Page 46 of Ice Melts

He smirked. “Just keeping you grounded.”

She rolled her eyes but took his hand as they continued their walk through the narrow streets. He squeezed her fingers lightly, unable to stop himself from smiling. A year ago, if someone had told him he and Sarah would be here, in Italy, together—dating, happy, completely at peace—he wouldn’t have believed them.

And yet, here they were.

Tatum took the lead, reading out little historical facts from her phone as they wandered through the quiet alleyways. The village was small, with stunning views of the valley below at every turn. Time felt slower here, like they had stepped out of reality and into something timeless.

“Alright, you lovebirds,” Tatum said, stopping in front of a centuries-old stone archway. “Before I let you ditch me for some romantic sunset moment, I need a picture.”

Sarah laughed. “Fine. But only if you get in one too.”

They handed their phones off to a passing tourist, who happily took a few shots of the three of them, arms around each other, the valley stretching behind them in a breathtaking display.

After, Tatum checked the photos and nodded in satisfaction. “Okay, you’re free to go. I’ll meet you guys at that café near the bridge in an hour.”

Travis raised an eyebrow. “You sure you’ll be okay by yourself?”

Tatum scoffed. “Please. I have a mission to find the best gelato in this town, and I don’t need either of you slowing me down.”

Sarah grinned. “Fair point.”

With that, Tatum waved and walked off, disappearing into the winding streets.

Tatum meandered through the village, taking her time exploring the tiny shops filled with handmade ceramics, olive oils, and local wines. Every street corner held something picturesque—ahidden garden, a sunlit stone terrace, an elderly woman selling fresh biscotti.

She was on a mission for gelato when she found herself sidetracked by the sound of a deep, rich voice speaking in smooth Italian.

“Americana?”

Tatum turned, her eyebrows raising slightly as she took in the man standing before her. He was tall, dark-haired, with that effortlessly put-together look Italian men seemed to have mastered. His eyes were a warm hazel, and there was a mischievous spark in them as he smiled at her.

“Depends,” she said, crossing her arms. “Are you about to overcharge me for something?”

He laughed, a deep, genuine sound. “No, but I was about to recommend the best gelato in town. But if you’re not interested…”

Tatum narrowed her eyes, trying not to smile. “Go on.”

He gestured to the shop behind him. “Alberto’s. He’s been making gelato the same way for fifty years. Nothing too sweet, just perfect.”

Tatum glanced at the small shop, the smell of fresh cream and sugar drifting out into the air. It did look promising.

“Alright, mystery man,” she said, stepping forward. “You convinced me.”

They ordered their gelato—her, pistachio; him, hazelnut—and took a seat on a stone ledge overlooking the valley.

“So,” he said, licking his spoon. “I’m Luca.”

“Tatum,” she replied, trying not to stare at how ridiculously good-looking he was.

“First time in Civita di Bagnoregio?”

“Yep. Came here with my brother and my best friend.”

He nodded. “And yet, you ditched them for gelato?”

She smirked. “I have my priorities straight.”

Luca laughed again, and for the first time in a long time, Tatum felt something stir in her chest—something light, something easy.

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