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Samantha jerked her sketchbook in surprise when a hand was waved in front of her vision. Edo had returned already? Surely it hadn't been that long. She glanced up to see him smiling at her, a genuine smile that made him even more attractive than usual.
“It can't be lunch already,” she said, closing her sketchbook.
“If I told you your stomach just rumbled and you didn't even notice, would you believe me?”
Samantha shifted and groaned, her body informing her that she really had been sitting here that long. “How was your friend?”
Edo shrugged noncommittally. “How was your sketching?”
She flipped through the pages to show him the details she’d captured. She was not the best pencil sketch artist ever, but he still whistled, apparently impressed.
“You've been busy. How about some food?”
Samantha nodded and reached for her backpack, but Edo put a hand on her arm to stop her.
“I'm not going to eat your packed lunch, am I? Not on my second day back in Italy.”
Samantha hesitated; she hadn't planned on feeding him, and had only packed enough for herself. “You can go—”
He cut her off. “We can go,” he corrected, helping her stand, “to a great, inexpensive place just a few blocks away.”
She was torn. She would love to try the food here—Maria's food last night had been the best she'd had in her life—but she had a good enough meal in her bag, and no reason to waste it. Plus, it would be better to save her money for the end of the trip in case of emergencies.
As if reading the indecision on her face, he took her backpack from her. “My treat.”
She took a step back in surprise. Was he asking her to lunch? No. He was just being a gracious host—her research had said that many Italians were extremely gracious hosts, so she hadn't been too surprised when Maria had offered to share their dinner. But it seemed a little out of character for Edo, as he’d not seemed very friendly the day before. Maybe he had just been jetlagged.
He took a step and gestured with his head for her to come. “If I offer dessert too, will that be enough?”
Embarrassed, she hurried after him. “That's not necessary, and I can pay for myself.”
“No, I've just figured out how to motivate you, and how to draw you away from your statues. I have all the power now.” He held her backpack out as if using it to lure her away. She grabbed at it, but he whisked it out of her reach. “Come along, little art student, Italy has more to offer than just statues.”
For a dizzying, heart-pounding instant, Samantha wished Italy did have more to offer for her—maybe something with laughing eyes and a deep voice and nice jawline—but that was ridiculous. She shrugged off the thought as she chased Edo the next two blocks to the little restaurant he had promised.
#
EDO LOOKED ACROSS THE table at Samantha. He’d invited her to lunch on a whim, but now he wasn't sure what he'd gotten himself into. This was the closest he'd come to a date in... Well, he had spent most of the last few years working on his career, not his love life. He hadn't intended to ask Samantha as a date, but sitting across from a beautiful woman was bound to feel like one.
He had brought her to a pizza shop, a good one, whose owner came from Napoli. She hadn't mentioned if she had planned to tour any of the rest of the country or if she was staying at Il Castello Mio her entire trip, but if she never made it down south, she needed to at least have good pizza.
“Any recommendations?”
Edo eyed the menu. “Depends on what you like.” He looked back up at her. “Are you an everything sort of girl? Or a stick to the basics?”
She half smiled. “I don't know.”
“Then... I don't know what to recommend.”
The waiter came to take their order, and Edo ordered his favorite—arugula and prosciutto. Samantha smiled up at the waiter. “I'll have the Margherita.” She’d picked the cheapest item on the menu—he ought to have known.
“Give it to her with mozzarella di bufala,” he instructed.
“Mozzarella di bufala?” she asked. “What's bufala?”
“Buffalo,” he explained. “It's an Italian thing; it's better than regular mozzarella.”
She found it on the menu, and her lips tightened. “And more expensive.”
“Barely.”
“By almost double.”
Why was she so stressed about it—it wasn't even her money. Couldn't she let him do something nice? “Four euros is not a big deal.” Thankfully she let it drop. Really, though, was her money situation that tight, that she'd be that worried about four euros? Or did she not like him paying for her? “So, what do you do? Back in the states, I mean.”
She fiddled with her napkin and didn't really look at him. “I was an art student.”
“So, you just graduated? Is this your graduation present?”
Her smile twisted wryly. “No, I dropped out a couple years ago.”
So, she hadn't been an art student for some time, but she still identified as that. “What have you been doing since?”
“Taking care of my grandmother.”
As open as she'd been about other things, she was certainly not forthcoming now. He could tell she didn't want to talk about this. “So, how is Firenze living up to your expectations?”
At this, her face lit up. “It's all my years of dreaming combined with magic and a little bit of Christmas.”
“You say that, and yet you’ve hardly even seen any of it. You’ve only seen a couple statues and the outside of the church.”
“But can't you feel it? It's in the air. And in the smells, and in every stone.”
“You like stones, don't you?” She looked confused, so Edo continued, “I saw you looking at the stonework back at the Castello, too.”
“It's part of the magic here,” she said, her eyes going wide again as the waiter appeared with their pizzas. She leaned over her pizza and took a deep breath. Her eyes rolled back in sheer pleasure, and she hadn't even tasted it yet.
“I guess I'm immune to some of that magic since I grew up here. This, though,” he said, gesturing at the pizza, “is something I can never grow immune to.”
She cast him a look so pitying that he couldn't help laughing. “How can you become immune to a place so incredible?”
Edo shrugged around a mouthful of pizza. “If you lived here, you'd eventually grow immune as well.”
“Never.” Her tone had a note of finality that almost made Edo believe her.
They finished their food and headed back outside, Samantha carrying her backpack this time. “What will you do with your afternoon?” she asked.
“What are you going to do with yours?”
Samantha smiled. “I told you I was going to study statues all day.”
“You’re serious? That's all you're going to do today?”
“Just because you don't understand it doesn't mean you can't accept it.”
She was dedicated. Edo had a feeling she hadn't dropped out of art school voluntarily. “All right,” he said, “but tomorrow you have to let me show you something else, or my mother will never let me rest.”
At the reminder that he was being required to babysit her, Samantha dimmed a little. “You really don't have to come with me tomorrow; I know the way now.”
Edo had spent the morning considering, and had come to some conclusions. “I'd actually prefer you let me use you as an excuse for a few days, or else my father will make me spend all my time on home repairs and updating the website.”
Samantha looked relieved. “I'm doing you a favor then?” she asked with a conspiratorial wink.
“Absolutely.”
“Okay. You can pick where we go tomorrow. But I get the rest of today for my sculptures.”
That was settled then. Edo just had to find something to do for the next four hours. And figure out what he was going to do with Samantha the next day.