Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Brody
I woke up feeling like I'd been thrown into a meat grinder and spit out the other side. As I forced my eyes open, squinting against the offensive sunlight, yesterday's events hit me all over again.
The storm, raging like nature's own fury. And then Avery… Christ, Avery.
My body remembered every detail of that car encounter before my brain fully caught up. The slide of her rain-slicked skin against mine, soft and warm where everything else had been cold and harsh.
The little gasps she'd made, the way she'd arched into me. My blood heated just thinking about it, like my body was determined to torture me with the memory.
But then something had snapped, quick as a rubber band. One minute we were generating enough heat to fog up every window in that car, and the next she'd gone arctic on me.
The whiplash of it still had my head spinning.
But this was good, right? I kept trying to force that thought through my skull. I had shit to focus on—my career, my brand, the whole social media circus I'd built my life around.
But Avery was like a splinter under my skin I couldn't dig out. A beautiful, maddening, drive-me-up-the-wall splinter that I couldn't stop thinking about.
Every muscle screamed as I hauled myself out of bed, feeling like I'd gone twelve rounds with a bear and lost spectacularly.
And there she fucking was. Already up, already dressed, already making me lose my mind.
Her fingers were attacking her keyboard like it had insulted her mother, and that scowl on her face could have curdled concrete. But even angry—especially angry—she was something else. That mess of hair I still remembered tangled around my fingers, those curves that fit against me like they were made for my hands…
Goddammit. I was so screwed.
“Morning, Spark,” I croaked, my voice rougher than sandpaper.
Avery barely flicked her eyes up; those gorgeous honey-browns I'd been drowning in just yesterday were now as welcoming as a shark's grin.
“Morning,” she muttered, way more interested in her screen than me.
I stretched, feeling every inch of my battered body. “How about we grab some breakfast? I'm so famished I could eat a whole cow.”
She made a noise that was somewhere between a grunt and a “go to hell.”
It was like yesterday's Avery—all passion and fire—had vanished, replaced by this human icicle. Talk about whiplash.
“Come on,” I prodded, trying not to sound as desperate as a junkie looking for his next fix. “There's this amazing little café just down the street. Best cappuccinos in all of Italy, I swear. They lace 'em with fairy dust or something.”
Avery's fingers paused for a microsecond. Progress. Or maybe she was just imagining creative ways to dismember me. Hard to tell with her sometimes.
“I've got work to do, Brody,” she said, still not looking up, her eyes glued to that damn screen like it held the secrets of the universe. “Unlike some people, I can't sustain myself on likes and retweets.”
Ouch. Direct hit. I gritted my teeth, trying not to let her see how much that stung.
I leaned against the wall, trying to look casual and probably failing miserably.
The irony wasn't lost on me—I'd pulled the same cold act on her yesterday. But that had been different, right? A work thing. I was figuring things out.
Still, the memory of her hurt expression gnawed at my gut.
I shouldn't have let my foul mood spill over into our time together, shouldn't have treated her like she was just another problem to deal with.
And now? Now she was giving me a taste of my own medicine, and fuck me if it didn't sting like a bitch.
I took a breath. “Work can wait. We're in Italy, for fuck's sake. Land of pasta, pizza, and… uh, Pisa. You know, that tower that's been half-assing its job for centuries?”
That got me an eye roll. At least she was looking at me now, those gorgeous eyes briefly meeting mine before darting away. And was that the ghost of a smile I saw?
“Look,” I said, switching to my best puppy-dog eyes—the ones that usually made my grandma cave and give me an extra scoop of ice cream.
“One hour. Give me one hour of your time. If you hate it, I'll… I'll let you pick my next Instagram post.”
Avery's eyebrow shot up. “Any post I want?”
I gulped. “Within reason. No confessions about my secret midnight raids of the fridge or full-frontal nudity.”
A smile flickered across her face, like the first ray of sun after a rainstorm.
“But you have such good… assets under there,” she said, her eyes dancing with mischief. “I bet your followers would love to see what you're packing. And I'm not talking about your suitcase.”
I felt my face heat up, caught between embarrassment and a weird sense of pride. “Thanks, I think? But let's keep my 'assets' between us for now. So, cappuccino?”
Avery rolled her eyes, but her smile grew a little. “Fine. One hour. But this better be the best damn cappuccino I've ever had. I'm talking 'makes-me-forget-my-own-name' good.”
As we stepped out into the warm Italian morning, I couldn't help but feel a small victory. The air was thick with the scent of a thousand bakeries and blooming flowers, and somewhere in the distance, a church bell chimed.
I had to resist the urge to pull Avery close and bury my face in her hair, to breathe in her scent mixed with the intoxicating aroma of Italy.
“Here we are,” I said, pointing to a charming little café nestled between a gelato shop and a bookstore. The name 'Caffè Paradiso' was painted in elegant gold script above the door.
As we approached the café, I attempted to take her hand, craving some kind of connection. My fingers itched to feel her skin again, to claim her in some small way. But Avery subtly shifted away, clutching her laptop bag closer to her chest like it was a shield against me.
The rejection stung, but I masked my hurt with a forced smile as I held the door open for her.
Inside, Caffè Paradiso was like something ripped straight out of a postcard. Tiny marble-topped tables scattered around, the walls adorned with vintage posters of Italian film stars, all sultry eyes and pouty lips.
The smell of freshly ground coffee beans and warm pastries drifted over us. Behind the counter, a barista with an impressive mustache was working a gleaming espresso machine like it was an extension of his own body.
I picked up a menu, more for something to do with my hands than out of any real interest in the food options.
“So,” I began, attempting to bridge the growing chasm between us with all the finesse of a tipsy tightrope walker, “I was thinking about our next destination. There's this amazing waterfall about a hundred miles from here. Could make for some killer content.”
When she didn’t reply, I rambled on like an idiot. “You know, if you're into half-naked influencers pretending to commune with nature while secretly praying they don't get their asses handed to them by mosquitoes the size of chihuahuas.”
Avery's eyes flicked up from her laptop screen for a moment, her gaze about as warm as a polar bear's nutsack.
“Mm-hmm,” she murmured, her attention already drifting back to whatever the hell she was writing. Probably her debut book: “101 Ways to Ignore Your Travel Companion and Make Him Feel Like a Complete Douchebag.”
“Or,” I continued, undeterred and apparently a glutton for punishment, “there's a local festival happening in a nearby mountain village. Lots of traditional music, dancing, that kind of thing. Might be interesting to cover.”
This time, Avery didn't even look up. Her fingers flew across the keyboard like she was trying to set a world record for most disinterested typing.
“Sure, sounds fine,” she mumbled, with all the enthusiasm of someone agreeing to a three-hour timeshare presentation.
I sighed, running a hand through my hair, feeling like I was trying to have a conversation with a brick wall. A really hot brick wall that I desperately wanted to pin against the nearest flat surface and… no. Focus, dumbass.
The waitress approached, notepad in hand, and I ordered coffee for both of us, grateful for the momentary distraction.
As we waited for our drinks, I found myself thinking about Jason. My brother had always been so good at connecting with people, at breaking down barriers.
What would he do in this situation? Probably something smooth and effortless that would have Avery eating out of his hand in seconds.
The familiar pang of grief and guilt twisted in my chest. I pushed it away, focusing instead on the woman across from me, who was currently doing her best impression of a statue with a laptop.
The waitress returned with our coffees and took our breakfast orders. I watched as Avery eased her cup toward her, her eyes never leaving her laptop screen.
The distance between us felt big enough for its own zip code.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out to see a message from my manager.
“We need to get follower numbers back up. Maybe try juggling flaming torches while riding a unicycle? Just spitballing here. P.S. Your abs looked great in that last post. Keep it up, champ!”
I stared at the screen, the weight of conflicting pressures crushing me.
On one side, there was my public persona, the thrill-seeking influencer with a growing fan base and an increasingly ridiculous list of stunts to perform. The guy who was one shirtless selfie away from becoming a full-blown caricature.
On the other, there was… this. Whatever the fuck this was with Avery. The potential for genuine connection, for something real. Something that didn't involve hashtags or the constant fear of losing followers if I didn't post a pic of my abs every other goddamn day.
I shoved my phone away like it was a fucking landmine, choosing instead to make another attempt at conversation with the ice queen across from me.
“So, what are you working on?” I asked, genuinely curious about what had captured her attention so completely. Maybe she was crafting the world's longest “fuck off” reply or planning her grand escape from yours truly.
For a moment, Avery's eyes brightened as she looked at me, and I swear I saw a spark of the real her. It was like watching something rise from the dead, if that something was a gorgeous, infuriatingly distant woman with a talent for making me feel like I was invisible.
“I'm researching this local legend,” she said, her voice tinged with an edge of reluctant excitement. “There's this story about a ghost that's supposed to haunt the waterfall you mentioned. It's fascinating.”
Encouraged by her enthusiasm and the fact that she'd strung together more than two words, I leaned forward, nearly knocking over my coffee.
“That's awesome,” I said, grinning like an idiot. “Maybe we could incorporate that into our content somehow. Like, do a nighttime expedition, see if we can spot the ghost. I could bring my night vision goggles.”
But as quickly as it had appeared, Avery's excitement faded faster than my dignity after a tequila binge. Her expression became guarded again. She gave a noncommittal shrug that would make a surly teenager proud.
“Maybe. We'll see.”
Our food arrived, saving me from the awkward silence that threatened to swallow us whole. I stared at my plate, a big ol’ fuck you to my attempt at romantic endeavors.
The frittata looked about as appetizing as my current love life—a jumbled mess of eggs, vegetables, and cheese that seemed to mock my confusion. The cornetto beside it was flaky and golden, but right now it might as well have been cardboard for all I cared.
I pushed my food around my plate, my appetite shoved away by the growing knot in my stomach. This wasn't how I'd imagined our morning would go. Not even fucking close.
In my mind, there had been a lot more laughter, maybe some playful food-sharing, definitely some footsie under the table. Instead, I was sitting here wondering if I could drown myself in my coffee cup without attracting too much attention.
After breakfast, I excused myself to use the restroom, needing a moment to regroup and possibly bash my thick skull against the wall a few times.
Standing in front of the mirror, I took a deep breath, steeling myself. We couldn't go on like this. Whatever was bothering her, whatever had caused this sudden shift, we needed to talk about it. Even if it meant hearing that she regretted every moment of our time together and was planning to join a fucking convent.
As I was leaving the restroom, still practicing my “we need to talk” speech in my head, I noticed a small gift shop near the diner's entrance.
A display of cheesy souvenirs caught my eye—snow globes with badly painted waterfalls, keychains shaped like pasta, and t-shirts proclaiming “I went to Italy and all I got was this t-shirt.”
On impulse, I decided to buy something. Maybe a peace offering would help break the ice. Or at least give Avery something to throw at me when I inevitably said the wrong thing.
I returned to our table, hiding my purchase behind my back.
“Hey, Spark,” I said, praying I didn't sound as desperate as I felt. “Got something for you.”
Avery looked up, wary, like I'd just announced my intention to juggle knives while reciting Shakespeare. Those big, beautiful eyes of hers made my heart do a fucking somersault.
“What is it?” she asked, eyeing me like I might be concealing a live grenade behind my back.
With a flourish worthy of a discount magician at a kids' birthday party, I presented her with a snow globe featuring a miniature version of the local landscape as I grinned like an idiot.
“I figured we could capture our whirlwind trip in a bubble. You know, minus the muddy car and the argument about directions. And the part where you're currently treating me like I have a dick-rotting plague.”
I'd hoped for a smile, maybe even a laugh. Hell, I would've settled for an eye-roll at that point.
Instead, Avery's lips barely twitched, performing the world's tiniest impression of a smile.
“Thanks, Brody. That's… nice.” She took the snow globe with the enthusiasm of someone accepting a court summons, setting it aside without really looking at it.
My heart sank like the Titanic after its ill-fated kiss with the iceberg. This wasn't working. None of it was working.
“We should probably get going,” Avery said, already packing away her laptop with the speed and efficiency of someone dismantling a post-assassination rifle in a spy movie. “We've got a lot of ground to cover.”
Yeah, like the Grand Canyon-sized gap that echoed between us.
I nodded, my gut twisting like someone had reached in and wrung it out like a wet dishrag. We started gathering our stuff, and I reached for Avery's hand, desperate for some kind of connection—anything to anchor me in this shitstorm.
I could see something warring behind those eyes of hers—whatever this thing was between us fighting against… what? Fear? Doubt? The need to run? My throat got tight just watching her internal battle play out.
Then she snatched up her laptop bag and bolted, leaving my hand hanging there like a fucking idiot. The empty air where her fingers should have been felt colder than it had any right to.
I stood frozen, feeling like I'd just taken a fist to the solar plexus. The café's ambient music seemed to mock me—some Italian cover of a love song, because of fucking course it was.
My feet felt like lead as I dragged them toward the door, following her out onto the cobblestone street. Each step echoed with the weight of failure. Had I already lost her? Had everything we'd built over these past weeks just… evaporated overnight?
The morning sun caught her hair as she walked ahead of me, and my heart did this stupid little flip in my chest that I couldn't control. That's when it hit me, hard enough to stop me in my tracks.
Career be damned. Views be damned. All of it—the followers, the brand deals, the carefully curated image—none of it mattered as much as the woman walking away from me right now.
Because I was falling for her. Not the meticulously edited version of her I could post about. Not the stories she created for her articles. Just… her. The real her.
And I was falling so fucking hard it terrified me.
Harder than I'd ever fallen for anyone.
Shit. Give me sharks, give me heights, give me anything but this overwhelming, all-consuming need that felt like it was swallowing me whole.