Page 50 of Something Like Fate

He shakes his head, eyes catching mine. “I disagree. I think I understand you pretty easily.”

He does and I’m so grateful. I can’t help but smile. “That’s why you’re my best friend. Forever.”

Call me crazy, but there’s just something about weaving through a dense crowd—a chaotic flurry of strangers who find themselves in the same place at the same time, all sharing the same itch to explore and discover.

We’ve been in Florence for three days, exploring cathedrals, museums, and galleries until our feet are swollen and blistered. But today is particularly exciting because Caleb, Teller, Riley, and I are going on our first double date.

It was my idea. I proposed it so Teller could get to know Caleb a bit better, and for me to spend more time with Riley, without Jenny. She tends to overshadow Riley in group situations.

“I think you and Caleb will really hit it off,” I told Teller, sounding more confident than I felt.

“You think? He’s different than me. And not just in looks.”

“We’repretty opposite.”

“Touché.”

Frankly, they’re vastly different. But if they’re going to be such integral parts of my life, I can’t imagine them not getting along. That’s why laying the foundation for their friendship is crucial.

Still, I’m taken aback by a pinch at the sight of Teller’s hand, resting low on Riley’s back as they walk ahead of us. Maybe it’s the heat. Definitely the heat.

Luckily, our first double-date activity is a cooking class indoors.

We enter a nondescript building a couple streets away from the hustle and bustle. Inside, it’s lined with long stainless-steel tables arranged in a big square. Chef Guidice is exactly what I’d pictured. A classic white chef’s coat stretches around his stout frame. He has a bighearted smile that immediately makes you feel at home. His dark eyes light up as he greets us and tells us about his background. It all started with his family’s trattoria.

The four of us listen intently as Chef Guidice demonstrates how to makefiori di zucca fritti(fried zucchini flowers stuffed with cheese), guinea fowl cooked with grapes, and then dessert—a tiramisu. We watch closely, copying the way he whisks the velvety mascarpone and delicately arranges the ladyfingers in the dish. When he pours the espresso, it reminds me yet again of the scent in my vision.

When our class is over, we wander around the medieval quarter, listening to the street artists play cheerful piano tunes. Lemon granitas in hand to quench our thirst, we duck in and out of random shops to take breaks from the beating sun. We try on every hat, admire everywatercolor postcard and cheap trinket and fridge magnet of the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

Every inch of the cobblestone is packed with tourists in wide-brimmed hats, eyes alight, armed with maps and cameras, licking messy drips of gelato off their forearms. I can’t help but think this is what life is about.

Perhaps the best part is witnessing Caleb in his element. He finds joy in the little things, like stopping to listen to the buskers, the vendors selling goats’-milk soap and mini jars of homemade pesto from Cinque Terre, even the pesky pigeons that dive-bomb us as we attempt to eat street meat. Caleb takes everything in like it’s the first time, despite having been to Florence three times already. It occurs to me that this is what makes him so likable—his genuine passion for discovery, finding something new and exciting everywhere he goes.

The restaurant is a cute little place with rustic wooden tables and red-leather booths. The walls are adorned with art depicting vineyards and black-and-white photographs of celebrities who have visited through the years.

Despite being together all afternoon, we haven’t had much opportunity to talk—or maybe I’ve just been too caught up with Caleb. While Teller and Caleb have stilted conversation about the Roman empire, I get to know Riley a bit better. She’s an aspiring schoolteacher from the Midwest, and she recounts a bunch of funny stories about student-teaching third grade. She likes horseback riding and painting in her spare time, has a particular interest in Formula 1, and also loves Coldplay, which is just further proof that she’s potentially Teller’s perfect match.

“Did you know Riley is a Coldplay fan too?” I ask Teller.

His eyes light up. “Seriously? Everyone hates on them. Including Lo.”

“What?” Riley looks offended.

“I actually really like Coldplay,” I correct. “There’s just a time and a place for their super depressing songs.”

The waitress comes around and we put in our orders. I watch as Riley leans in toward Teller, double-checking the menu to make surethey’re ordering the right pasta dishes.Teller must be an amazing boyfriend.He always thinks of others before himself. Always does everything he can to make sure his person is happy and comfortable.

“I hope it’s good,” Riley says.

“It’s a bit of a tourist trap, but it’s not bad,” Caleb says over the soft melody of the Italian music.

“I’m loving this place.” I’m delighted by the open kitchen, where chefs are deftly tossing raw noodles in the air, spinning them into the perfect thickness and shape.

“You love everything,” Caleb says.

Conversation is pretty casual after our food arrives. Riley tells us about how she and Teller toured the Palace and spent some time at a nearby park. I watch as Riley drums her nails on Teller’s shoulder as he talks. He isn’t usually a fan of unnecessary touch, but he doesn’t seem to mind this. In fact, he looks quite relaxed with her. I don’t recall him being so calm with Sophie. But perhaps the most annoying part is the goofy smile plastered across his face whenever he looks at Riley. Something about it bugs me, like the tiniest, itchiest mosquito bite. It’s not enough to ruin your day, but it’s always there. Simmering. Itching. In fact, the only time he’s not smiling at her is when she steals a piece of prosciutto off his plate. I cough, unable to contain myself.

It’s strange, Teller and I being here with our significant others. It’s always been just the two of us, minus the few times Sophie was around. And it strikes me that as we enter our twenties and have more serious relationships, it’ll never really be just us again. I doubt we’ll be hanging out alone and going on trips together when we’re married and have families of our own. I’m not entirely sure I’m ready to say goodbye to the old Teller and Lo. The idea turns my stomach, and I have to set my fork down.

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