As the moon rounded in the sky, I swore storm clouds gathered in Robert's blue eyes. My plain-Jane brown eyes were boring in comparison. We sat inside at the Del Fagioli Ristorante that overlooked the Ponte alle Grazie, across the river. If it was a summer night instead of autumn, we might have braved the outside seats. The comfort of his hand in mine made it seem like I was born to touch him.

I leaned my elbow on the table and wondered if this would count as a date—my first. Robert probably had a different beautiful woman join him every night.

At my grandma's house, I studied virtual school until high school, and once finished I stayed close to take care of Grandma until she died. I was never allowed to go out unsupervised—she’d been my only companion, and there weren’t boys around.

As the food was delivered I briefly closed my eyes and took in the aroma of tomatoes and olive oil. "Are most of your nights filled with dim lights, wine and romance?”

“Romance?” His gaze narrowed, his posture stiff. "No, don't be silly. Is that what your life is like?”

"No. I just thought you must get any woman you want." The moment I let my elbow off the table, the wait staff placed the trays. I fixed my napkin in my lap and hoped I wasn't a terrible companion. My knee trembled and shook the chair.

“Are you always this jittery?”

“You have no idea,” I said.

“Interesting.” He reached for the pepper and I cringed. I didn't know what I expected, but breaking into an icicle from nerves wasn't it. "You seem so shy. You have every reason in the world to be excited about everything."

Perhaps he was right and I just had an overactive imagination. "Why would I do that? It sounds exhausting."

"You're young and clearly sheltered. I hadn’t expected that."

“I’m not young.” This conversation. I’d expected him to ask my age sooner. Even my boss thought I was still a teenager. My heartbeat grew as I met his stare. "I'm twenty-six. How old are you?"

His eyebrows twitched as he twisted pasta on his fork. "Twenty-six? You seem much younger. I'm thirty."

Only four years older but he’d probably seen the whole world. Robert's broad muscular shoulders strained against his white button down shirt. His brooding manners held me captivated. I picked up my glass of wine and waited for him to do the same. Their differences shouldn’t matter as much as what they had in common. I swallowed and said, "That's young for the amount of books you have published. How did you write all those stories?"

His neutral mask cracked and it seemed I’d hit on something he didn't want to talk about. Before I could apologize, he said, "My dad worked in Hollywood. He found my agent who sold my teen horrors to a publisher looking for male voices. I grew up “in the profession” as they say."

We ate a few bites of our meal in silence. His story seemed slightly off but I didn’t press. I glanced at him and thought I saw a red aura in the candlelight. I blinked and it was gone. He held his fork so perfectly that I could snap a picture in my mind on how a perfect gentleman eats. The minutes ticked past and my plate was becoming visible, my stomach full. I wiped my mouth. "Does your father still help you?"

He put his fork down on the remaining pasta as his shoulders tightened. "I don't speak to him anymore."

My stomach knotted as if preparing for a knock-out punch. "Why not?"

"He never liked my wife."

My gaze flitted toward the exit. Robert hadn’t mentioned marriage but I should have guessed. He was too beautiful, though my attraction was an elemental burning. He was fire itself and I was a moth near the flame. Should I get up and storm away? I've never stormed anywhere. Instead I dropped my napkin on the table. "You're married?"

"I was. She's gone now."

The knot in my belly dissipated. No one was going to kill me because I’d had dinner with their husband. I picked my napkin up and tried to smile, but it faltered. His jaw was still clenched.. Perhaps he was lonely too. "I'm sorry. Are you divorced?"

“No, she died.”

“I’m sorry.”

He continued eating and I did the same. We ate in silence again, though I took fewer bites, hoping he'd talk to me. The food was good, but I placed my fork to the side the moment he spoke. "You didn't do anything to be sorry about. Any more questions you'd like to ask?"

Questions. Neither of us had happy childhoods, it seemed. I had to ask my questions gently. If I asked about his last wife, he might get upset. Most people had families and that should be a safe topic. I tilted my head and asked, "So what's your mom like?"

He shrugged his massive muscular shoulders. He must work out—in my mind writers possessed round soft stomachs from sitting all day, but Robert’s washboard abs were flat and strong. For a while he said nothing, but finally he answered. "I don't know. She left me on my dad's doorstep and never came back."

"Wow, that's horrible." The field of simple questions to ask grew smaller and smaller. I'd not sink to sports teams, as I didn’t know anything about games on television. I wrangled that napkin under the table and stared at my plate. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I should probably thank her if I ever do meet her."

There was something that drew me to Robert, visible only to me, sparks that glowed like red sparklers on the Fourth of July. I massaged my neck with my free hand and asked, "Why?"

"No one is as they seem." He studied his food. The sparks dimmed. "She taught me that nobody can be trusted. I expect people to turn ugly, especially the truly beautiful.”

His blue eyes pierced through me as if he connected to my soul. I’d never betray anyone I loved. Maybe he might like me because I’m clearly different from whoever he knew in the past. I lifted my chin. "Maybe you’ve met the wrong people. I might not be beautiful, but I try to do the right thing. I was raised by my grandmother. She took me to Church every Sunday and always told me to volunteer and help people. There are people like me too."

“Helping others can get you killed.”

“Maybe that’s what caused my parents to die in that car crash, or maybe not. Grandma said so. Either way it’s better to help people than belittle them.”

"You don't see your own beauty, Daphne, or what you truly are."

What did he mean? I am ordinary. I have light brown hair, my eyes are the color of dirt, I’m tall and gangly next to most women and I have no idea what will happen once my temporary job is done next month. I’ve never been alone.

Perhaps he was being kind. I sucked in my lower lip ‘til I realized what I was doing and stopped. The best thing to do was ignore the comment. "That's a pretty cynical way of looking at things. I’ve found joy in helping others."

"I prefer to fictionally kill people to portray what happens when we make the wrong choices.”

I let out a gasp of air.

“So other than helping people, what do you do?”

"I'm a caretaker mostly. I studied nursing online to help my grandmother, and some of the other folks in our neighborhood."

His eyes widened. "What about children?"

"I've never worked with them, but I'd love the chance."

The waiter came to take our plates away. Once the man was gone he asked, “What brought you to Italy?"

The waiter returned with a dessert menu, and Robert ordered something for us in Italian. I looked forward to whatever sugary concoction might arrive. "My new boss has business here. I was hired as her personal assistant. I do office work and ensure she stays healthy."

The waiter poured us both cappuccinos as Robert asked, "Is she old and feeble?"

The way he drank his coffee was hypnotizing. His long fingers possessed strength, and if he wanted, he could crush that porcelain cup. I pushed an errant hair away from my eyes. "No, she's two years older than me, but she had health issues less than a year ago."

“The number one reason women in that age bracket go to the hospital is to give birth.” Robert bit into the creamy dessert in front of him and then swallowed.

“Why do you know that?”

"Writers know random facts. So what does she have you do?"

Aura had told me not to discuss her job with strangers who might want personal information. She definitely hadn’t given birth.

I trusted Robert, but the warning shot through my brain. I shifted in my seat as I chose my words. "Mostly paperwork." I bit into the cream puff which tasted like heaven. Hard to believe just a few hours ago we’d been in the bell tower, where he’d stood on the ledge. His knee poked to the side of the small table. "Anyhow, I don't want to talk about my job on my first night off. Are you in Florence plotting a new book?"

“No. I don’t like to get away much.” He froze as if I’d asked him a hard question, but then he also placed his spoon down, wiped his full lips. "My estate is in Maine."

I scooted my chair closer to the table to be closer to him. Despite the chill in the restaurant, there was something hot that rushed through my blood and I didn't want it to stop. "You must be used to winter, then. This is my first real brush of cold.”

“Where are you from?”

“Florida, in the most unknown and boring section."

He sipped the rest of his cappuccino. "Is that why you took this job, to get away?"

I lowered my gaze. The position offered me my own room. "Once Grandma died, I didn't have a place to live because she’d taken a reverse mortgage out and the bank wanted their property. Grandma's sister, my great aunt, is Ms. Volos's housekeeper in Connecticut. She hooked me up with this job."

"What happened to your parents? You mentioned a crash."

My history tended to be a buzz kill but there was no getting around it. "Car accident. I was five. By chance I was staying at a friend's house that night. I've lived with Grandma since… until now."

"Only five?" His royal blue eyes met mine. "I'm so sorry."

His pitying expression brought my defenses up. No one should be sorry for me. "I sometimes have a hard time remembering their faces. Does that make me ugly in your eyes?"

He threw his napkin on the table as if to signify that he was done and a waiter dropped off the bill. "No. Perhaps you are one of the people I hear whispered about at parties."

He probably spent his evenings with important people that were nothing like me. "What do you hear?"

Leaning across the table, Robert took my fingers. "There are good people in the world."

A spark rushed through me from his simple touch. "If I’m good, does that change your world view?"

"Perhaps it does.” He released me and sat back in his chair. “I'm being a horrible dinner partner for you."

I shouldn't have been so honest. Reaching across the table, I didn't quite meet his hand. "You're not."

He signed the credit card statement and stood. "I am. Now that we're finished, let me pay for your cab to get you to your hotel."

What happened? In a blink of an eye this date was over? He must have realized how boring my life is now. This would go down in history as the worst first date ever. "There is no need. I'm happy to walk back."

He waited for me to stand and when I did, he placed his hand on my back to lead me out of the nice restaurant. His touch zapped my skin with electricity. "Did you feel that?" he asked.

How my body was charged from the barest caress over my clothes? Yes. I'd not say that. "What?"

He took his hand away from me and massaged his chin mumbling something about innocence. Then he said, "It's time I get you home."

Outside the streetlights of Florence shone. My mind raced with ideas on what I could do to keep him close, but no answers materialized. I licked my lips. "Robert, I had a wonderful time and I'm happy we met. I'll never forget you."

He didn't look at me. He waved at a yellow car and then opened the door for me. "Here’s your cab."

This was it. I shifted on my feet, but then crawled into the car. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Daphne." He gently closed my door. This was wretched and horrible and the driver had no idea I was close to tears in the backseat. Inside my entire body quaked.

Robert was out of my life forever, then. The destiny I thought I felt from being near him must have been my imagination. I must have been wrong. My heart fell in my chest. I had no idea what to do. I didn’t want the night to end, for Robert to leave, but I couldn't say anything. I held my head high as the cab driver drove me to my hotel, once again utterly alone.