Chapter Twenty-Two

www.flavorsofthemonth.bloggerific.com

Ciao, friends! I am writing this month’s only blog post from the airport on my way to Italy, where I fully intend to unplug, relax, and explore with this month’s flavor. The flavor you all get to experience this month will be a mint chocolate chip gelato because it’s my all-time favorite flavor, but with an Italian twist.

I want to thank all of you who have stayed loyal to our stores and, by extension, me through all this craziness. I am sure the protests will die down soon, especially as it heats up back home. I can’t imagine anyone being angry enough with me that they’d be willing to spend hours outside when it’s 110 degrees and there’s delicious ice cream just feet away. I hope not, anyway. Our speed-dating events this month will take place at different locations, just in case, but we’ll have plenty of delicious, Sinfully Good ice cream on hand for you to enjoy with your new potential dates. Until next month, arrivederci!

February 5

I AM AUDREY Hepburn in Roman Holiday. People are staring at me as we exit the plane in Rome because the resemblance is so uncanny. I may not resemble her physically, but it’s the grace I carry myself with that has them hypnotized. I can just feel it. Sure, I’ve been on a plane for nine hours and I dozed for a bit, but the excitement of this trip and sharing it with Carter has me feeling like a new woman, who is not at all jet-lagged. I am rolling this suitcase like a movie star and deftly pull it onto this escalator with me so I can look out over the lower concourse and smile demurely at the throngs of people who have turned to look at me, Audrey 2.0.

Except, wait a minute. What are those posts at the bottom of this escalator doing there? Was that sign with a picture of luggage on the escalator with a big X and something written in Italian more than just a suggestion? What the fuck do I do now? I’m going to run into those posts and this thing isn’t stopping and—

“Ack, shit, oof!” I exclaim, lifting my carry-on suitcase over the posts at the last second and nearly falling over as I scoot my body between them. I turn to see Carter easily turning his suitcase sideways and walking like a normal person between the posts, leaving plenty of time for the people behind him to do the same.

“I, uh, thought my bag wouldn’t fit and panicked,” I say, lamely.

“Yes, I see that,” says Carter, not even trying to hide his laughter. “You all right now?”

“Who, me?” I say with mock confidence. “I’m Audrey Hepburn, baby.”

“Guess that makes me Gregory Peck?” He gives me a proud smile. I made Carter watch Roman Holiday years ago and I am thrilled to hear he remembers it.

“Indeed, it does.” I lean forward to give him a quick kiss. I’d kiss him longer, but we did a fair amount of that on the plane ride and there are still a few onlookers after the ruckus I made getting off the escalator. My cheeks blush as my brain flashes a few images from our journey, and I get the feeling Carter is on the same wavelength as I catch a sheepish smile.

It’s not like we joined the mile high club or anything, although I was totally down for that. I’ve really missed Carter, so even if the plane had been bound for Des Moines (apologies to Iowa, but it ain’t Italy), I’d have been about ready to jump his bones midair. But combine the whole absence-makes-the-heart-grow-hornier feeling and the prospect of Tuscany on the horizon?

“Meet me in the bathroom,” I had said, in between passionate kisses in our seats.

“Uh, we haven’t taken off yet,” Carter had reminded me, laughing. “And I think we’re going to have another person sitting here soon who probably won’t appreciate our current situation.”

Sure enough, a friendly, middle-aged woman sat down in the aisle seat next to me and began politely inquiring about our trip. She truly could not have been nicer, but I have little patience for cock blockers. Luckily, she fell asleep somewhere over the Atlantic, at which time I happily resumed making out with Carter, but we couldn’t get nearly as freaky as I’d have liked in such a small space.

And thus, my head is spinning not only with exhaustion as we make our way through the airport, but also the intense desire to pull Carter into a family-size bathroom and rip his clothes off. He sees me eyeing one as we pass and gives me a “don’t even think about it” look before I can say anything.

“Trust me,” he says. “You’re going to be happy we waited when you see where we are headed.”

“Are we staying the night in Rome?” I ask, flushing with excitement of the tourist variety.

“Not tonight. But we’ll come back here before we leave. I just thought some time in the Italian countryside might do us both some good to start.”

“You sure I can’t talk you into a quickie in one of those baños over there?” I raise my eyebrows.

“Cyyyyyynnnnnnn…” Carter drags out my name. “You’re not going to do that thing you do where you are around foreign people and just start blurting out Spanish words, are you?”

“Maaaaaaaayyyyyyyybbbbbbbbeeeeee,” I say, then crack up with laughter. I speak some Spanish, but Carter is referring to my tendency, on many occasions, to use it at really wrong times. Like when greeting people from France at my store. Something in my brain just goes haywire and sends a signal telling me to say any foreign word I can think of. The results have varied from silly to downright cringeworthy, like when I famously tripped in an Oslo restaurant years ago and shouted, “Hola!” I was trying to let people know I was okay, and instead convinced them of the opposite.

We laugh and chat the rest of the way through the airport, and I watch with awe as Carter navigates us to the rental car counter to pick up our mode of transportation. I’m always the planner for trips, so to just be along for the ride, literally, on this trip is incredible. We wheel our luggage out to the curb where our little car is waiting for us and hit the road in the bright Italian sunshine. As I settle into my seat and look around, I feel like I could either pass out or run a marathon as the adrenaline and sleepiness fight it out inside me. I make a mental promise to myself to stay awake to help Carter navigate our way to the villa. It’s the least I can do after all the work he put into organizing this trip.

*

GOOD THING WE’RE not actually in a cockpit together, because it turns out I am the world’s worst navigator. The last thing I remember is pulling onto the highway after leaving the airport and now Carter is gently waking me up inside a garage.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry,” I say, coming to with a start. “I was going to help you find your way.”

“It’s okay,” he says sweetly. “I had the route figured out before we left. I just used my headphones with my GPS directions so it wouldn’t wake you. Kinda figured that drive would knock you out.”

I smile and lean forward to kiss Carter before turning to get out of the car and help with bags. My internal clock is thoroughly confused though, and I am shocked to see it’s still bright and sunny outside the garage.

“Bags can wait,” he says. “I want to show you around.”

I let Carter take me by the hand and step blinking into the sunlight before letting out the biggest gasp I have ever uttered. This place is everything I have ever dreamed of, and I can only see a tiny part of it. The villa is covered in vines but built with stone and brick that looks just the right amount of weathered. There are flowers all around the entryway and stairs lead up to an outdoor dining room table under a shaded awning.

Looking away from the house, I can see that we are up on a hill overlooking more hills covered with what appear to be wineries and unspoiled countryside. The air is warm and delicious, sweet-smelling, but not too perfumed. I realize I’m crying before I can even acknowledge the feelings of joy and relief. How could anyone be anything but completely relaxed in this beautiful place? No wonder the best art and music were created in this region of the world. How could you not be inspired?

Carter is leading me up the stairs to the entrance of the villa. The insides match the outsides perfectly. Everything is nicely appointed, but it still feels quaint and home-like. It is welcoming and pristine, all at the same time. The cool stone floors feel amazing as I kick off my shoes and leave them at the door. There are stairs directly in front of the door and I tiptoe up them for some reason. Quietly behind me, Carter is doing the same.

“Why are we being so quiet?” he whispers to me.

“Don’t know,” I whisper back. “Just felt like the right thing to do. I want the house to like us.”

“Houses don’t have feelings,”

“Oh yes, they do. Especially one this beautiful. Think about all she’s seen.”

“So, it’s a girl now, is it?”

“Oh yes,” I reply, reverently. “Can’t you tell? Look how pretty she’s made herself for us. She’s practically preening.”

Carter’s hand is on my ass as he gives me a little pinch.

“Hey,” I say in mock surprise. “Watch those hands, mister.”

“Oh, I plan to,” he says, catching up with me at the top of the stairs.

He follows me into the bedroom to the left, now touching me even more and nudging me toward the beautiful wrought iron bed. I resist just long enough to open the shutters and catch a glimpse of that view I could see from the ground level, which is even better from this height, but then turn back and stare at Carter. Even with the view behind me, this is what I want to look at right now. This incredible man who has brought me to this place I have always dreamed of seeing.

I quickly close the distance between us and kiss him hard, using my hands behind his head and neck to keep him pressed to me with an urgency I’ve never felt before. This is the kiss I’ve missed and subconsciously compared every other one to this year. It is equal parts familiar and exciting. We are electric.

I reluctantly pull apart from him long enough to pull my T-shirt over my head and let him do the same. We both also quickly take our pants off and kiss again in our underwear, still standing and pressing ourselves together as if we have magnets in our hips and shoulders. I feel his erection against me and reach down to stroke him gently with my hand. He moans in appreciation and I smile as his kisses move from my lips to my neck.

“Our first Italian sex,” I say with a laugh. “I have a feeling it won’t be our last.”

“I didn’t just bring you here to fuck,” he says, unhooking my bra. As he slides the straps off and begins fondling my breasts, he smiles and adds, “but it’s certainly on the agenda.”

I laugh and fall backward onto the bed, pulling him down on top of me. As he kicks off his boxers, I slide off my underwear and open myself for him, physically and mentally. I can’t help but flash back to everything that’s gone on this year. Working out how I feel about this man might be the most crucial thing I decide for the rest of my life.

Before I can think too deeply on that matter, he is inside me and I want to cry. Or maybe I am crying. I definitely feel a tear on my cheek. I look up at Carter and realize it might actually be him, as he looks about as emotional as I feel. We lock eyes as he eases himself back and forth and I decide to break the intensity in the room by wrapping my legs around him and pulling him flat against me.

“Oh, so that’s what you’re in the mood for?” he says with a devilish laugh.

We’re soon sweaty and exhausted as he finishes, still pressed against me. I’m thankful the window is open as a gentle breeze hits my skin. Maybe it’s all the traveling, the relief I feel to be away from the madness at home, or just sheer post-coital bliss, but the last thing I remember is Carter kissing my forehead as I drift off for my second Italian nap.

*

THE GOOD NEWS is I wake up feeling rested and energized. The bad news is I wake up at 10 p.m. local time and have officially done a terrible job of acclimating to my new surroundings. It is dark in the room and I’m alone, but a quick stumble to the window and I at least remember where the heck I am.

I let my eyes adjust to the lack of light and decide to search for Carter. There’s a light on in the room downstairs and I smile as I take a few more steps and see his silhouette come into view. He’s reading a novel and sitting on the couch, looking about as cozy and relaxed as I’ve ever seen him. Italy looks good on him, I decide.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen you read something other than a textbook,” I say quietly, hoping not to startle him.

“Ha, yeah, it probably is,” he says. “I used to love to read, but I’m just always so tired from studying that I haven’t done it nearly as much as I’d like to since we met. I’m kinda sad you don’t know that about me.” I must have made a face, because he quickly adds, “Not that it’s your fault. I just haven’t had a chance to show you that side of me before. But hey—isn’t that what we’re here for?”

I cross over to the couch and sit sideways on it so I’m facing him.

“Yes, that seems like a good use of our time,” I say. “Speaking of which, how long are we here for?”

“The whole month,” he says, smiling shyly. “I cleared it with Sam and she said she can absolutely hold down the fort, but she’ll check in if she needs anything.”

“Wow.” I exhale a huge breath. “I can’t believe you did this.”

“Can’t believe it in a good way?”

“In the best way,” I say.

“Good,” he says before letting out a huge yawn.

“Oh, no. Was I napping all alone up there? Our schedules are going to be totally out of whack.”

“I tried to sleep for a bit, but realized the garage was still open and I wanted to get our things out of the car. And then I looked in the kitchen and thought I’d shop a bit while you rested so we’d have some food around, but I had fun exploring and stayed out longer than I’d planned. I left you a note, but you were out cold.”

“Shoot. I can’t believe I slept through our first day in Italy. Where are we, anyway?”

“Hang on.” He gets up from the couch. “I can show you better on the map.”

He walks across the room and picks up a three-ring binder that’s on the bookshelf. It has an insert on the front with a picture of our little villa that says, “Welcome to Casa dei Fiordalisi.” Inside the binder is a welcome letter from the owner, along with pages full of notes on Italian customs, recommendations for things to eat, see, and do, and in the front pocket, a map that Carter pulls out to show me where we are in relation to the rest of the region.

“We are in Trequanda which is right here,” he says, pointing to the spot so easily that I can tell he’s looked this up many times before. “We’re about twenty miles from Siena and forty miles from Florence.”

I look closer at the map and decide that if Italy were a thigh-high boot, we’re just above the kneecap. From back in Arizona, I always pictured Italy somehow smaller than it now seems. And whereas a month seemed like a good amount of time to explore just a minute ago, I now feel like it’s woefully inadequate. I want to see it all.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he says, interrupting my thoughts. “And the goal isn’t to see it all. We’re going to explore, but we’re also going to relax. Besides, we have to leave some things to do for the next time we come.”

I smile and sink back into the couch where Carter is opening his arms for me. He’s tired and I’m practically tingling with energy. I want to kick myself.

“I packed some sleeping pills in case you want to try and get on Italy Time by tomorrow,” he offers.

“Worth a shot,” I say, standing to follow him as he leads us back up the stairs. I can’t imagine they’ll work with the amount of adrenaline coursing through my veins, but maybe I can read for a bit and get enough sleep to start tomorrow somewhat rested.

As we hit the second floor, I realize I am empty-handed and turn back to grab my bags.

“If you’re looking for your suitcase, it’s in here,” Carter calls from the bedroom.

“My, what service!” I exclaim in a mocking tone as I enter the room. “Will you also be leaving mints on the pillow?”

“No mints, but how about some drugs? Or I can just hand them to you.”

“Even better.” I take the two pills he’s offering me and throw them back with the water bottle from the nightstand.

We brush our teeth and get ready for bed together and it hits me how natural this feels. I usually don’t feel comfortable in new settings for a day or two, and here I am, as far away from home as I’ve ever been, and everything is just fine. The ease between us would definitely go on my pro list, but I decided not to risk packing that lest we have a whole Ross/Rachel/Julie situation on our hands.

I grab the book I packed for the plane and climb into bed as Carter does the same on his side, albeit bookless.

“Goodnight,” he says, giving me a sleepy kiss before falling heavily into his pillow.

“G’night,” I say. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

Before I can ask if he heard that, I am greeted with a gentle snore. Even on a regular night, he can always fall asleep faster than I can, but under the circumstances, I’m surprised he held on this long. I look down at my book, but the words on the page seem a bit fuzzy. Rubbing my eyes doesn’t help, and after making a mental note to ask what brand of sleeping pills Carter gave me, I turn off the light, slide down under the covers and, for the third time today, fall into a deep Italian sleep.