Chapter 15
PLAY-ACTION PASS: FAKE HANDOFF TO FOOL THE DEFENSE, THEN THE QB THROWS.
Did he not feel the same pull between us that I did?
Is that why he didn’t kiss me? Immediately I wonder, would I have kissed him back?
Those questions have been rattling around my head since Troy stepped back from our moment a few hours ago.
He continued to give me a tour of the castle, even unlocking the modern-day security gates to allow me to get up close.
He warned me, “Be careful. The gates are in place to protect the castle from visitors doing something rash. Also, it protects visitors from tripping and falling over something unexpected.”
Talk about there not being a more perfect explanation of my confused emotions, I think.
Instead of replying, I just lifted my camera and took shot after shot of the castle’s battlement and curtain wall.
Hoping my own stronghold wouldn’t crumble, I absorb strength from the stones once my hand touches the cool wall.
I’m jostled out of my reverie when Troy’s voice asks, “Are you ready or would you like some more time?”
Realizing I’ve been woolgathering about the promise of what was likely nothing between us, I offer him a vacant smile. “I apologize. I’ve kept you from your work.”
He stares down at me, searching my face for a moment for what, I don’t know. Then he gestures for me to go to the exit. “Let me just check all the locks and I’ll meet you on the far side of the gate.”
“Of course.” Quickly making my way outside of the stone relic, I mentally give thanks to the fact I decided to vacation in Italy and won’t have any problems accessing my go to self help quorum.
After all, if there isn’t a Reddit sub-board for situations like this, something like r/is he into me, r/buy a clue, or r/plot their downfall, I might need to start one.
Quickly.
Somewhere inside, Troy is making sure every door and latch is closed properly.
As well as ensuring every modern keypad affixed to an ancient keyhole is re-armed.
Maybe that’s what he just did with whatever flickered between us—locked it down.
Tucked it behind a stone wall before either of us could do something we’d regret.
Would I have regretted if Troy had kissed me?
Part of me is screaming, you just got out of an engagement.
Plus, he’s just my friend! Right? That’s all the vibes he’s ever thrown your way.
But then there’s the part of me that, on some level, recognizes there was more than friendship pulsating between us.
Even from the very first night we met.
I think back to the rooftop where I caught him after his knee buckled. He had no idea who I was. His words, his whole manner—now that I really think about it—were of interest.
That was before Bryce joined us.
Could it be…nah. I dismiss my wayward thought. Then I can’t talk myself out of it. Whipping out my cell, I search Reddit, “I think my ex’s former friend is interested in me.”
I’ve already scrolled through three Reddit posts which go on and on about mixed signals, emotional unavailability, and crude men whose responses just show they’re just on Reddit to figure out how to get laid.
None of them are helpful in my trying to decipher Troy as an individual.
I groan. “This means I’m going to have to get the girls involved. ”
“Involved with what?” Troy asks, sneaking up behind me.
Whirling around, my hand flies to my heart—still clutching my cell. “Give me a heart attack, why don’t you?”
“I didn’t think I was being that quiet.”
I shake my head to get my bearings. “Sorry, I was…lost in thought.”
“We can head out. Everything is secure.”
“Great. Fabulous.”
He asks cautiously, “Is everything okay?”
“It’s fine.” I shrug. No, it’s really not. I don’t know if I want to taste your lips or run as fast as I can back to the villa and lock myself in my room.
Obviously, the universal “fine”, interpreted by many as a global cautionary warning, makes Troy nervous. He takes a small step back. “Did I do something?”
“Have a flower whose petals I can pick?” I ask.
“Now, I’m really confused.”
“I just need to decide,” I explain.
“Want to talk it out?” He offers.
Kiss me, kiss me not. Kiss me, kiss me not…If you only knew. “Maybe later. Why don’t you tell me about the harvest on our way back to the villa?”
He steps closer. Once I get a good kick of his aftershave, every solid piece of advice I read about “not reading into things” goes straight out the window.
My thoughts turn to devouring him, here and now.
Bury my face in the space where his neck meets his shoulder and just inhale his intoxicating scent mingled with the fresh scent of the vineyard mixed in.
But my heart? My heart has been so bruised, I’m afraid of the rejection.
I force myself to move forward. He matches his stride to mine and provides me with some behind-the-scenes education. “Harvest isn’t romantic the way the tourists like to imagine it.”
“No Lucy and Ricky? No Under the Tuscan Sun?”
“Not exactly. People imagine golden light spilling over the hills, a glass of red caught in the sunset, and think everything we do here is based on some glamorized movie set.”
I fake my shock. “Wait? It’s not?”
“It’s dirty, sweaty, gritty…”
I interrupt him before he makes me trip over myself. “Stop. Are you trying to turn me on or make me think of the gridiron?”
He snorts. “Neither. Just telling you what we do here is rougher than any NFL practice I’ve ever endured.”
“That’s because you have more endurance than the average player.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
Troy stops dead in his tracks. His eyes roam my face for a long moment. I can’t seem to look away. Finally, he picks up his explanation. “Harvest is the time that tries our sanity.”
Trying to get us back on an even keel, I joke, “For a moment, I thought you were about to quote Thomas Paine.”
He bumps into me gently. “We start before dawn—”
I nudge him back. “We?”
“Listen, there’s no job on this property I won’t ask someone to do that I, myself, haven’t done.”
“That’s…” My words falter for a moment when his hand grazes mine as we approach the villa.
“What?”
“Impressive.” I glance down at his hand and that’s when I notice his fingers have a dark reddish hue in places.
He takes note of where my eyes are and displays them. “Some of this year’s harvest. It’s not forgiving.”
What in life is? I think sourly. But then Troy wipes every thought from my mind with his next words: “Harvest is pure agony. You scream to the heavens—sometimes with your head, sometimes with your heart. But over time, the pain subsides. Your efforts have built new strength in your muscles. The blues and purples piling up aren’t your bruises but the payoff of your efforts over the long summer months.
The sweat and storms you suffered and prayed through.
” He looks up the hill, eyes unfocused. “It’s about knowing you’re a part of something that began because you had enough faith to give it a chance. ”
Before I have a chance to react, his phone rings. Troy pulls it out and answers it, “Ciao, mamma. Tutto bene?” There’s a pause before he excuses himself. “I have to speak with my family. I’ll see you at dinner?”
“Absolutely. Thanks for the tour.”
Troy winks at me before he heads toward his office, speaking in rapid Italian.
It isn’t until after I’m back in my room looking at the pictures from today, I remember the heart is a muscle. The question is whether mine is ready for any sort of workout?