in front of her, crossing one ankle over the other. The soft fabric of her sundress shifts with the motion, catching my attention briefly before I look away, forcing my focus elsewhere. A couple strolls by with ice cream cones, the faint scent of vanilla and citrus wafting on the breeze.
She glances at me, a flicker of something playful in her eyes. “I feel like a drink. Something cold and sweet. Do you think they have anything here?”
I nod toward a small kiosk nestled near the edge of the courtyard, shaded by a colorful awning.
“Looks like they might. Want to check it out?”
“Absolutely,” she says, hopping to her feet with an enthusiasm that makes me want to smile. I follow her to the kiosk, scanning the handwritten chalkboard menu listing an assortment of drinks…freshly squeezed juices, Italian sodas, and local wines.
She takes her time reading through the options, her fingers brushing her lips as she decides. “Limonata,” she declares finally, her tone light. “I’ve never had a real Italian lemonade before.”
“Good choice,” I say, stepping up to the counter to order. “And I’ll have a—” I glance at the menu again and point. “Aceddu Verde.”
Jenny raises an eyebrow as the server nods and begins preparing our drinks. “Green bird?” she asks, amusement dancing in her tone.
“It’s a mix of fresh herbs and lime,” I explain. “Should be refreshing.”
She laughs softly, shaking her head. “I should’ve guessed you’d pick something… sophisticated. You just can’t help yourself, can you?”
I want to tease her back, to say that of course, I’d expect her to go for the sweetest thing, but I hold back. It’s too easy to slip into a rhythm that feels friendly again, too easy to act as though there isn’t a boulder of tension walking beside us, looming over every word. I don’t know how to resolve this, and whenever I’m in this state…even in business…all my guards go up. I can’t help but slightly detach myself, toning down any expression of my enjoyment of this current moment with her.
It helps that she’s trying to mask her discomfort too, though she doesn’t realize how easily I can read her. Maybe it’s the countless moments of quiet, unintentional observation over time, moments I never consciously acknowledged but seem to have etched her subtleties into my mind. The realization sends a strange thrill through me, sweet and unexpected.
The server hands us our drinks, and we begin walking toward a quiet corner of the courtyard. Just as Jenny turns to step onto the gravel path, I notice her shoe…a sleek pair of white tennis shoes with thin laces…has come undone. The loose ends flap against the stones as she steps, and before she can trip, I step forward.
“Wait.” I hold out my hand. “Hold on to my drink for a moment..”
She blinks, startled, but complies, accepting my juice with a quizzical tilt of her head. I crouch down, gripping the ends of her laces and tying them into a secure knot. My fingers work quickly, but the act feels oddly intimate, the proximity grounding me in a way I don’t expect.
“You could trip” I say, standing and brushing off my hands. “And falling here would be especially dangerous.”
For a little while, she’s quiet, which makes me wonder if I’ve done or said something wrong.
“Thanks,” she says softly, her voice quieter than before.
She hands me back my drink, her fingers once again brushing mine briefly.
I glance down at her, and our eyes meet for just a second. Her cheeks flush slightly, and she glances away, clutching her cup. I tell myself it’s nothing, but I can feel the phantom warmth of her touch on my skin, the lingering electricity between us that no amount of rationalizing can deny.