Page 103 of Operation Sunshine
The small space erupted.
Lexie let out a loud whoop and threw her arms in the air. “Finally! About bloody time.”
Ollie punched the air, grinning like a fool. “Yes, boss! Go get him.”
Willow actually clapped, bouncing like a kid. Mina smiled so wide it looked as if her face might split. Even Raj’s usual calm features cracked into a grin.
Ben held up his hands. “All right, all right, calm down before you scare the customers.” But he couldn’t hold back his smile. Their joy was contagious, enough to eclipse the terror gnawing at his stomach.
Then his smile faltered. “There’s one condition. None of you—and I meannoneof you—are to tell Franco I’m coming. Not a word. Not a text, not a whisper. I want… I need to do this on my own terms.”
The buzz of laughter and cheers dimmed into thoughtful silence.
Willow bit her lip. “But don’t you want him to know? To be ready?”
Ben shook his head firmly. “No. If this is going to work, if it’s real… it has to be raw. Unstaged. No warnings, no planning, just me, showing up. If he wants me, he’ll know it’s because I wanted him enough to be there, not because anyone tipped him off.”
They exchanged glances, a silent chorus of questions left unsaid. But then Lexie gave a short nod. “Fair enough. Your call.”
“Damn right, his call,” Ollie agreed. “Don’t worry, boss. We’ll keep our mouths shut. Scouts’ honour.”
“Somehow that doesn’t reassure me,” Ben muttered, but his chest loosened a little at their agreement.
For the first time in weeks, this was forward motion—scary, exhilarating, unstoppable. In forty-eight hours, he’d be on a plane. And in less than three days, he’d be standing in Florence.
In front of Franco.
Chapter Thirty
The taxi pulled away, leaving Ben standing alone in the piazza. The glow of streetlamps washed the cobblestones in a honey-coloured light, stretching shadows across the square. Florence at night was far from hushed, a still vibrant city bursting with life, distant laughter echoing from a nearby bar, the faint hum of scooters rattling down side streets.
Ben pulled up the handle of his carry-on bag, his pulse hammering in his throat. He gazed at the building across from him, with its faded ochre facade, green shutters closed against the night and wrought-iron balconies jutting from the second floor.
Somewhere behind one of those shuttered windows, Franco was asleep.
He swallowed hard.
What if this was a mistake?
Ben clenched his fingers around the handle of his suitcase until his knuckles ached. He’d crossed hemispheres for this, and it was way too late to turn back now.
Trust in Franco.
He forced his legs forward, step by step, until he reached theheavy wooden door. Inside, the stairwell smelled faintly of stone and dust, old plaster and lingering cooking aromas. His footsteps echoed as he climbed the stairs, ratcheting up the knot in his stomach.
At the second floor, he stopped before a simple door painted deep green, his breathing rapid. The brass numbers gleamed in the dim light. His hand shook as he raised it, curling into a fist. For a long moment, he couldn’t bring himself to knock.
Just do it, Ben. For once in your life, stop thinking and bloodydoit.
Three light raps.
In the silence that followed, his heart thudded. Then he caught the sound of movement, and a moment later, a lock clicked, and the door opened.
Franco stood there, his hair tousled, wearing nothing but a faded T-shirt and drawstring shorts. His eyes blinked against the hall light, heavy with sleep. He frowned, scratching his cheek. Then sharp recognition flared, and he gaped in obvious disbelief.
“Ben?” His voice was rough, low with fatigue but edged with something else that made Ben’s chest tighten.
Ben tried to speak, but his throat closed up. All the words he’d rehearsed, about missing him, about not being able to stay away, about love, crumbled into ash. All he could manage was a ragged whisper. “Hi.”
