Chapter 10

Eric

 

We dozed for a while, and by the time we woke up, it was almost seven. As I sat up, my body protested from every damn angle. Literally everything hurt. My back ached. My hips felt disjointed. My knees and ankles hurt even when I wasn’t moving or putting weight on them, and my feet felt bruised from heel to toe.

Worth it, though. After getting to spend hours on end exploring the Pompeii ruins, I wouldn’t complain about being sore. Might take an ibuprofen or three, but I wouldn’t complain.

“I’m starting to get hungry,” Andrew said, stretching gingerly. “Should we go hunt down some food?”

“Sounds like a plan. What are you in the mood for?”

“Well…” He pursed his lips. “We’ve only got tonight before we go back to Rome. Maybe we should find a really awesome place to eat.”

“I don’t think we’ll have a hard time finding an awesome place to eat in Italy.”

“No, probably not, but maybe something extra nice.”

“Not a bad idea. Let’s get dressed and we’ll ask whoever’s working upfront for a recommendation.”

We weren’t disappointed. The hotel manager gave us some suggestions in Pompeii and Naples, but said her favorite restaurant in the world was in Sorrento. It was a solid hour from here, but she told us if we left now, we’d be there in time to watch the sun go down.

Andrew and I exchanged glances. He nodded.

“Sold,” I said.

The manager called us a cab, gave the driver the address, and sent us on our way.

Sorrento was situated on the lip of a cliff and along the edges of a narrow canyon. From what our driver told us, there were a bunch of abandoned industrial places down in that canyon, though you had to hike to see most of them. One, though, was visible from inside the town. Not far from where the driver dropped us off was a bridge, and below it was a moss-and-ivy-covered building that he’d said had been a flour mill at one time.

“If my body didn’t feel like it had been through the wringer,” Andrew said, “I’d say we should totally hike down there and look through that place.”

“Seriously. But honestly I wouldn’t be surprised if my feet are literally black and blue inside my shoes, so that”—I pointed emphatically at the flour mill—“is going to have to wait for another time.”

“Agreed. That, and I’m fucking starving.”

“You and me both. Let’s go find that place.”

Hiking down to the mill was definitely out of the question—as it was, walking to the restaurant was an ordeal and a half. The cobblestone streets were murder on our sore feet and limbs, but as soon as I caught a whiff of spices wafting out the restaurant’s open door, I decided it was worth it.

A waiter in a white apron showed us out onto the patio where tiny tables faced the sparkling sea far below us. Naples, Pompeii, and Vesuvius were all faint in the distance, and the light was beginning to get warmer as the sun slid toward the horizon. There was still a little time before sunset, though, and the Gulf of Naples sparkled in the rich, warm light. Boats carved white lines across the mostly calm water, and a few clouds were beginning to turn pink in the pale sky. The view alone was worth the fifty-euro cab ride and the short walk on sore feet. If the food was as good as it smelled and our hotel manager had promised, I’d be in heaven.

Our waiter handed us menus and asked if we were interested in any wine, and Andrew met my gaze across the table, eyebrows up.

“Sure,” I said. “Wine sounds good. Any preference?”

“Not really,” Andrew said. “I’m not much of a connoisseur.”

“Neither am I.” I turned to the waiter. “Whatever you recommend.” He smiled and left us to our menus. He returned a moment later with a bottle and two glasses, and made a big show of pouring it for us. It was red, that much I knew, and I couldn’t have pronounced it to save my life. Tasted amazing, though. Not that I was surprised, given that we were in Italy.

When the food came, it was mind-blowing too, of course. We’d both gone for a gnocchi dish with a red sauce, and it tasted amazing. I’d had a hell of a time finding gnocchi in the States without it being slimy or too chewy. This was—how shocking—perfect.

Good wine. Good food. Gorgeous view. Gorgeous company. Even the relentless throbbing in my feet and back couldn’t take away from this. I was with Andrew; I was enjoying an amazing meal, and I decided this was about the most romantic restaurant I’d set foot in this entire trip. Which should’ve felt weird, but it didn’t. It really didn’t. Of course we were having a romantic evening in an equally romantic restaurant. Why wouldn’t we?

Besides the fact that this was supposed to be my honeymoon.

I looked across the table at Andrew.

I wasn’t even supposed to know you.

By all rights, this should have felt wrong, but it didn’t. It made perfect sense to be sitting here now, in a dimly lit restaurant in Italy, gazing at Andrew like there wasn’t another man alive who could turn my head. It made sense that he’d been the one by my side while I’d checked items off my bucket list, and that he was the one I’d been commiserating with all afternoon about Pompeii beating the crap out of us. Of course it was him. Who else would I have done any of that with?

Chris. I was supposed to do all of it with Chris.

But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t picture Chris sitting across from me now with a hint of sunburn across his nose and cheeks, the color slightly darker thanks to the setting sun. I couldn’t help wondering if, had Chris and I made it this far, it would have felt right to have him in Andrew’s place. He’d been my partner for four years, but that chapter was closed now. Chris was gone. We’d buried the hatchet and found our way back to being friendly, even if we didn’t necessarily wind up friends. Our relationship was over, my life was going on, and…

Andrew was here. In my life. In my bed. In all the memories I’d made over the last couple of weeks. He was here, and he fit like he was supposed to be here. Like he hadn’t just dropped out of the clear blue sky less than a month ago and he’d been here all along, when in reality the odds of us ever meeting—never mind connecting—had been slim to none. If things had played out differently, the last few weeks would’ve been spent with Chris. The cruise. The excursions. The sex. Rome. Pompeii. Gibraltar.

And yet I’d shared all those things and places with Andrew. Not only that, but it was impossible to imagine spending a single minute of it with anyone else. Not with Chris. Not by myself. Andrew belonged here with me, and no other arrangement made sense.

Am I losing my mind? Hell, maybe.

I supposed it was hard to imagine Chris here because he and I hadn’t traveled much, mostly because my job had consumed my time and energy. When we had traveled, it had been fun.

But had I ever enjoyed it like I’d been enjoying my time with Andrew?

I couldn’t answer that. Not because I didn’t think I’d like the answer, but because it was almost impossible to compare the two. It shouldn’t have been. They’d each filled the same role at different times in my life.

Or… had they?

Watching Andrew surreptitiously as he watched the sunset, as the fading daylight warmed his complexion and deepened the brown of his eyes, I couldn’t convince myself he was filling a role my ex-fiancé had ever filled. He hadn’t taken Chris’s place. It was like he’d walked in and taken the place that had always been his, and now that he was here…

My throat tightened. We only had a few days left. Come Monday, we’d both be on planes heading back to the U.S., but we’d touch down in different states to go on with our lives. He’d find a new job. I’d pick up where I left off at my chaotic, fast-paced, time-consuming firm. We’d probably drift apart because our real lives didn’t have room for the luxurious, languid pace of a vacation romance.

But right now, as the sun set and we sat high above the ocean at a restaurant in Sorrento, we were together. We had this. We had a few more evenings after this. Where we went from there, I wasn’t sure, and I was almost paralyzed with fear at the thought of needing to make a decision about it. Did we? Didn’t we? Should we? Shouldn’t we?

All I knew tonight was that I might never watch another sunset over the ocean in Italy, but I wasn’t watching this one either because I couldn’t look away from the man sitting across from me. I didn’t want to. And no matter how ridiculous it was, I didn’t want this to end. The trip had to—vacations could only last so long—but this? No. I definitely didn’t want this to end.

But how in the world could we make it work?