The Middle-Aged Virgin_A Chick Lit, Romantic Comedy Novel_Newly Single And Seeking Spine-Tingles...

by Olivia Spring

  I looked down at my toes before I stepped into the shower. Bloody hell. It seemed I’d already started to relax my grooming regime before my mum had suggested I do so. They hadn’t been painted for two weeks. Very unlike me, but I’d been so busy focusing on getting through everything before I went away that perhaps I’d let a couple of things slide.

  I glanced further up my body. It would seem that my lack of grooming had also extended to my nether regions. Whilst my legs and underarms had been lasered and were fine, I hadn’t waxed my bikini line since last month either, which was unheard of, and it was starting to look like an overgrown jungle down there. To be honest, it hadn’t been top of my to-do list. After all, what was the point? No one but my dressing room mirror was going to see me naked, so on a scale of one to ten in terms of priorities, it ranked around minus twenty. I was meant to get a mani-pedi done that afternoon after my blow-dry, but then I’d had an unexpected conference call, so I’d had to cancel, and I didn’t have the energy to sit here at 1 a.m. painting my nails when my taxi would be here to collect me in two and a half hours so I could get to Gatwick Airport nice and early. We’d be kneading dough and making pasta. The last thing I’d want is chipped bits of Chanel Rouge Noir polish getting mixed into the flour. For once, naked nails seemed like the best option.

  Yes. I was going to take my mum’s advice and go to this holiday and relax. No flashy overtly designer clothes. No one-hour-plus make-up-and-hair regime. No airs or graces. I was going to chill out and be the me I’d secretly wanted to be for ages. A bit more laid-back and free.

  I didn’t quite know whether I could loosen up and let go, how I would cope for four days without my ghds, or if I was going to get on with a group of complete strangers, but I was certainly going to give it a bloody good try.

  Chapter Seven

  Well, this is weird.

  Here I was sat on this British Airways plane all on my own. Even when I travelled for work, I’d have someone with me—Harrison, Robyn or a group of journalists. So the idea of flying solo today was definitely pushing me out of my comfort zone.

  The reality of the trip was starting to dawn on me. I was on a plane by myself. I would be staying in accommodation that wasn’t five-star, with a group of three other strangers that I’d never spoken to or met in my life. And I had to live with them for four whole days.

  What if we didn’t get on? What would we even talk about? What if I just wanted to sit in silence, but I had to listen to them droning on about some mind-numbing subject I had no interest in, or I was forced to engage in dull small talk?

  Come on. Think positively. If I just approached it in the same way I would attending a networking event, I’d be fine. Then again, after being in the industry for so long, it was rare for me not to know most people at one of our dos or not to have things in common with them, so this wasn’t quite the same…

  Where’s that drinks trolley? Do you think they’ll serve G&T on a 7.30 a.m. flight?

  It was now 11 a.m., and I’d landed safely in Pisa. Our driver would apparently be meeting us here at the arrivals gate at 11.30 a.m. local time as we were all arriving on different flights but would be collected together and then taken to our villa.

  As I stood against the back wall opposite the airport exit/entrance doors, I felt a flutter of butterflies in my stomach. I’d never been on a blind date before, but I was guessing it felt a lot like this.

  I scanned the people around me, wondering whether anyone else here would be living with me for the next four days. I stared at a slim blonde lady. Is it you? Then a tall man with short wavy hair. Are you staying with me? Was it that couple over there by the leather shop? This was driving me crazy. I wasn’t used to not being in control.

  Actually, was I even in the right place? They did say arrivals, didn’t they, and not outside? I fished the paperwork out of my plain black canvas bag and read over the meeting instructions:

  Itinerary

  Saturday 9th April

  Benvenuti! Welcome to Tuscany!

  Our transfer driver will meet you in arrivals at Pisa Airport at 11.30 a.m. As we have guests arriving from different flights, a transfer at 12.30 will allow everyone to be transferred together. Our driver will be holding a sign that says ‘Taste Holidays’.

  Good. I was in the right place, then. I just needed to look out for the guy with the sign.

  I did another scan of the area. Oooh, hello. I hope you are coming to live with me…

  Stood near the exit was a hot guy with beautiful olive skin, dark hair and the cutest, tightest little bum (well of course I was watching him as he turned around). I wouldn’t be averse to the idea of him being one of my fellow housemates. Nor would I object to indulging in a wild holiday romance with such a fine specimen. Mm-mmm.

  Reality check. I couldn’t see any luggage with him, and he looked Italian, so doubtful he’d be coming on a cookery holiday when he could just learn from his mama.

  Aaaaargggh. I just wanted to know where everyone was! Well, depended on who they were of course. These butterflies were still there, and now I was hot. As well as my dark blue jeans and white Converse, I had on a rose-pink cashmere jumper. It wasn’t particularly warm, hence why I’d thought knitwear would be appropriate, but now I was thinking I should have worn a thinner coat, like my Burberry trench. Then again, the trademark checked lining would be instantly recognisable as designer, and I didn’t want to look flashy. This dark grey wool Armani coat was much more subtle.

  It was 11.29 a.m. One minute away from the official meeting time. Is everyone here? The suspense is too much…

  Ha-ha! It was 12 p.m., and the cute guy that I hoped would be one of my housemates was actually our driver. He just held up the ‘Taste Holidays’ sign. Half an hour late in doing so, I might add. Didn’t he realise that there was a control freak in the building, desperate to know who she was going to be living with? The guy with the wavy hair was also part of the group, I reckoned, as he looked like he was heading over to the driver now. Well, at least that’s one person I knew was coming.

  Next, I spotted a cool woman who I guessed was in her early sixties, with a trendy silver bob and vibrant green jeans, heading over to the meeting point. She looked lovely.

  You know what? Screw all this worrying. Remember MAP point number 7? I’d promised that I would embrace things. So that’s exactly what I was going to do. Whoever the guests were, whatever they were like, I was just going to make the most of this trip.

  I headed over to the group and as I did, a second lady with striking green eyes and longish blonde hair joined us, completing our foursome.

  Mr Cute Bum (he told us his name, but I was too busy ogling to remember) signalled to us to follow him to the people carrier. He might look divine, but he seemed a little moody. Oh well. No holiday romance for me this time.

  I climbed into the back seat right in the corner, and the others followed behind me. Time to get my PR networking hat on and embrace the situation.

  ‘Hi, everyone,’ I said warmly. ‘I’m Sophia, lovely to meet you.’

  Introductions swiftly followed. There was Grace, the cool-looking lady with the stunning grey hair, who was sixty-five and from Australia; Francesca from Berkshire, a nurse and happily married mother of two sons, one who was a teacher, and the other was travelling around Asia, who’d booked the trip to celebrate her forty-ninth birthday. Then the honorary male was Daniel, an engineer from Kent who would also be celebrating his forty-first birthday during the trip.

  From the second we started talking, it was clear that I had been worrying for no reason. They all seemed adorable. We chatted so much that the journey time to the villa flew by. Before we knew it, we were surrounded by beautiful vineyards, admiring the expansive grounds of the place we’d be calling home for the next four days.

  As we made our way out of the people carrier, our host, Erica, a cheery Italian brunette in her early thirties, greeted us and led us to the doorway.

  Holy fuck! Who was that?

/>   ‘Everyone, meet Lorenzo,’ said Erica. ‘Lorenzo will be your chef during your holiday and will be teaching you lots of delicious authentic Tuscan dishes.’

  It took every ounce of energy I had to stop my eyes flying out of their sockets and straight into his gorgeous face.

  He is a vision.

  You know that saying, tall, dark and handsome? Well, he was that personified. He was a Tuscan dish I’d definitely like to sample. Six foot two, dark unruly (in a sexy way) hair, beautiful thick beard you just wanted to stroke, a killer smile and deep, deep come-to-bed eyes you could get lost in for hours. Luckily, I caught myself swooning just before it was about to get awkward.

  He flashed me a warm smile.

  Jesus, Mary and Joseph. I think I’m about to wet my knickers.

  Sorry. TMI.

  ‘Ni–nice to meet you, Lorenzo,’ I stammered embarrassingly as I walked through into the dining room, desperately trying to keep my composure.

  I couldn’t help it. I started grinning from ear to ear like a bloody teenager. Monique had bluntly said I needed to find myself some hot Italian arse…I think I just did.

  I was only a couple of hours into my holiday, but I already had a feeling I was going to enjoy it immensely.

  Chapter Eight

  Snooker, darts, golf. Snooker, darts, golf. Snooker, darts, golf…

  I was reciting the most boring sports over and over in my head so I could try and take my mind off the Italian god who was now sitting directly opposite me in the living room of this stunning Tuscan villa. He looked hot in his fitted black chef’s jacket and blue jeans. Good Lord. Even thinking about sleep-inducing sports couldn’t stop the tingles that were racing through my body right now.

  Katherine from Taste Holidays had, in my opinion, dramatically undersold the beauty of this place. The pictures on the website and in the brochure must be years out of date, as contrary to the old-fashioned décor and furniture that was in those photos, this place was airy, welcoming and beautifully maintained.

  The rooms were spacious, with wooden beams going across the ceiling; there were lovely ceramic tiles adorning the floors, bright white walls, and the views—oh my goodness. From every window there were endless acres of vineyards, olive groves, woodlands and rolling lush green hills. It was breathtaking.

  Much like this Italian stallion Lorenzo.

  Francesca, Grace and Daniel were also seated on the sofa, and whilst we waited for Erica to return from the kitchen, we started chatting amongst ourselves.

  Erica bounded into the room, skilfully clutching six champagne flutes, which she laid on the coffee table in the centre before returning to the kitchen and coming back armed with two bottles of prosecco.

  Her short brown hair was tucked neatly behind her ears. She wasn’t wearing a scrap of make-up, but her olive skin still glowed.

  ‘So, everybody,’ said Erica smiling warmly. ‘Welcome to Taste Holidays. We are delighted to have you here with us. I hope you all love this beautiful villa that will be your home for four days and that you are ready to learn how to cook lots of delicious Italian dishes.’

  She popped open the bottles and poured a generous amount of prosecco into each of our glasses.

  ‘Saluti!’ she said, raising her glass in the air. ‘To a fantastic holiday, great food, great wine and great company.’

  ‘Hear, hear!’ added Daniel enthusiastically as he also raised his glass.

  I picked up mine. Oh shit. It’s dirty. My annoying cleanliness OCD was kicking in again.

  If I was at a restaurant, I could just ask for another one. But this was different. I clinked my glass with everyone and put on my best forced smile whilst I worked out my next move. I had to live with these people for almost a week. If I started getting all weird now and asking for another glass, they’d think I’m a diva and it would dampen the mood of the holiday, which I didn’t want. Once again I reminded myself of point number 7 and what I’d said at the airport. I would embrace everything. That meant all my tics, OCD and fussiness needed to stop here.

  I rotated the flute so that the ‘dirty’ bit was on the opposite side and swiftly took a large sip before I changed my mind. Mmm. That tastes so good. Well, what do you know? I’d drunk from a dirty glass and I was still alive. Progress.

  Erica sat down next to Lorenzo.

  Oh.

  Hold on. How did I not notice this before? They must be a couple or married or something, as she was sitting very close to him (don’t bloody blame her) and she just touched his leg. Silly me, thinking a hot guy like him would be single. They weren’t wearing rings, but maybe they took them off to cook? There goes another hot Italian arse fantasy.

  ‘So, in a moment, I will show you to your rooms and give you some time to settle in,’ explained Erica. ‘There are four bedrooms in this building. One next to the kitchen and three upstairs. Lorenzo and I will stay in the building opposite this.’

  See. Knew it. They’re definitely together.

  ‘Oh?’ exclaimed Francesca a little too loudly. ‘So you guys are together, then?’ Francesca, you goddess. You totally read my mind. I’d wanted to ask but would never have done it so brazenly.

  ‘No, no, it is not like that,’ said Lorenzo emphatically in his sexy Italian accent.

  Wait. I think he just said they’re not together, didn’t he?

  Praise the Lord. Prosecco all round.

  ‘No, we are just friends,’ Erica added. I couldn’t help but think that she wasn’t entirely happy with the whole ‘friends’ thing, and who would be with a guy like that?

  ‘We have known each other for a long time and worked together for Taste Holidays for several years. We are like…like, brother and sister,’ said Erica, bowing her head.

  Hmmm. I think there’s more to this story than meets the eye…

  And just like that, Francesca and I both glanced at each other with a sly yeah, yeah, whatever you say look. We were thinking the same thing. Could this be a classic case of unrequited love?

  Keen to change the subject, Erica continued. ‘After you have settled into your rooms, in half an hour, we will have a lunch that Lorenzo has prepared for us in the dining room. Then at four p.m., you will have your first cookery lesson.’

  Gosh. Her English was very good. Just as well, really, as ‘prosecco’, ‘Prada’ and ‘Armani’ pretty much covered the extent of my Italian vocabulary.

  ‘Sophia, we start with you? Let me take you up to show you the rooms,’ said Erica. Oh, how I wished it was Lorenzo who was suggesting that to me…

  As I lifted the handle of my suitcase to wheel it along, I wondered if Katherine’s assistant had passed on my request to be given the best room. I knew it was bad of me, but I couldn’t resist calling ahead a few days ago to ask if, given my fussiness and penchant for all things five-star, they could do that for me. Katherine had been ‘unavailable’ (probably exhausted by my constant questions), so her assistant, Alison, reassured me that it would be taken care of.

  To be honest, though, as I walked through the hallway and up the wooden staircase, I could see that I had worried needlessly. This place was amazing.

  ‘So, as you are first upstairs, you get first choice of the rooms,’ said Erica.

  I did a mini mental fist pump as I strolled down the corridor, peering in each of the three bedrooms. Katherine was right. All of them were equally beautiful.

  The room at the end of the hall had a bath as well as a shower, green décor and a view of the outdoor pool, which had been covered over until it warmed up for summer. The next one along had a shower room, its own mini corridor and blue décor. Then the room nearest the staircase had a lovely shower room, wonderful views and a yellow theme. This is the one. To me, yellow equals sunshine and happiness. I’d found my little sanctuary.

  ‘I’d love this one, please, Erica,’ I said, positioning my suitcase in front of the pine wardrobe. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Prego,’ she replied, smiling.

  I’m guessing that means you�
��re welcome?

  Erica headed back downstairs to show the others to their rooms. I overheard Francesca and Daniel looking around next door, which meant Grace must have opted for the fourth bedroom downstairs.

  After I’d WhatsApped everyone to let them know I’d arrived safely, it was time to go back down. Thank goodness it was a Saturday. It meant that at least I wouldn’t have to worry so much about checking emails. I was determined not to even glance at my inbox until Monday lunchtime. Okay, let’s not run before we can walk. Let’s say 11 a.m. on Monday, which would be 10 a.m. UK time. Perfectly acceptable.

  Grace was already seated at the dining table with Erica when I arrived. Francesca and Daniel swiftly followed, as did Lorenzo, who put one final platter on the table and sat down next to me.

  Snooker, darts, golf. Snooker, darts, golf…

  Half of my mind was doing the running man overwhelmed with joy, whereas the other half was thinking, Shit. I am not going to be able to concentrate, never mind steer a fork of food in my mouth with him sitting next to me. Just look at those solid thighs. I slyly scanned his body whilst he was chatting to Grace, who was seated to his right. Ooh, I would love to get my hands on those.

  Snooker, darts, golf. Snooker, darts, golf…

  I don’t think this is working.

  I was beginning to regret my decision to be carefree by not bringing a case full of make-up, painting my nails and styling my hair meticulously as I normally would. I wasn’t wearing any eyeliner or mascara, and rather than my normal Lancôme Teint Idole foundation, which gave me full coverage, I was only wearing a light Laura Mercier tinted moisturiser. And as for my hair, although I’d had it freshly blow-dried for my birthday yesterday, as I was going for comfort, today I had thrown it into a ponytail, something I only ever did when I was at the gym or at home where no one would see me.