Page 67 of Something Like Fate

Roc confirms this was not a mix-up. “My sincere apologies. I assumed you were a couple. We don’t actually have any more rooms with two beds available. But there might be a pullout couch in the basement. Let me check if we still have it—”

Teller gives me an uneasy look that screamsso much for splurging.

I shake my head, making the best of the situation. “It’s fine, really.”

“Is it?” Teller asks.

“Why not? It’s a big bed. No big deal. Honestly, I’d sleep in a sleeping bag on the lawn if it means we get to stay here.” It really isn’t an issue, especially when we’ve already shared a twin.

Teller runs a hand over the back of his neck, surveying the room. “Right. It’s totally fine.”

It really is. Fine. At least, I think so.

“Welcome to Tuscany, everyone, also known as the heart of Italy,” Noreen, our adorable five-foot-nothing tour guide says once everyone has deboarded the bus. “Tuscany is mostly famous for its—”

She widens her eyes like a cartoon character and places her hand around her ear for emphasis, waiting for someone to fill in the blank. Gotta give props for the gusto.

Everyone is giving their best soulless, blank expressions, so I shout, “Wine!” which she seems to appreciate.

“Yes! Very good. The vineyards, the wine, the world-class olive oil. But Tuscany is also known for its delectable artisanal cheese, including Pecorino, made from sheep’s milk. That’s why we’ll be spending the morning at one of my favorite places, Cascina Formaggio Toscana.”

I can see why it’s one of her favorite places. The villa is a stone farmhouse surrounded completely by olive groves. Noreen introduces us to an older gentleman in brown overalls named Louis, the owner of the farm. She translates his Italian into English as he leads us around the lush estate and through the pastures of sheep roaming and munching on grass. In between, they converse in Italian, and I’d wager Noreen has a massive crush on Louis based on how many times she touches his elbow.

“These are the true stars,” Louis explains, pointing to the pasture. “Sardinian sheep. They provide us with the milk that’s the heart of our cheesemaking process. If you’re feeling frisky, you can see if they’ll let you scratch behind their ears—they’re quite the charmers.”

Louis tells us about their generations-old techniques for cheesemaking, including milking the sheep and the intricacies of curd formation. We even get to watch the workers demonstrate how each cheese wheel is carefully curated and topped with Louis’s secret blend of herbs and spices.

Clutching handfuls of cheese samples, we meander through the fields, where Louis discusses sustainable farming. We’re trailed by a big black farm dog named Jeanie who begs for cheese slices—her favorite snack. I give her nearly all my samples so I don’t get a stomachache, and so does Teller.

Then we head to an enclosure containing a herd of alpacas. There are about seven of varying sizes and colors, and all named after Shakespearean characters. To my delight, we’re allowed to walk them on the pathways. I steer a brown one with massive teeth named Malvolio, and Teller walks a smaller white one with a mushroom cut named Horatio.

“I’m not sure we could have picked a better activity for you. You haven’t stopped smiling since we got here,” Teller says, giving Horatio a nice pat on the back.

“Playing with dogs, sheep, and alpacas? You’ll have to drag me out kicking and screaming. Sorry, there are no ponies.”

“Ah, that’s okay. I have my pony calendar now.” His lips tug in the slightest grin.

“Who needsPlayboywhen you have ponies?” I tease, attempting to tug Malvolio away from a patch of weeds. He won’t budge, so we stop and let him graze.

Teller gives me a gentle elbow. “Have you ever thought about starting a hobby farm or something?”

I tell him about my conversation with Caleb, about getting a big piece of land for rescue animals. “It’s just ... it doesn’t seem realistic, does it?”

Teller thinks as we resume walking. “Maybe not right now. But you could get a job at a local rescue, or the humane society.”

“Maybe. I’d probably love it. Though I’d be tempted to adopt every dog.”

“I could definitely see you ending up with like, twelve dogs.”

I run my fingers through Malvolio’s thick, woolly fur. “Forever alone with ten dogs and ten cats. That’s my future.”

Teller shrugs. “That sounds like your ultimate fantasy.”

I laugh because otherwise I’ll cry. “Maybe my true soulmate is a dog.”

He swings me a look. “Well, if you’re still alone and miserable at fifty, I’ll marry you.”

Blood rushes to my ears, singeing the tips. Did he really just say that? “Even if I have all those dogs and cats? You would not. You would die of allergies.”

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