Chapter 26 Hannah
After lunch, Olivia and I take a leisurely walk, stumbling upon the base of the Scala Fenica—a.k.a. the Phoenician Steps. While eavesdropping on an English-speaking tour guide, we learn that the stone staircase was constructed by the ancient Greeks between the seventh and sixth centuries b.c.—and that it was the only pathway up to Anacapri until a road was built in the late nineteenth century. The guide goes on to explain that before that time, residents had to collect fresh drinking water from a spring in Marina Grande, then carry it up all 921 stairs.
“Shall we?” Olivia says, shielding her eyes from the sun and gesturing up the stairs.
“Climb a thousand steps?” I ask her—which is my way of saying, no, we shan’t.
“Not a thousand. Only nine hundred and twenty-one!”
“Well, in that case, what are we waiting for?” I laugh. “Let’s do it.”
She smiles, turns, and starts climbing.
The first thirty or so steps are shallow, and I trail behind her, admiring her well-defined calf muscles. The stairs become steeper as we go, and within a couple of minutes, I feel like I’m doing the StairMaster on the highest level and my thighs and lungs start to burn.
Meanwhile, Olivia bounds effortlessly up the steps while still chatting. By the time we reach the top of the staircase, I’m drenched with sweat and panting.
As I slowly catch my breath, Olivia leads us to a spot of shade and pulls a water bottle out of the side pocket of her backpack, offering me the first drink. I take a few swallows, then hand it back to her.
“You’re in unbelievable shape,” I say.
“Thanks. You’re pretty fit yourself.” She smiles.
I smile back at her, feeling grateful that I recently added more cardio to my yoga-heavy exercise regimen, even though my effort was more about looking good in my wedding dress than about my health.
We walk toward the heart of Anacapri, stopping when we get to a piazza with a gorgeous old church called the Chapel San Michele. The architecture is beautiful, and we take a quick peek into the nave, admiring the exquisite ceramic floor. In the center is an angel with a flaming sword and what appears to be Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden.
Olivia points to a serpent wrapped around the trunk of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil and says, “Yikes. I guess that’s the devil.”
“God, I hate snakes,” I say.
“Yeah. This place kind of gives me the creeps,” she says, backing her way toward the door.
I follow her outside, and we take a moment to study a map of Capri.
“What do you say we hike the Sentiero dei Fortini?”
“What’s that?” I ask, more than a little worried about Olivia’s notion of a “hike.”
“It means the Path of the Forts. It’s a trail along the coast,” she says.
“How hard is it?…I mean—for someone who isn’t a professional athlete?”
“It doesn’t look difficult at all. And it’s short,” she says. “Looks like three miles from start to finish, but we can pick up the trail somewhere in the middle.”
I nod, knowing that distances can be deceiving when you’re talking about rough terrain. As I make a quick search on my phone, a boldface warning jumps out at me: This is a rigorous hike with many twists, turns, and sheer drops to the sea.
Once again, I tell myself I can do it—and that I’m a lot tougher than I thought.
“Sure,” I say. “Sounds fun.”
A few minutes later, we board a bus in downtown Anacapri, headed toward the coast. I check my phone, surprised but also relieved that I’ve yet to hear from Lainey or Tyson. After a short ride, we hop off, making our way down to one of four forts. We peruse the placards, learning that they were originally built to defend Anacapri from the Saracen pirates and were later occupied by the British and French. We take a few minutes to explore, then proceed along the wooded trail. Over the next hour, we pass the three other forts, while taking in gorgeous views of the coastline, cliffs, and various little coves.
It’s all very pleasant until the trail suddenly narrows, quickly gaining elevation. The result is steep drop-offs and dizzying views to the water below. Even worse, there are no guardrails at this point. I try not to look down, my stomach twisting in knots.
“Hold on one second,” I call out to Olivia, my voice as shaky as my knees.
She turns and says, “Uh-oh. Are you afraid of heights?”
I nod, taking a deep breath but otherwise feeling frozen.
“Hold on. Stay there,” she says.
She retraces her steps and extends her arm, reaching for my hand. As Olivia’s fingers wrap firmly around mine and she uses her body to shield me from the view, the gesture feels oddly chivalrous. Can chivalry be platonic? I wonder. I decide that it can—and in this instance it is.
Still, as she grips my hand more tightly, pausing every few seconds to ask if I’m okay, I feel flustered and confused. Not about Olivia’s intentions—but about my own feelings. It’s almost as if I have a crush on her. I tell myself that’s impossible. I’m straight, and I’ve never been attracted to a woman. Any feeling I have about Olivia holding my hand surely stems from friendship, security, and the warmth of human touch—no different than how I felt when Lainey held my hand on the way to dinner the other night. But somehow, it is different, and it suddenly crosses my mind that maybe Lainey’s belief in a sexuality continuum is right—and that maybe I’m not where I thought I was on that spectrum. It’s a scary but exhilarating thought that feels amplified by my fear of heights.
A few seconds later, the sheer drop-off disappears and the trail widens. I breathe a sigh of relief, but still feel disappointed as Oliviafinally relinquishes my hand. We stop to lean on a split-rail fence doubling as a guardrail and admire the most incredible view below.
The sun is a bright ball of fire, lowering toward the horizon, turning the sky and water a thousand shades of pink and orange. Ahandsome red-striped lighthouse looms over the rocky beach below.
“Damn. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a sky this gorgeous,” Olivia says in her raspy voice.
“Me either,” I say. “It looks like a watercolor painting.”
“A painting that changes every second.”
We enjoy the view for a few more minutes before I start to worry about Lainey. Surely she and Tyson are wondering where I am. I pull my phone out, checking my texts. Olivia must know what I’m doing because she says, “Have you heard from her?”
I exhale, then say, “She just texted.”
“What did she say?”
I read Lainey’s text aloud: Hey! Hope you’ve had a nice afternoon! I assume you’re with Archie?? How’s it going? What’s your dinner plan? Do you want to meet up with Tyson and me or are you guys doing your own thing? We are flexible and cool either way. Hope you’re having fun!
Olivia bites her lip, staring at me.
“What should I tell her? Should we head back now?” I ask her.
“I guess we should,” she says, looking a little reluctant. “But if we go now, we’ll miss the sunset.”
“Good point,” I say.
I hesitate, then text Lainey back, avoiding any mention of Archie. Went for a hike. You would have hated it. About to watch the sunset—so y’all should go to dinner without me. Let me know where you’ll be! XX
As the sun slips lower in the sky, Olivia and I end up at a little beach bar called Maliblù. A violinist is serenading the crowd. His sound is unique to me—more pop than classical—but Olivia seems to know all about the genre.
“You’ve heard of Lindsey Stirling, right?” she asks, as we sit shoulder to shoulder with a view of the water.
I shake my head. Olivia explains that Lindsey is a YouTuber who came to fame on America’s Got Talent. “She plays the violin, fusing classical, rock, hip-hop, and dubstep.”
“What’s dubstep?” I ask, noting that Olivia is one of those cool girls who doesn’t try to be cool—or make you feel dumb because you’re not cool.
“It’s a kind of electronic dance music that blends two-step rhythms and dub productions with other elements,” Olivia says, her face getting more animated by the second. “It originated in South London as a garage band offshoot.”
I nod, even though she might as well be speaking Italian.
“So is this guy any good?” I ask her.
“I think he’s good, but art is subjective,” she says. “What do you think?”
I listen intently for a few seconds, then shake my head. “I can’t tell.”
“You can’t tell if you like it?” She smiles.
“Oh,” I say, nodding. “If that’s what you mean, then yes, it’s catchy and…happy.”
“Then we agree. He’s good,” Olivia says, her smile widening.
A second later, a waitress comes to take our order.
Olivia gestures for me to go first.
“Un limoncello, per favore,” I say.
“Fanne due,” she says, holding up two fingers. “E possiamo avere i calamari, per favore?”
“Assolutamente,” the waitress says, turning back toward the bar.
“Wait,” I say. “Did you just order a limoncello and calamari?”
“I did! Nice translation,” she says, giving me a fist bump.
Her smile fades as she looks into my eyes.
“Are you worried about Lainey?” I ask.
Olivia shakes her head. “No. I’m not really thinking about Lainey right now.”
My heart skips a beat. “What are you thinking about?” I ask her.
“I’m thinking that I like you,” she says, angling her shoulders toward mine and holding my gaze.
“Oh,” I say, feeling a small rush. “I like you, too.”
“I like you, and I admire you,” Olivia says.
“You do?” I say.
“Yes. Very much.”
“Why do you admire me?” I ask. I’m not being self-deprecating—at least I’m not trying to be—but I really can’t imagine why she’d say such a thing.
Olivia swallows, her eyes locking in on me. “Well, let’s see…. I admire you for caring about Lainey so much that you flew down to Texas and walked into Ashley’s living room with her…. I admire you for reaching out to me. I admire you for coming to Italy when you could be curled up in a ball in Atlanta, feeling sorry for yourself…. Or worse, going through with the wedding…”
“Wow,” I say, feeling touched. “Thank you, Olivia. That’s really nice of you.”
“It’s just the truth. You’re a badass,” she says, smiling.
I smile back at her, my whole body feeling warm.
“Can I ask you a question?” she says.
I nod, getting butterflies in my stomach.
She takes a deep breath, then slowly exhales, looking as nervous as I’m suddenly feeling.
“I was just wondering,” she says. “Have you ever kissed a girl?”
I let out a nervous laugh, then say no.
With the smallest smile, she stares into my eyes, then says, “Have you ever wanted to kiss a girl?”
“You mean…before now?” I ask, my heart racing.
It is by far the boldest thing to ever come out of my mouth, and I watch as Olivia’s smile spreads across her face.
“Yeah,” she says, nodding. “Have you ever wanted to before now?”
“Not before now, no,” I say, shaking my head.
“And how about now?” she whispers, leaning in so close that I can feel her breath on my face.
My eyes flutter shut. I know what’s about to happen, but I’m still blown away as I feel Olivia’s lips grazing mine. They are the softest, sweetest lips I’ve ever felt. For several seconds, I am frozen. Then I kiss her back, finally answering her question.