. . . a busy schedule #2
I check the time on my phone before I join him. It’s almost 3 p.m., will take fifty minutes to get back, and we’re not even at our lunch location yet.
The second we arrive at the spot – a cute little taverna overlooking the riverside – I make an excuse and run to the toilet.
‘What the fuck’s happened?’ Noah says the second he picks up the phone.
I panic. ‘I don’t know! He told me to get in the car, so I did, and now I’m somewhere fifty minutes out of Rome, apparently.’
I hear him sigh deeply on the other end of the line.
‘You have terrible self-preservation instincts. No one taught you about stranger danger? You’ve only met him once,’ he says.
‘Remind me how we met again?’ I retort.
‘Oh, come on, he and I are immeasurably different,’ he says, not taking me on for even a minute. ‘I saved your life and went for drinks because you asked me out. This guy’s a rando that took you to a different city when you’ve got another date in three and a half hours.’
My body runs cold at the reduced timeframe as I start running through calculations in my head. Even if I were to oh-so-suspiciously rush through this meal, it’s still going to take an hour to get back into Rome and then I still have to find my way to my and Nigel’s location.
I slump against the wall in defeat.
‘I am so screwed,’ I sigh. ‘And the sad part is, Nigel’s the only date I cared about today.’
The other end of the line goes silent; for a minute I think the call has dropped, but then I hear the soft exhales of Noah’s breath.
‘You still there?’ I ask.
‘Yeah, sorry,’ he says, more strained than before. ‘You really care about Nigel?’
My heart stills as I’m instantly hit with the truth. I do care about Nigel; we go so far back and have a history I can’t wait to explore some more. But as excited as I am, I just don’t care about him the way I care about the man chatting to me on the phone.
‘Yes, I do,’ I reply, sweeping the rest of my damning realisation aside.
The line goes silent again. I count twenty seconds in my head.
‘Cool. I’ll get you there,’ he eventually says.
‘What? How? I’m fifty minutes away.’ I’m more confused than before.
‘Go enjoy your date, Am. I promise you’ll still make it to Nigel’s,’ he says ominously.
Then he hangs up, leaving me to the peeling toilet cubicle with nothing but my phone and my worried thoughts. One thing’s for certain, I can’t enjoy my current date with Nigel or Noah on my mind, so I try to cast them away as I walk back out, planting my focus back to Aldo.
‘Sorry!’ I say as I approach the table.
He looks up at me and shakes his head fondly. ‘You British say sorry too much. What are you sorry for?’
‘You’re probably right, sorry.’ I pick up a menu. ‘What do you recommend?’
‘The carbonara is good.’
‘I’m vegetarian, no meat,’ I say. I did tell him this on our first date when the pasta teacher tried to give me bolognese, but, whatever. I can’t expect him to remember everything.
‘Ah. The seafood linguine, then.’
‘No fish either,’ I say.
‘What do you eat, then?’ he asks, dumbfounded.
‘Anything that’s not meat or fish.’ I’m trying to keep a straight face.
‘I see.’ He scans the menu, disinterested. ‘Get the truffle.’
Two bowls of pasta and a few Aperol spritzes later, and the conversation is well and truly flowing.
Suddenly, it’s super easy to remember why I wanted to go on a second date with him in the first place.
He is charming and sweet, and has a pretty enticing smile, and the whole thing truly is quite nice, but the clock keeps ticking and the minutes keep climbing, and I can’t get that call off my mind.
Why did Noah seize up on the phone? And why does Nigel irk him? And what on earth did he mean when he said he’d get me to my date? And when does Aldo plan to leave? It can’t be any time soon. He’s taking his sweet time scanning over the dessert menu.
It’s just gone five-thirty; I’m meant to meet Nigel in an hour and I am still fifty minutes out of Rome. My chest pangs as I prepare to call time of death. I’ll make another play for the toilet and cancel with Nigel.
‘Signora?’ the waitress asks, tapping me on the shoulder.
Both Aldo and I look up at her, perplexed.
‘Your cousin is here. He says there’s a family emergency.’
‘My cousin?’ I ask.
She gestures behind her and I spot Noah pacing towards us. His stare is focused, loaded my way as he silently wills me to go along with whatever this is. I take the note and lock in. I have got to give a better performance than I did during our Hungarian proposal.
‘Yes, my cousin, hello! Family emergency? What’s wrong?’ I ask him.
‘There’s no time to talk,’ he says gravely. ‘We have to leave. I’m so sorry to interrupt you like this.’
He glances from me to Aldo, nodding at him apologetically before grabbing my hand and pulling me from my seat.
‘Oh,’ I say.
I look back to Aldo, whose panicked eyes show he’s fallen for this hook, line and sinker.
‘It looks like I have to go,’ I say.
He shrugs. ‘It’s okay, dear – family comes first. Do you need help to get back?’
Noah shakes his head. ‘I’ve got her, but thanks, mate.’
And he whisks me through the restaurant, out the door and further down the street.
‘How’d you get here?’ I ask, breathless.
‘I’ve been busy,’ he says, still running.
We take a left and head to a side street, where he stops in front of a bright-red Vespa. He grabs a helmet and toys with the handle, climbing on before looking back at my shocked face.
‘Where did this come from?’ I ask, creeping closer to inspect the scooter in more detail.
He smiles proudly. ‘I was trying to figure out how I could get you back. I needed quick transport and lots of ease . . . and then I thought, “What would Lizzie do?” ’
I gasp. ‘You didn’t!’
His smile grows wider at my shock. He nods his head and winks as he hands me a helmet.
‘Made sure it was red and everything. In this moment, I am your Paolo. Without the lies and deception, and terrible singing, of course. But, whatever, hold on tight, Lizzie.’
I secure my helmet and hike up the skirt of my dress as I nervously climb aboard. It’s shakier than I expected. I wrap both my arms around him tightly and relish in the comfort the comfort of his support.
‘Have you ridden one of these before?’ I ask.
‘Yeah, I rode here!’ he says breezily.
‘Before today.’
‘Who needs experience?’ he asks.
Then he stamps down on the pedal and we start to whizz down the road.
Turns out that without the buzzy soundtrack and the movie storyboarding, riding on the back of a moped is quite terrifying.
It’s not safe or secure, and it’s exceptionally loud and you can’t make conversation over the rushed slap of the wind.
But it’s quick and it’s convenient. We make it back into Rome in just under forty-five minutes.
Noah briefly pulls over and parks to check his sports watch for an update on the time.
‘Okay, you’ve got ten minutes. Where’s your date again?’ he asks.
‘By the Colosseum,’ I say.
We climb back on again and are off in a flash, zipping through the streets of Rome at lightning speed. We pull up across from the restaurant only four minutes late, and I climb off and shake my curls out of the helmet.
‘How are they looking? Are they flat?’ I ask Noah desperately.
He squints back at me and tilts his head.
‘Here,’ he says. He reaches over and runs his hands through my hair, to give it a good fluff.
I flinch as I feel his fingers tug through a curl, taking me back to the last time they tugged at my hair like that in that dark, sweaty train cabin in the middle of the night.
I scurry from the thought, begging the image to leave my head, but the second our eyes meet I realise that he’s right there with me.
I shudder, the movement shocking us both out of our heads and back to the early evening chill.
His eyes dart from mine, anxiously searching for anything else to cling to and eventually settling on my goosebump-ridden arms.
‘I told you to bring a jacket,’ he tuts.
I shrug away in defence, using it as the perfect moment to pull us apart. ‘It was boiling this morning!’
‘But the nights here get cold, we already knew that.’ He shakes his head disappointedly before shrugging off his khaki bomber and holding it out towards me.
I hover my hand over it, contemplating whether to reject it out of politeness, but then another gust of wind hits and I snatch it clean from his hands.
It’s definitely oversized, but in a way I hope is chic.
Honestly, with the warmth it provides I couldn’t care either way.
‘Thank you.’ I beam back at him.
‘It looks good on you.’ He steps back towards his scooter. ‘You should go, though. I’m pretty sure your date’s waiting for you.’
I follow his subtle nod to the other side of the street and spot Nigel standing there, staring at us, so I quickly scurry across the road.
He opens his arms wide, scooping me into a hug the second I reach him.
It’s a bear of a hug, long and tense and squeezy, feeling more like suffocation than softness.
But I do my best to lean into it; it’s been so long since we last hugged. I’m just not used to it.
We make our way to the building’s lobby, trailing all the way through and back outside to the bar.
The courtyard is stunning – beautifully open-plan and buzzing with guests in smart-casual dress.
I’m already satisfied, but then we’re led up to our seats and I understand the packed capacity.
Across from us is the perfect view of the Colosseum, stood loud and proud in front of our eyes.
‘This is amazing,’ I say in awe, settling down in my seat.
He smiles bashfully. ‘Yeah, this place is reservation-only. I booked it two weeks ago, hoping I’d have someone to take.’
His words hit me, knocking out all doubt that came from the hug. He booked this before he even knew I was here, because he just had a feeling. I allow myself to lean into the magic of it all.