VENICE WAS A haunting place. The snaking watery boulevards made it seem like the city was slowly sinking into the briny depths, but being on a flat-bottomed rowboat gave Preston the sense that everything floated above the water’s surface. The fascinating architecture seemed to have withstood the tests of time and nature.
“Did I pick the wrong place?” he mumbled to himself, then gave Nathan a sidelong glance. It seemed his friend was lost in thought.
In hindsight, he’d thought the idea awesome back in Amsterdam two days ago. According to the guidebook he’d read, Venice was considered one of the most romantic cities in Europe. And here he was as nervous as a duck swimming in piranha-infested waters. He had never been the one to carry a conversation before. Hell, he had no idea where to start. How had Nathan done it all these years?
“Did you know the buildings were built on wooden piles and limestone?” he asked the unusually silent Nathan over the too-loud singing of their overly enthusiastic gondolier. To be fair, the man did have an almost operatic quality to his voice. Just too much volume, even if they were outdoors.
“Huh?” Nathan turned to him, blinking several times as if he’d just remembered that he had company.
“Yeah,” Preston said, suddenly unsure of himself. Fuck. This wasn’t going well at all. He couldn’t find the right words. So he babbled. He never babbled. “According to the guidebook, the water here has very little oxygen, so the wood hasn’t rotted in centuries. Isn’t that cool?”
“Sure. Cool.”
“And if you notice, the buildings are in the Gothic style that Venice is known for. The arches are elongated and the columns are thinner, giving the city a uniqueness outmatching other cities,” he continued as they passed beneath yet another arched bridge that stitched one island to another. God, he was drowning.
Nathan squirmed beside him, tapping his fingers against his knees.
Preston studied him closely. He’d been different since they left Amsterdam. Quiet. Like he couldn’t give a fuck where they were. Had it been Preston’s fault? Had he done something stupid again? Nathan usually spoke enough for the both of them. Being the talkative one made him uncomfortable. Not knowing what was going on made the situation so much worse.
He sighed. How could he fix this?
The gondolier’s voice boomed when he reached the climax of his song, which was in Italian, so Preston couldn’t understand a lick of it. This ride was supposed to be romantic.
He had to do something or risk losing this chance. But no matter how hard he tried to think of a way to salvage the ride, no ideas came to his rescue. So he did the only thing he knew to do: changed the pace.
Preston raised his hand right about the same time Nathan faced him and opened his mouth to say something.
“What are you doing?” his gondola-mate asked.
“Si, signor?” the gondolier asked at the same time.
“Pull over,” Preston said.
“Pres?” Nate looked at him with mounting concern on his pale features.
“Is something the matter, signor?” the man inquired, also concerned.
“I read that Venice is a great city for a walk.” Preston gestured toward the tourists who were strolling casually along the canal’s edge. “I’d really like to try that.”
“But the ride is not over,” the man insisted. “You paid me handsomely to take you around the best places in the city. We have not made it to the Grand Canal yet.”
“Just pull over,” he said.
* * *
Panic gripped Nathan’s heart as the man rowed them to the nearest unloading area. The ride had been going so well. Then he stopped himself. Oh, wait. No. Maybe it hadn’t been going so well. The moment he’d found out that they were headed for Venice, his first reaction was, why? They had already gone to Rome. Italy should be off their itinerary. Spain would have been a better choice. Tapas in the afternoon.
But what nagged at him the most was Preston’s lack of response to his confession. Sure, he’d been forgiven for going way too far. And Preston still spoke to him. He had even been amiable. But was he sweeping Nathan’s feelings under the rug? Pretending the confession never happened? Or, worse, was he silently rejecting Nathan in the hopes he would forget that his feelings were finally out in the open, hanging between them?
On and on his brain went, chewing on the what-ifs like a dog with a bone. If only Preston would say something instead of babbling about the architecture. Venice was beautiful, Nathan got it. He needed more. Like “I need time, Nate.” Or “Can we just stay friends?” Or even the expected reply of “I need to focus on my training.” But no. Nothing even close to that. And worst of all? Nathan had no idea how to bring up the subject without seeming desperate. In fact, he was already skirting the edge into desperation country, hence giving what should have been a romantic ride around the city only half a mind.
Preston was already off the gondola before Nathan could apologize for being absentminded. Tell him that he would do better. Pay more attention. Then the boy he knew he would love for the rest of his life, regardless of what happened after this trip, reached for him.
Staring at the large hand, Nathan’s brain blanked. What was he supposed to do? His gaze moved from the open palm to Preston’s eyes. The gloomy weather had turned them a darker shade of green.
“Take my hand, Nate,” he coaxed gently.
“Why?”
He wanted to kick himself for blurting out the question. He should have reached out immediately. But instead of being insulted, Preston smiled encouragingly at him.
“I also read that this city was the best place to get lost in,” Preston said. “Will you get lost with me?”
For some reason Nathan had the urge to swallow. Who was this person staring down unblinkingly at him? It was as if Preston had transformed overnight into the gallant hero of his dreams. Was this all a trick?
“You’re overthinking it, Nate.”
Hating himself for being so transparent, he closed his fingers around Preston’s hand and allowed the swimmer to help him out of the boat. The gondolier didn’t complain any more than what seemed like a proper amount. Like he’d said, he had been paid.
After their gondola glided away in search of its next passengers, Nathan climbed the stone steps of the unloading platform. Once they were at street level, he noticed that they were still holding hands.
“Just go with it,” Preston said from over his shoulder, as if he’d known what Nathan was about to say. He tightened his grip as he navigated his way onto one of the smaller side streets between several buildings.
“Where are we going?” Nathan asked, when what he had really meant was, What does this mean? But the warmth of Preston’s hand seemed so right against his that he never wanted to let go. It was as if their palms were made to fit into each other. Like Lego blocks coming together to create a satisfying snap.
“I heard there’s this really good coffee place called Caffè del Doge.”
“You mean that one?” Nathan pointed at the streetside café with a red awning below the name that had just been mentioned.
“Good catch.” Preston tugged him toward the coffee place, with its brightly lit interior and aluminum countertops. “They are like the Starbucks here, but better. I didn’t think we’d find one this fast. Luck’s on our side.”
“But I don’t need coffee right now.”
Preston lifted their joined hands. “You’re cold. You need to warm up first before we continue.”
It wasn’t the weather, Nathan thought as he allowed himself to be dragged to the counter, where baristas were busy pulling the best espresso shots out of tightly packed grounds from massive machines. What Preston was feeling were Nathan’s nerves. He’d been a complete mess that day.
Then the heavenly scent of the richest, creamiest, most luscious cup of coffee made him forget about everything else as he was led to a table for two.
“Did you know a portion of the proceeds go to a nonprofit organization that aids children who work on coffee farms?”
When had Preston become this person who spoke so openly? Nathan had been so preoccupied with his feelings that he’d failed to notice just how much the boy sitting opposite him—who hadn’t let go of his clammy hand—had changed since they had begun this European adventure. It seemed so absurd that now Nathan was the one obsessed.
“What’s so funny?” Preston asked, watching him closely.
Had he really been laughing? Nathan brought the fingers of his free hand to his lips as one of the servers placed two white cups in front of them. Instead of taking the cup, Preston’s attention was focused on … what?
It took him a second to realize that Preston was staring blatantly at his lips. Nathan lowered his fingers and tested this theory by running the tip of his tongue over the bottom one. The green of Preston’s eyes was almost instantly swallowed by black. Nathan pushed things a little farther by biting at a corner of his mouth, and the grip of the hand holding his tightened.
The silence between them had gotten so intense that the other sounds inside the café seemed to fade away until there was nothing else but the two of them. Nathan had never seen Preston this focused outside of the pool before. It was like his entire being was attuned to just one part of Nathan’s body.
If he leaned in until their lips touched, would Preston pull away? His eyes seemed to tell a whole different story. Could Nathan take the risk?
But no sooner had he made up his mind than Preston let go of his hand in favor of picking up the coffee cup and bringing its rim to his lips. Bereft of the contact, Nathan sought solace from the warmth of his own cup, enjoying one of the best blends he had ever tasted.
Yet at the back of his mind, he knew the dark kiss of the robust roast wasn’t what he was craving.