AUBREY EXPECTED THE delicious Mr Malone to take her some place obvious, like the Pitti Palace or the Uffizi Gallery.
Or some hidden gem of a spot known only to the locals. Some place special to Dante, perhaps. For Sean Malone had a definite sense of a tragic poet about him. All dark hair raked by frustrated fingers, the constantly furrowed brow, the deep voice with that seriously sexy Italian accent as he said things such as “mi scusi” and “grazie” as they edged their way through summer crowds.
But the man seemed to be wandering, meandering nowhere in particular. Slowly. She tried clicking her fingers at his big beautiful dog in the hopes he’d speed things up. But alas, the velvety grey pup was clearly made for his ambling owner.
Was he trying to shake her off? It was a possibility.
Then again, she had tracked him down in the hopes of a little company to slow her down.
Yeah, right, her subconscious perked up, that’s why you tracked the hot man down.
And yet… More than that, Aubrey was anxious to do the things. To see the places. To experience every experience. To have at the world before…
Before she accidentally pinched herself and awoke from this fairy-tale dream.
Or before something bad happened. And the dream was taken away from her, yet again.
Not that she feared contracting another heart-harming virus. But she could get hit by a Vespa. Bitten by one of the zillion dogs that roamed the city. A piano might fall from the sky and land on her head!
If it happened, it happened. But she would not die knowing she hadn’t lived her life with every ounce of joy and fun and heart and purpose and communion she could. She was going to fill her life with wonder if it was the last thing she did.
“You okay?” Sean’s voice rumbled into her subconscious.
She came to from her macabre imaginings to find he’d slowed even more, and was looking at her a little askew. “Hmm?”
“You’re jumping from foot to foot. Need me to point you in the direction of a rest room?”
“What? Pfft. No! Where I work, I’m the only female in a place with unisex bathrooms. I have the bladder of an ox.”
A beat, then, “Do oxen have particularly good bladders?”
“I’ve no idea. Yes. Probably.” She nibbled at her lip, then thought to hell with it. “I know you have this austere aesthetic going on, but if this is your favourite thing to do in Florence you really are easily pleased.”
His hand played absently with his dog’s velvety grey ears; the eerily pale canine eyes looked at Aubrey in quiet expectation. The human eyes, on the other hand, those depths of the most stunning blue, watched her in a way that made her feel jittery. As if she were balanced on the edge of something. And could fall either way.
“I wasn’t aware I had an aesthetic,” he said, his voice like oil over gravel.
“Oh, you totally do. Don’t get me wrong, it’s fabulous. All hands off the merchandise. Dark and broody and spare.”
Something flashed behind those eyes. Though she had no idea if it was exasperation or a visual version of that same crackle and snap she’d felt when he’d slipped her backpack from her shoulder earlier. Like static electricity ramped up to eleven.
But then he ran a hand over his jaw and looked off into the middle distance. Elwood tugged on the lead and they started ambling once more.
A few steps later, a drip of sweat wriggled down Aubrey’s temple. She drew her tank top away from her belly and gave it a flap.
She’d always been on the smaller side. Her brothers joked they’d taken up all the hearty DNA and she’d got the leftovers. Until she’d fallen sick and those kinds of jokes had dried up overnight.
Back then, being small had led to her being famously cold at all times. When she was nine, she’d made them all sign a form promising that—when she died falling off the top of the Eiffel Tower or helicoptering over the Grand Canyon—they’d bury her with her socks on.
Now the sweat dripping down her back was just one thing to get used to in her new “normal”. As if she had to relearn herself even at a cellular level.
While Sean looked so cool, so crisp, as if he had his own personal air-conditioning unit under his clothes.
Not that there was spare room for such a thing. His polo shirt fitted just right. Snug around impressive biceps, kissing his wide pecs and flat belly every time Elwood yanked on the lead. Good dog. His jeans moulded to him as if they never wanted to let go.
“Aren’t you hot?” she asked, when she had to wipe sweat out of her eyes.
He looked at her as if he’d forgotten she was even there. Super. Brilliant plan, Aubs. This is going just beautifully.
“It’s summer. In Florence,” was his response.
“Is that a yes? You are hot?”
Say it.
“Yes, I’m hot.”
Aubrey held up her hand for a high five. “Gotta love a man with confidence.”
The look she received was a killer. Part warning, part glint of humour; as if he might finally crack a smile. Would there be dimples? Just one would be more than enough. Two and her ovaries would likely self-destruct.
Not that they were of any use to her otherwise these days.
At that, her heart clenched. Enough for her to wince.
She closed her eyes a moment and shook her head. Trying to shake off the memory of her doctor’s face as she’d delivered the news.
No. Not now. Distract! Look at all the pretty Florence. Look at the pretty man!
And so she looked. Distraction the key.
No dimples, but definitely eye creases. Meaning he must know how to smile. Unless he was a serial squinter.
Sweat trickled down the side of her face. Her palms burned. Her tongue felt parched. When she took a step the ground didn’t quite reach up to meet her.
Dammit.
She hated being forced to say, “I know we’ve been on a snail’s pace, but can we…can we pull up for a bit?”
“You okay?”
Chaperoning her because she’d tricked him into it was one thing. Having him look at her as if she were a delicate flower was quite another.
“You need to promise me something.”
A single eyebrow twitched. “What’s that?”
“No more asking if I’m okay.”
“Right.”
“It’s a pet peeve.” It really was. “I’m well aware I look part pixie, but rest assured I’m tougher than I look.”
“I have no doubt.” His mouth twisted one way, and then the other. “So, coming to me with the request to find someone to carry your bags—”
Hold the phone. Was that sarcasm? She felt the smile start in her belly, a warm hum before it hit her mouth. “Oh, shut up.”
He held up both hands in submission.
And she laughed. Actually laughed. For the beautiful broody man had snark.
“Come on,” he said, his voice deepening. “We’ll stop at the next café.”
He held out a hand.
Not for her to hold, she realised, when she went to take it, but to herd her ever forward.
She snapped her hand back into her side. “Sorry. I thought… But, no. I hardly know you! So that would be totally weird.”
He gave her one more look, measured, reckoning, as if he was not blinded by her sense of humour. As if he was, in fact, figuring her out far too quickly for comfort. Then he walked on.
And Aubrey followed. Her next breath out was a little shaky, and it had little to do with the heat. It was those eyes. Stunners, both. Beautiful even. A deep, mesmerising cerulean blue.
No, Le Mans Blue.
Pearlescent Le Mans Blue, no less.
Le Mans was an absolute classic colour when it came to vintage car paint. Favoured by sixties Chevy owners. Camaros and Corvettes. Elegant and timeless and sexy, it was a favourite for custom paint jobs at her family’s auto shop.
And pearlescent paint? Containing mica, a kind of powered crystal that reflected and refracted light, it created sparkle and shimmer, splitting into myriad rich colours depending on where you stood. It was her absolute favourite paint to work with, but super high-maintenance.
She risked a long glance. Took in his preppy hair, his short neat fingernails, the stubborn set to his chin. Yep. High maintenance for sure.
Used to being the boss man. To getting his way. Add deliberate. Not fanciful at all. And she was certain he’d be a right handful.
Why he’d agreed to let her follow him around she had no idea.
She could daydream it was because he’d developed an instant mad crush on her. Something along the lines of the floofy feeling she got every time he looked her way.
Wouldn’t that be fabulous? A Florentine Fling. Sounded like a cocktail. Or an Agatha Christine novel.
Following through would mean more time in doors, for one thing. Less hours spent walking the streets. Less time out in the heat of the day. Her mother would be delighted.
Laughter curdled in her belly at the thought of video-chatting with her folks. Hey, Mum! Dad! Meet Sean. He’s kept me strapped to my hotel bed for the last week!
Yeah—no. The occasional Proof of Life pic sent to their group chat of her smiling in front of some fabulous monument was more than enough. They needed the break from worrying about her as much as she needed her independence. Whether any of them were truly ready for it or not.
Pressure suddenly building behind her ribs, Aubrey stopped. Checked in with herself as she’d been taught. Hand over her heart, eyes closed.
Her heart was holding up fine. It was her head that needed sorting out.
She sat on what looked like a plinth meant to hold a pot plant. It could have been a thousand years old. She unhooked her backpack from her shoulder and let it slump to the cobbled ground beside her feet. “Where are we going, exactly?”
Sean’s gaze remained glued to her bag—as if it might be about to sprout a head—as he said, “Some place simple. If you’re looking for tourist traps, I can take you back to where we started. You’ll find some of the best leather and textiles in the city.”
“Nah. I’m not a ‘stuff’ kind of girl. Experiences. Textures. Tastes. Beauty. Art. Inspiration. Feelings—”
The more Sean’s face didn’t change, the deeper she went.
“I’m here to drench myself in intangibles till they are absorbed into my very skin. Add in the occasional nap, coffee, and time to sketch and I’m golden.”
By the end of her rant she was sure she spotted a flicker in those dashing blue depths. Some small measure of recognition at her mission statement. Or maybe he had a dog hair in his eye.
He did the whole looking-off-into-the-distance thing one more time—his hard jaw clenching, his nostrils flaring—then he seemed to come to some sort of conclusion. “Okay, then. Without in any way implying that you’re not one hundred per cent okay, if you can carry on another minute I can promise you all of the above. Then coffee.”
Aubrey hauled herself to her feet, ignored the way her brain seemed to take an extra beat to catch up, and said, “Done.”
He held out an elbow.
“Is that for me to take?” she asked. “After the hand-holding debacle I just want to make sure this time.”
This time she got a twitch of his lips for her efforts. At this rate, she’d crack a smile from him in no time.
“Are you always so forthright?” he asked, the oil over gravel back in his voice.
“I’m a Leo,” she said. “Your elbow?”
Sean reached out, took her hand and slipped it into the nook.
It fitted there like a glove. As if it had been made to live in that exact groove. Or maybe that was wishful thinking, because he was so nice to hold. Built like an championship diver who smelled like cinnamon and wood shavings. Big too. Big enough she felt as if, under his shelter, she could poke her tongue out at any passers-by and they’d not do a thing.
Not that she would poke out her tongue. She was a grown woman living in the twenty-first century.
Because of that she could take on the world, all on her own, just fine.
So why aren’t you? her subconscious chimed in.
Because while she’d spent the past two years vibrating with the need to reassert her independence, she also didn’t want to do anything that might cut her trip short and send her home too soon. Before she had had some idea of what that life back home might look like now that all her original dreams were no longer hers to dream.
If a handsome Aussie wood-wrangler was the fulcrum between both those needs, then so be it.
“So, I’m trying to think how I might repay you for your kindness. I’d offer to show you around Sydney whenever I get back there, but that’s a tad moot, considering your accent. Where in Australia are you from?”
A muscle jerked in his cheek. His jaw clamped so tight he could be mistaken for sudden onset rigor mortis. “Melbourne.”
“I’m sorry.”
He lifted his voice. “I said, Melbourne.”
“No, I heard you. I’m just sorry.”
That made an impact. His face registered actual surprise. Maybe even a little amusement! Aubrey actually loved Melbourne. What she didn’t like was feeling as if she were banging her head against a wall.
“So, that’s how it’s going to be?” he asked, his voice dropping. The deep tang of it creating goosebumps all over her arms.
She nodded. “Sydney is the pre-eminent Australian city. Better weather. More landmarks. And the Harbour. I mean, that’s where I drop my mike.”
“Pick it up. There’s not a city in the world that beats Melbourne for the mix of culture, sport, food, architecture, design—”
“Then why are you here?”
A shadow descended, as if a dragon had flown low overhead. Before he had the chance to lean into it, she changed the subject. Closing her eyes tight, she begged, “Please tell me the one thing you want to show me before we find coffee is a copious amount of pizza—”
Sean pulled to a stop. “Open your eyes, da Vinci.”
So she did.
To find they had stopped at the end of a cobbled lane. The small thoroughfare opened up to the edge of a huge market. Foods, textiles, trinkets. Hustle and bustle. Noise and energy and commerce.
But she saw all that out of the corner of her eye as Sean had propped her in front of a column at the corner of the square in which a three-foot-high sculpture of a man—biblical, in a loin cloth—resided. Carved into a squared-out alcove in the stone.
Come at it from any other direction and you’d miss it.
And it was glorious. It was everything she had asked for. The movement, the execution, the torment in the twist of his body, the agony of his face.
She took a step closer, her hand sliding out of the protection of Sean’s arm. Blackened in the creases, nose and toes worn away, it must have been there for centuries.
“Touch it,” said Sean. “I know you want to.”
Aubrey laughed. Then laughed some more. “Saucy.”
Sean smiled. For a split second. No teeth, but eye creases galore, and, oh, my God, a dimple. Just the one. And it was perfect.
As if he hadn’t seen it coming, as if he would have stopped it if he had, Sean pulled himself together. But not before a seriously adorable flush grazed his cheeks.
“Don’t get distracted,” he grumbled. “You wanted to absorb, so absorb.”
Aubrey was absorbing, only the statue was not her subject. She could happily have been distracted by Sean Malone’s face all day long. To say he was sketchable was an understatement. Those cheekbones. The depths of his eyes.
When he tilted his head, his eyes widening, his expression increasingly exasperated, she flapped a hand at him. “Fine…fine.” And turned back to the statue.
No velvet ropes here. No signs telling her what she wasn’t allowed to do. She moved in, reached up and placed a hand over the statue’s foot.
Closing her eyes, she committed to memory the cool of the stone. The mix of rough and smooth. The bumps where the chisel had slipped. The chips that time, and weather, and human interaction had worn away.
It could have been seconds or minutes later when she lifted her hand and opened her eyes.
Around them people milled. Talked. Haggled. Ate. Bought bags, belts, single red roses, soaps in the shape of the pope.
She felt Sean move up beside her.
“That,” she said, her voice more than a little rough, “was pure magic. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” A beat went by before he added, “I make wood furniture. Chairs, tables.”
“I know,” Aubrey said. “I cyber stalked you, remember?”
“So you did,” he drawled, his voice a rough burr. “I endeavour to make pieces that are both beautiful and comfortable. Solid, artfully crafted, using old, trusted techniques. Pieces that will last. But they have nothing on the carvings you’ll find scattered in such inauspicious places all over this city. Picture frames leaning outside shops. Frescos tucked into sconces in the walls. The durability is astounding. The accessibility astonishes. Exquisiteness is so interwoven into this place it’s easy to miss it. So I made it my mission to see it.”
It was more words than she’d have thought he had in him. And she knew she’d never forget a one.
“Pizza?” he said, and all she could do was nod.
* * *
Aubrey held the door open for the little old man with the walking stick she’d befriended while looking over the menu outside the pizzeria.
“Grazie,” he said.
“Prego,” she returned, holding the door a little longer when her waiter appeared holding her pizza. Well, hers and Sean’s, but she’d have no compunction fighting for the last piece.
She followed the pizza with her nose, taking in the thick airy crust. The sauce a gorgeous oily red, big juicy basil leaves scattered atop. It was so fresh out of the pizza oven, the mozzarella still bubbled.
When she sat Sean held up the pizza cutter, his eyes asking if she was all right with him making the cut. She nodded, too busy holding back the drool till he passed her a slice.
Holding it in two hands, she bit down. “Oh, my God,” she managed through a mouthful of crispy slippery goodness, “this is so good.”
They didn’t speak again, not till the pizza was nothing but crumbs and they were both sitting back, hands on bellies, enjoying espressos.
Elwood—curled up in a ball at Aubrey’s feet—made a loud harumph.
“One thing I’ve noticed in my day and a half here,” said Aubrey, “is the number of dogs.”
“Late twenties, the Florentine government made it legal for dogs to accompany their owner pretty much everywhere. Only place they’re not allowed is the Teatro del Maggio Musicale—the Florence Opera House.”
“Hope Elwood’s not a big fan of Puccini.”
“All good. He’s more a metal fan.”
Aubrey grinned. Sean frowned, as if disappointed in himself for having made a joke. And her heart kerplunked dramatically inside her chest cavity.
She mentally told her heart to pull its head in.
The man sitting across from her—supremely gorgeous and broody and self-aware as he was—was not to be her test case.
He was Australian. He was here. He actively tried to help her keep her bag closed, meaning he was not about to rob her. He was nice to look at. They were the reasons she’d roped him in to help her out.
She had no intention of letting her crush get away from her.
Her heart was…untried in its current state. It had been through the wringer the past couple of years. The virus had brought about a barrage of damage. It had stopped more than once. It had been on a pacemaker. And she still took meds to keep her arteries nice and open.
Even if she told her family she was good as gold, even while her doctors had signed off on her trip, no one could tell her how much longer it would take to heal, if at all.
Meaning she had to check in, to listen to her body, to trust her instincts. Her instincts said, when it came to Sean Malone, she had to be hands off.
Which shouldn’t be a problem as he clearly had no clue what to do with her.
Sure, there was something there. For both of them. A lovely kind of sizzle, purring away deep below the surface. So long as they both refused to act on it, the friction would keep things kinetic. Unstable. No chance they’d be on the same beat, the same breath, and their nascent friendship—yes, friendship—could simply kick on.
“You done?” asked Sean.
See. To the point. No room for misunderstandings. She liked that.
“Yes, Malone. I am most certainly done.”
Sean wiped the napkin across his mouth. Aubrey didn’t stare at his lips as they curved up at the edges. Or the moons that creased his cheeks, more evidence he did, in fact, know how to smile.
Nope. She stood and grabbed her backpack and definitely didn’t stare.
As he pressed back his chair, and uncurled his big frame to standing, Sean’s forehead creased into perfect horizontal lines as he gave her a look. “What?”
“What, what?”
“I can feel you thinking. Why do I feel like I need to brace myself?”
“What? No! I was just thinking how we are, in fact, most definitely, friends.”
Something flashed, dark and mysterious, behind his deep blue eyes. “Friends.”
“Yep. We’re beyond acquaintances, certainly. Elwood took care of that when he sniffed me in the you know what.”
Elwood gave her a look, his tongue lolling lazily out of the side of his mouth. She rubbed him behind the ears. Good boy. An ally after all.
With a wave towards the guys behind the pizza counter as he ushered her around the tables and out into the street, Sean said, “I’ve seen the way you make friends, picking them up like found pennies everywhere you go.”
“I do not. I’m very discerning.”
She was! She got along with most anyone. She loved hearing people’s stories. It had been her way of living vicarious adventures when she’d not been able to afford her own.
But friends? With three big brothers, and working in the automotive industry, most of her acquaintances were male. In fact, nowadays, especially since she’d spent so much time in recovery, Daisy and Jessica were pretty much it when it came to friends she’d class as truly close. Did it help that one split her time between Canada and New York, while the other was British and constantly on tour? What did it say about her if it did?
“Right,” said Sean. “The security guard at the museum yesterday.”
“Well, I mean, he looked awfully bored. It was only right to try to add a little sparkle to his day.”
“The South African couple yesterday. And the waiter. The little old man you helped through the door just before we ate. What do you know about him?”
Aubrey pressed her lips together. “Fine. He’s ninety-six, single and has never left Florence. Not once! I’m interested in people. In their stories. In what we, as global citizens, have in common. Aren’t you?”
If she could also use her time here to survey as many people as possible in order to find out what made them happy, as she set about figuring out her new normal for when she went back to real life, then so be it!
She felt a small tug, as Sean’s hand gripped her backpack, stopping her from stepping out as a family of cyclists zoomed past the pizzeria. She stumbled till her back met his front. A wall of warmth. Of strength. Of Sean.
“Not really. No,” he said, his voice close. Close enough a wash of warm air brushed the back of her neck. “I can happily go days without seeing a single person. Just me and Elwood, good coffee and a roof over our heads. That’s my bliss.”
Aubrey shot him a look over her shoulder to find he was even closer than she’d imagined. Close enough to see the streaks of chestnut in his dark hair. The unreal clarity of his eyes. The way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed.
“I admit the don’t-feed-the-bear vibe is a huge part of your appeal,” she said, her voice gravelly and not even close to friendly. “And yet… Why do I not believe you?”
Sean’s gaze travelled slowly over her face. The touch of his eyes set off spot fires in the strangest places: behind her ears, the backs of her knees, under the balls of her feet. When his eyes once again met hers, the pupils were inky black.
His voice was a burr, scraping against her insides, as he said, “You don’t know me, Aubrey. What you choose to believe, or not believe, doesn’t affect that. If that fits within the bounds of what you consider a friend, then sure, we’re friends.”
Knocked a little off her game by the veracity in his eyes, Aubrey rolled her shoulder and Sean let her backpack go.
She moved out into the sunshine. Into the waft and sway of tourists and locals mixing and mingling in the square.
She tried to soak up that energy; that melting pot of joy, of vitality, of life was her bliss. But instead she found herself in a tunnel. Every part of her focussed on the quixotic man, the beautiful puzzle, behind her.
She turned to face him, right as he reached out, his finger sliding beneath the strap of her backpack, lifting it to untwist it and lay it flat. His fingernail scraping over her shoulder as he pulled away.
It was an intimate move, over the hill and far away from merely friendly. In fact, if he was a fraction less the determined isolationist, the deliberate pushing of her buttons when it came to her choice of bag would have felt a hell of a lot like a dare.
“Happy now?” she asked, keeping her chin high.
“Marginally. Though I’d be happier if you weren’t wearing it at all.”
“Saucy,” she said, and this time the look he shot her was less surprised. More cautionary. A warning that she was playing with fire.
Thing was, Leos loved fire.
Maybe Sean was right about one thing. Maybe they weren’t friends. Maybe friendship was a little too simplistic for their unique and nimble dynamic.
Maybe they were flint and stone. A spark in the night.
Maybe a Florentine Fling wasn’t such a silly idea.
A one-night stand. Maybe three. Plenty to see in Florence, and she wasn’t in any real rush to move on imminently. She had bottomless funds, enough to keep travelling till the end of time if that was her desire.
And it had been a while since she’d…you know. Before she fell sick, as a matter of fact. No wonder she was feeling so frisky. Out in the world, having handsome Sean fall into her lap.
Surely it would be like riding a bike. So to speak. A big bold way to shed the old her and step into the new. Physically. Mentally. No need for her healing heart to come into it at all.
Sean’s phone rang with the famously moody opening strains of “Nessun Dorma”. Elwood might like metal, but Sean was an opera man. Seriously. Could he be any cuter?
He excused himself before checking the caller ID and answering with a brisk, “What’s up?” Then his face came over all frowny; the horizontal lines in his forehead deepening. “Right. No. Of course. I’m on my way.” After which he hung up.
For all his lone-wolf, Elwood-and-me-against-the-world vibe, turned out he had people after all.
Though when he stared at his phone, the background was black, bar a clock. No social apps. No goofy picture. Hers had a photo of her and all her nieces and nephews. What looked like a dozen of them in various stages of panic, tears or tantrum as her family tried to get them all in one shot.
She felt a pang at their distance, the little ones in her life. Scrumptious little bundles that they were. And now that the chances of her having her own family were dust, her role as Auntie Aubrey was an even bigger deal. But she wasn’t much use to them until she felt useful to herself.
Travel. Experience. Knowledge. Information. The space to build herself some new foundations. To push outside her comfort zone, as it was no longer a place she belonged.
“Malone?” she said, thinking friends, not flings. She’d never had a friend she also had a little crush on. But this adventure was all about new experiences, right?
“Sorry,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I have to cut our tour short.”
“Problem?”
“Work. I have to go to work. I have my car today, parked in a garage near the shop. I’ll drop you back at your hotel on the way.”
“Cool. Except you work for yourself though, right? I mean, you’re the big boss.”
He shot her a look.
“So no one would have a problem if you brought a friend along.”
He opened his mouth. Shut it. He was a man of few words, but still she quite liked that she’d rendered him speechless.
“Excellent,” she said, rocking up onto her toes. “I get to see what the great and wondrous Sean Malone does when he’s not playing tour guide. Besides, I’m excellent in a crisis. I might even be of use.”