by Kenna Knight
“Yes, you want some?”
“Yes, and then I’m going to sleep and drool all over you until we land safe and sound in Milan.”
“If you’ll let go of my hand, I’ll get them, and I will welcome the drool if you relax and stop trying to crush my fingers. I’m an artist you know, I need my hands.”
I let go and clamp my hand around the armrest between us while I wait for her to get the pills from her purse. Thank God she has been diagnosed with anxiety, or I’d be screwed.
She hands me two tiny pills, and I swallow them without water. I don’t want to wait for the flight attendant to come around with the cart of food and drinks. I plan on being knocked out cold by then.
“Nighty night, sweets,” she says, and thankfully, that’s all I remember until we land in Italy and not an uncharted island with smoke monsters and giant magnets.
When we check in at our hotel, I feel refreshed and rested which is perfect since it’s four in the afternoon—so much for jet lag. Nicky, however, looks like she’s about to drop, so I leave her to nap for a few hours while I take in the sights.
I wonder what Graham is doing right now. Gloria text me the name of his hotel, but I’ve decided to wait until he is done working tomorrow. It will give me some time to settle in and decide what the hell I’m going to say.
It’s going to be awkward, there’s no way around that. I’m not supposed to be here, and I need to brace myself for the rejection that I will almost certainly face. At least I’ve had a few days to put on my armor and prepare for it. It hurts a lot more when you’re blindsided the way I was with Neil.
It’s a gorgeous day, the sun is bright, it’s only seventy-three degrees, and the streets are full of bicyclists, tourists, and natives going about their day. I had a friend in the orphanage who was adopted by parents in Italy, and he wrote to me for a while when he left. His letters always raved about how perfect the weather was here, and now I see he wasn’t exaggerating.
The beach isn’t far from our hotel, so I make my way there and sit in the warm sand while I mentally prepare what I’m going to say tomorrow. A dog races by kicking sand on my legs while he chases a Frisbee, and I smile. He looks exactly like Klondike, which makes me think of good times with Graham, which, in turn, makes me sad for where we are now.
A Klondike look-alike dog returns down the beach proudly carrying his hot pink Frisbee. I make eye contact with him, and that’s all it takes—he runs to me and lays the Frisbee at my feet. “Hey there, boy, is this your Frisbee? You should take it to your owner. We don’t want anyone getting their knickers in a wad now, do we?” I say scratching the friendly dog behind his ears.
“Oh hey, I’m so sorry. He’s friendly, and he thinks everyone is his Frisbee-throwing slave when in reality, it’s just me,” says a handsome young man with long blond hair, tanned skin, and long, lean muscles. His English is surprisingly perfect. I wasn’t expecting to run into anyone I could communicate with.
“It’s not a problem at all. I have a friend with a dog just like…” I pause not knowing the dog’s name. I don’t see a tag on his collar.
“Pelé.” He fills in the blank for me.
“Just like Pelé.”
“He’s my girlfriend’s dog, but I always end up chasing him around when she’s working.”
“Ah, she must be on the job today then.”
“Yeah, she’s a model. They’re doing a shoot up the beach. I had to bring him all the way down here, so he would stop running into their shots. She was getting pissed. Hey, I love your accent, man. You’re not from here, huh? Are you one of the swimsuit models today?” I bark out a laugh. The idea of me being a model is positively preposterous.
“No, I’m not a model. Who’s your girlfriend?”
“Catalina Aurora, she does lot’s of stuff but mostly high-end swimwear.” I’ve never heard of her, but that’s not unusual. I rarely think about fashion even when dressing.
“I’m sorry, I don’t follow fashion much. I do have a friend who’s a model, though, and he’s here for a shoot. Do you know Graham Blackwell?”
“Yes, of course, he’s legendary! He’s supposed to be here in a bit, too, if you want to come say hey.”
“Today?”
“Yeah, they’re finishing up with the girl-only pictures, and then they’re doing couples. He’s filling in for a guy who partied too hard last night I guess. Everybody’s right up there,” he says pointing up the beach where I can see a large group of people with cameras, tripods, and various lighting equipment to block the sun.
I can’t possibly pass up an opportunity like this to talk to Graham—it’s too perfect, too meant to be-ish. I haven’t had enough time, though. I don’t know what I’m going to say, but maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe this is a conversation that should be more organic and less mapped out.
“Thanks, that’s great, but hey, could you do me a favor?”
“Sure.”
“Don’t mention to Graham that you saw me. I want to surprise him.”
“Yeah, that’s cool. Come on, Péle, let’s go,” he says to the dog, and Péle nudges the Frisbee against my hands.
“Is it okay if I give it a toss?”
“Yeah, please do, my arm is killing me. He’s had me running up and down the beach all day.”
I whip the disc in the direction of the models, so the guy won’t have as far to walk, and I stand up. I walk toward the shoot, but at a distance so as not to be seen until I’m ready to approach Graham. It’s a weekday, so the beach isn’t busy. I keep scanning the sand looking for my tattooed god. It doesn’t take long to spot him walking from the parking lot dressed in cargo shorts, a white t-shirt, and flip-flops. He’s casual and ready to rock swimwear for some Italian fashion magazine.
I find a bench out of the way and sit down to watch him work. I have never seen him model. I’ve seen photographs of him but always after the fact. He’s good. Hell, he’s great. I watch as the photographer points here and there, and Graham steps into a little makeshift changing room to put on the designer’s suit.
When he emerges, he follows the photographer’s directions and joins a woman wearing a barely-there white bikini at the edge of the water. He is magnificent—the way he moves and positions his body to accentuate hers is amazing and professional.
They do a series on the sand, another at the water’s edge, and a few in the water. The women are swapped out, but Graham does the entire shoot occasionally stopping for someone to slather sunscreen all over his body or a drink of water.
When they are finished with him, he changes back into his clothes and shakes hands with the crew and the other models. I watch him start to walk back toward the parking lot and take out my phone.
Walking up to him in a foreign country seems so desperate. I decide to text him as I make my way down the beach and see what kind of reaction he has.
Me – You look good today.
He takes his phone from his pocket and looks at the screen. When he reads my text, he stops and frowns. Here we go, prepare for rejection, Levi, it’s coming in five, four, three, two…”
Graham looks up, straight ahead at first and then to his left, and finally his right where I am. He squints into the sun and shields his eyes with a hand until he sees me. I raise my hand in a subdued wave and put my phone away still walking toward him.
“Levi?” he says shocked at actually seeing me.
“Hey.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I was watching you work. I’ve never seen you model before, you’re amazing.”
He looks at me and then to the spot where the photo shoot is still going on and back at me. “You were watching me? How did you know I’d be here? I wasn’t even scheduled to do this shoot today. Wait, why are you in Italy?”
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t leave things the way they were. We need to talk, and I went to the salon to do just that, but you’d already taken off. And being at this shoot today was pure coincidence. I was going to
come find you tomorrow, but thanks to a dog that looks like Klondike and a Frisbee, I found you today.”
He closes his eyes and his forehead furrows into a deep frown as he sighs. “So, you followed me all the way across the Atlantic Ocean to talk? You could have just called, Levi.”
“No, what I have to say can’t be said on the phone, and it can’t wait two weeks until you get home, so don’t try that either.”
“What do you have to say then?”
“Can we go somewhere and sit down?”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“Why? Why won’t you talk to me, Graham? This is killing me, you promised not to hurt me, but you are, so much. Please, Graham, I’m not too proud to beg. I’ll get on my knees right here in the sand and …”
“Okay, don’t do that for Christ’s sake. Meet me at the hotel bar in half an hour. I’m at the Amaryllis just up the street.”
“All right, and thank you. I know you don’t want to see me, but I have some things I need to say.”
He starts to reach out for me but stops pulling his hand back like he thought better of it. “It’s not that I don’t want to see you.”
I arch my eyebrow high. “Well, you could have fooled me. You told me you needed space and then you flew to another country first thing the next morning. You made yourself pretty clear.”
“I don’t know what happened. I panicked, I guess, but I think you’re right, we need to talk. I’ll see you in a bit, where are you staying?”
“The Cielo Blu.”
“That’s right next door to the Amaryllis.”
God love Gloria. She booked our hotel while we were flying. She had to have done that on purpose. Graham realizes this at the same time I do.
“Gloria,” we say in unison smiling.
“I have a feeling she’s behind a lot of this, isn’t she?” he asks.
“She is.”
“Well, she usually knows what she’s doing, and her heart is always in the right place.”
“You trust her a lot, don’t you?”
“All the way, man. All the way.”
Good, I hope that’s true because she is one hundred percent sure we belong together, and right now I’m at about ninety percent sure, and I have no idea what Graham thinks.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Graham
Levi is here in Italy. He came here for me, all the way across the pond where he told me once he would never go again. I feel guilty. He wouldn’t have had to come if I would have given him the chance to talk, if I hadn’t slammed the door in his face, and if I hadn’t left two days early.
He tried again the next day when he went to the salon, but my cowardly ass wasn’t there. I left my friend to deal with my problems instead of owning up to them myself—pathetic. I would be surprised if he’s even still attracted to me after that.
I shower and change into something more dress casual and less beachie. I head downstairs with damp hair wearing dark skinny jeans, a black button-up dress shirt, and loafers to the hotel bar. I’m early, and he isn’t here yet, so I take a seat at a two-top table against the wall. I order a beer from the petite waitress who flirts with me when I order in my crappy Italian. I smile politely and pray for the place to fill up, so she will have other patrons to charm.
My prayer is answered almost immediately when a large group of well-dressed young men come in and push together several tables to fit their party. After listening for a few minutes, I decipher that they are part of a local football team, and they are celebrating.
My waitress is the only one working the floor. She forgets all about me and turns all of her attention on the football boys.
“Rowdy group, eh?” Levi says coming up behind me.
“Oh, hey. Yeah, they just got here. I think they won a football game or something.” Levi is quiet for a moment listening to their conversation.
“Yes, they killed it, six to zero. They’re pretty proud.”
“You speak Italian?”
“I understand more than I speak, but I grew up in England, and I know football.”
Levi slides into the chair opposite me and points to my drink. “I’ll probably have to get my own, huh?”
I grimace. “I think she’s working alone, yeah.”
“I’ll be right back then.” He stands, and I watch his fine backside as he walks away from me toward the bar. He returns a few minutes later, beer in tow, and sits down with his arms crossed on the table in front of him lunging forward and surprising me.
“Okay, so this is what I have to get off my chest. This is what I flew all the way here to say, and what you need to know before you try to walk away from me. Ready?”
I nod, what else can I do?
“I don’t love people easily, Graham, but I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you in the salon the morning I came to investigate your robberies. When it seemed like you might be interested in me, I wouldn’t let myself believe it because I didn’t want to be hurt again, but guess what?”
“What?”
“I took that risk. I opened up my heart to you, and you walked right in and made yourself at home in there, and I’m not letting you leave without a fight. So your friend got hurt, yes, that’s horrible… so you got robbed, terrible, I agree, but what does any of that have to do with us? Nothing. You got mad, everybody gets mad, and that’s acceptable, but what you don’t get to do is shut me out and push me away when you’re mad. If I know one thing about being in a relationship, I know you stand by the person you love when shit gets difficult. That’s why I’m here, shit got difficult, but I’m not going to let you walk away and give up the best thing that’s ever happened to either of us. I love you. Get it? Your love makes me strong, and I didn’t realize that until you tried to take it away from me.”
I have no idea where in the hell all of that came from. It all just came rushing out of me, and now I’m trying to catch my breath. Graham is sitting across from me with wide eyes and one limp hand around his beer. He’s as stunned as I am. Suddenly, his eyes snap from their shocked stare, and he pushes away from the table.
My heart plummets, and I curse silently in my mind. Why did I get so aggressive? Why didn’t I let him speak first? I don’t have a chance to come up with another why before he rounds the bar-height table and moves my chair around pushing the back of it up against the wall and stepping between my legs. He takes my face in his hands and kisses me long and hard and passionately.
The kiss took me by surprise so much so that my arms hang limply at my sides, and my head tips back and taps the stone wall behind me. I gave him a shock-and-awe speech, and he’s giving me a shock-and-awe kiss in response.
I would consider the past five minutes wildly successful, and I’m pretty sure the football team behind us would agree. They’re all whooping and hollering and whistling by the time Graham pulls away.
I’m still dazed, but he turns around and smiles at the winning team of football players before taking my hand and leading me outside. “Where are we going?” I ask.
“It was too loud in there. Let’s walk on the beach.”
“Okay.” I notice him glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. A few steps later, he takes my hand.
“I’m sorry, Levi. What I did was unforgivable. I don’t know what got into me.”
“What did get into you? I mean, I understand you were upset about Zoe and Zach, but why leave?”
“I felt so bad after I asked you to leave the other night. I was pissed, and I took it out on you. I hurt you, the one person I swore I’d never hurt, and that made me hate myself. I decided you deserved better, and all I could think about was getting as far away from you as possible so it would be easier, and I wouldn’t be tempted to see you.”
“You know that wasn’t your decision to make, right?”
“That you deserve better? Yeah, I do now. Hell, I did then, but I was in full pity-party mode, and I used it as an excuse to run. I won’t run anymore, I promise.”
>
“And I will try to be more sensitive. It’s hard to switch the cop part of me off and on. I’m calloused from the things I see on the job. It’s made me bitter toward the world, and you’re so different from all of that.”
“I’m a dreamer and a fixer, you’re a bitter realist. I think we have our work cut out for us,” he says kicking off his shoes and picking them up.
“That’s okay, I don’t mind hard work especially when the pay off is you.”
It’s dark now, and we have reached the beach. The sound of ocean waves reminds me of home, Graham’s home in particular. His house is so close to the beach, you can hear the ocean from his backyard. I wish we were home. I would like to crawl into bed with Graham and make love and talk all night.
“Thanks. I’ll try to be worthy of your effort.” We have reached the edge of the water, and he turns around to walk backward tugging me along.
“Wanna go for a swim? The water’s warm.” He looks out into the dark water and back at me.
“I’m not that great of a swimmer. I think I’d have better luck in daylight, besides I didn’t bring a suit.”
“Party pooper, come on, live a little. I won’t let you drown, and we can skinny dip.”
I look around the beach. It’s dark, but there are still quite a few people doing what we are doing—taking a leisurely walk on the beach after dinner or drinks. “I don’t know, there’s a lot of people out here, and I’m a cop. Isn’t public nudity a crime here? I can’t go home with an international arrest record.”
“I know a little place that’s secluded, and no one will see us, come on.” He turns around and starts jogging down the sand with me in tow. This is the kind of thing I don’t get involved in because it makes me uncomfortable. At home, being a cop is the perfect excuse not to partake in risky behavior, but we are in another country where I don’t know the laws.
“You’re sure we won’t get into trouble for this?”
“No, what fun is that?”
“Oh, I don’t know… the security of knowing you’ll be able to sleep in your four-star-hotel-room bed tonight instead of a jail cell, or that you’ll be on time for your shoot tomorrow. You don’t want to miss your shoot, do you?”
