Page 31 of The First Time

An hour later, I’m tipsy from the wine as we leave the building.

“That was so much fun,” I say, then somehow manage to trip on a rock in front of me. “I’m not that drunk, I swear. The rock came out of nowhere.”

He chuckles. With his hands in his front pockets, he turns towards me as he walks backward. “I wonder how many people leave this building claiming they’re notthatdrunk.”

I scoff. “How are you not feeling it?”

“Who says I’m not? But I am like twice your size, so I can handle a lot more than you. Come on, let’s get some food in you.”

He walks along the grass like he knows where he’s going. I look around us and only see trees and vines, besides the building behind us that is getting smaller in the distance.

“Um, Josh. I don’t think there’s any places to eat around here.”

“I think you might be wrong about that. What about right here behind this tree?”

I think he’s losing his mind until we reach the tree, and I see it. A picnic. There’s a blanket with an entire charcuterie board of meats, cheeses, crackers, and a bottle of wine and glasses set up.

It’s exactly like I had described. The warmth of his actions spreads through my body. It’s overwhelming what I’m feeling.

“Josh,” I whisper, then look over at him.

His hands are still in his pockets as he rocks back and forth like he’s a bit nervous.

“Do you like it?”

“I love it,” I tell him. I don’t even know how to respond to adequately show my appreciation. This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.

“Well, let’s take a seat. I think we should start with getting some food in you before you go for any more wine.”

“Yeah,” I laugh as we take a seat. “I was eyeing this food either way. It looks incredible. And this view,” I continue as I look out at the rolling hills of Tuscany. “It’s exactly what I had envisioned.”

He leans back on his arm, letting his legs extend out, oblivious to how good he looks.

“Oh, and just so you know, I’m twenty-five percent Italian,” he says with a wink.

Oh, boy. My heart is beating erratically in my chest, but I try to play it cool like he has little effect on me.

I smile at him, then take a piece of cheese. “I guess you’ll do.”

He laughs loudly. “Thanks, Freckles.”

I clench my teeth. “Must you call me by that nickname? You haven’t used it in years. Why are you saying it again all of a sudden?”

“What’s wrong with my nickname for you?”

“Freckles? It always felt like you were making fun of my freckles. I used to get picked on for them, so it just felt like another person teasing me.”

I can’t even look at him when I say it. It’s embarrassing to admit, but I’m just over hearing that name on our trip. But after the silence drags on too long, I look over at him. His eyes are brimmed with tenderness as they hold onto mine.

“I love your freckles. They’re the first thing I noticed about you when we met. I instantly fell in love with them.”

I suck in a quick breath of astonishment. With hesitation, I grab a grape and bring it to my mouth, biding my time to respond. Because how do I respond?

I swallow hard. “Umm, thanks.”

“Anytime, Freckles.”

We continue to eat our food, but every time his gaze meets mine, my heart turns over.

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