Say Yes by Kandi Steiner

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Art of Nonna’s Tiramisu

We didn’t have a plan when we left the city, but we hopped off the train when we reached a small Tuscan town with rolling hills and lush, green cypress trees every way you looked. It was dark and late when we arrived, so we checked into a hostel and went straight to sleep.

The next morning, I woke to Liam snoring softly next to me, and the ache in my chest to hold him was too strong to override. I wrapped around him like a cat, nuzzling into his back and winding my arm around his stomach. He didn’t move other than to grab my hand and tuck it more around him, to tangle his legs with mine, to pull me closer.

We laid in bed for a long while before he turned to face me, his gentle fingers sweeping my hair from my eyes. “Are you okay?”

I nodded. “I am. I just… the bomb…”

“I know,” he said, saving me from having to describe how awful it felt to have terrorism in our homeland, to have not just our citizens, but those all over the world, put in danger. Hundreds were injured. Two were dead.

“I just wanted to be with you,” I admitted, cheeks heating as I let my gaze drop to his chest. “You disappeared these last few days…”

Liam was silent. His fingertips drew lazy lines over my bare arm. When there was a knock at our door letting us know it was time to check out, he pulled me into him for a long, slow kiss.

“How about we get breakfast and go explore?”

I nodded, reluctantly kicking the covers off and peeling myself out of bed to get dressed.

After a sweet pastry and hot coffee for each of us, I felt marginally better, and as we walked in the sunshine with the Tuscan beauty rolling all around us, the ache in my chest eased more and more.

“Check this out,” Liam said, pausing in front of a small wine shop. He read from the sign out front, “Pick vegetables and fruits from our farm and cook your own fresh lunch. Plus, wine tour. Boarding available. Inquire inside.”

He cocked a brow at me.

“Well, let’s inquire,” I said, shooing him inside.

After speaking to a young man in our best broken Italian while he tried his hand at English, we ended up in a van with seven other strangers — two couples and a family of three — riding along a dirt road. I had my face practically pressed against the windows as we wound our way up and over hills, vineyards and farms spreading out all around us, the deep greens and yellows of the hills playing against the cornflower blue of the sky.

“How badly do you want to paint right now?” Liam whispered in my ear.

“So badly it hurts.”

He chuckled, kissing my shoulder before he sat back, and I flushed at the public display of affection, regardless of how small it was. My eyes caught with one of the other young girls, who held the hand of the tall boy next to her. She smiled in understanding, like we had a secret. I smiled back like I was in her club, even if I wasn’t.

After fifteen minutes or so, we pulled up to a quaint little white stucco house with a burnt orange tile roof, and dramatic arches at the entryway. Trees and vegetation of all kinds surrounded it, including a vineyard that stretched off to the right, and an impressive vegetable garden just before the grape vines. The hills rolled on like a movie backdrop behind the house, puffs of white clouds casting sporadic shadows over the farms beyond.

A couple waited on the covered porch, smiles beaming as a young child chased a giant dog around them. Once we parked, the nine of us filed off the van to stand in a line in front of them.

The couple looked to be in their mid-to-late thirties, their eyes crinkled at the edges, smiles bright and inviting. The man was at least six-feet tall, the woman no more than five, and they both had fawn tan skin and dark, thick hair — his cut trim and neat, hers long and wavy over her shoulders.

“Buongiorno, welcome to La Fattoria del Nortia,” the woman said first. “I am Antonella, and this is my husband, Elio. We are happy to invite you to our home today.”

“I am Paolo!” the little boy said excitedly. “E questo è Biscotti,” he added, scruffing the head of the beige dog that was as tall as he was.

We all chuckled and waved in greeting.

“Please,” Elio said next, gesturing to a long table under the porch awning with cushioned chairs surrounding it. “We have lemonade for refreshment, and a selection of local cheeses and meats for your enjoyment.”

We gathered around the table, taking a seat and filling small plates with our choices as our hosts poured everyone glasses of lemonade. Introductions were made, letting us know who we were spending our day with. There was Stephen and Nicole, newlyweds from Illinois, Brian and Bethany, a French couple in their forties who were celebrating their twentieth wedding anniversary, and James and Betty, on holiday from London with their twelve-year-old daughter, Emma.

“We have a special day planned for you,” Elio said, standing at the head of the table with his own glass of lemonade. “We’ll start with a tour of the vineyard and grounds, followed by picking fresh vegetables and fruits and herbs from our garden to prepare lunch. You will each have an important assignment to help with bringing lunch from the farm to our table,” he said, pointing at young Emma. “Even you.”

She beamed at her parents, and then back at Elio.

“After lunch, we invite you to enjoy our pool, and the beautiful Tuscan weather,” he said, gesturing to all that surrounded us. “Now, before we begin, are any of you boarding with us this evening?”

I raised my left hand slightly.

“Ah,” Elio said, clapping his hands together before extending them toward us. “Meraviglioso. We will show you to your room now, if you’d like to leave your belongings before the tour.”

Liam and I followed Antonella around the house to where a separate, smaller extension of the house was, right next to the pool. She showed us to our private apartment, complete with a four-post bed, a rustic, sun-baked sitting area, and an adorable vintage vanity that made me wish I’d thought to pack my makeup just so I could use it. There were several shelves full of books, board games stacked on the coffee table, and a record player with albums I couldn’t wait to sift through later.

Once we’d dropped our bags off, we rejoined the group as Elio led us out for the tour, and Antonella stayed behind to prep for lunch. Emma and Paolo stayed behind, too, running around the yard with Biscotti.

“This house and land have been in my family since 1765,” Elio said as we walked between the rows of grape vines sprawling to our left and right. “It wasn’t until the 1930s that my great-grandmother began growing grapes to harvest for wine, and soon after, she and my grandfather added olive trees, too. Since then, we have supplied wine and olive oil all over Italy, and even the world.” He waved us to the left, leading the group into a row of grapes. “Come.”

He went on about the process of turning these little grapes into wine, and explained how if we came back in a couple of months, we could pluck the grapes fresh from the vine and taste their sweetness. Unfortunately for us, the grapes were bright green and hard at the moment, and eating them would likely end with us in the bathroom for the rest of the day.

We followed Elio down a long path that extended past the vineyard, listening to him talk about wild boars and truffle hunting in the fall. Then, he brought us to a wide-open field with a picturesque background to allow for pictures.

Liam dug into his pocket, struggling for a second before he pulled out the battered, disposable camera from our first night together.

He tapped it against his palm before arching a brow at me. “Last one,” he said, nodding to the scenic backdrop.

I smiled, but hated how that word made my stomach drop, how last seemed to live inside my head more than usual as July faded toward August.

“Last one,” I echoed, and then we handed the camera to Bethany and asked her to take our photo.

Liam pulled me into his side, his warm hand possessively around my waist, and I leaned into him with a smile. But just before Bethany snapped the photo, Liam tilted my chin to angle toward him and dropped his lips to mine.

Click.

“Thank you,” he told Bethany when she handed the camera back, and she smiled with pink cheeks, looking between us like we were the cutest thing she’d ever seen. When she’d rejoined her husband, Liam handed the camera to me.

“It’s yours now,” he said.

“Think that store we bought it at will develop it, too?”

“I’m sure,” he said. “And you better get two copies.”

It was a simple ask, casual enough to Liam that he sealed it with a kiss on my cheek before following after the group again. But I stood there rooted in place, stunned for a moment.

Because that meant he wanted to take me with him.

It meant he wanted to keep our memories.

It meant he didn’t want to leave me behind.

“Coming?” he asked, looking over his shoulder at me as the group began to forge back through the woods toward the house.

I nodded, jogging a bit to catch up, and forcing the urge to overanalyze such a small gesture out of my head.

By the time we made it back to the house, my stomach was starting to grumble. Elio led us to his garden and handed out baskets to each of us, and under the hot Tuscan sun, we picked tomatoes and peppers and summer squash right from the vine at Elio’s instruction. We even tapped pinecones on the ground to shake out pine nuts, which tasted so good I had a hard time not eating all of them before they could be used for lunch.

“Okay, gather around,” Antonella said when we were all in the grand kitchen of the house. It was huge, able to fit all of us in it and then some, and the large center island was filled with fresh meat, cheeses, and all the vegetables and fruit we’d just picked from the garden.

It already smelled like heaven, and Liam chuckled when my stomach growled loud enough for the whole group to hear.

“Today, we will be preparing several classic Tuscan dishes, from fresh bruschetta to my nonna’s tiramisu. You each will have a job, so to start, who would like to chop?”

She held up a large knife with a teasing smile, and Stephen was the first to raise his hand, which made his new bride laugh.

“Oh Lord, I hope there’s a hospital nearby,” she teased.

Antonella continued handing out jobs, everything from slicing fresh prosciutto and rubbing garlic on hot bread, to stirring a deliciously flagrant tomato-based sauce on the stove and preparing salads and truffle soup.

Liam and I were assigned to a smaller table in the room just beyond the grand kitchen to make the desserts.

“Harley, I will have you working on our blueberry ricotta crostata,” she said to me first. “I’ve prepared the filling and the pastry has been chilling, so we’ll just need to roll it out and assemble everything,” she explained, tapping her finger to a handwritten recipe on the table. “Here is the flour to roll, and remember to start the filling with a layer of the blueberry jam.”

I nodded, reading over the recipe — which had been translated to English — while she moved on to Liam.

“Liam, you have the most important job of all,” she said with a smile. “The tiramisu.”

“I’ve never had it.”

She balked, pressing her hands to her chest before she giggled with glee and grabbed his forearm, giving it a squeeze. “Oh, you will love it. Come, let me show you.”

I watched Liam with an amused smile as Antonella went through the ingredients and steps for making the tiramisu, all while I whipped up ricotta, sugar, egg, and lemon to layer with the blueberry jam. The savory smells trickled in from next room over, and combined with the sweet blueberry jam and sugary cheese, it was all I could do not to drool all over the table.

“So,” Antonella said, combining rum and espresso in a small bowl while Liam whipped up some kind of sweet cream. “How long have you two been together?”

I nearly dropped the entire bowl of ricotta, making a terrible racket of bowl against counter as I scrambled to regain my grip. I murmured an apology before setting the bowl aside and spreading the mixture out over the blueberry layer.

“Not long,” Liam answered for me, his smile easy. “We just met this summer.”

“This summer?!” She made a tsk noise. “Ah, the fire has just been lit.” Her grin was salacious when she met my gaze again. “You met here?”

“In Florence,” I said. “We’re both studying art there.”

“What kind of art?”

“Paint, mostly. Oil, acrylic, watercolor, pastel… but we do some sketching, too, and a little sculpting.”

“I mostly fiddle around, but Harley here is the best artist in our class,” Liam said, dusting the bottom of his baking dish with cocoa powder. “In the world, if you ask me.”

I rolled my eyes. “He’s being modest. Our professor would have already offered millions of lire for Liam’s work, if it wasn’t frowned upon and unfair to the rest of us in class.”

“You’re the one who will be famous one day,” he said. “I’ll just be hanging out on a street corner somewhere painting for pennies.”

“You’re so stupid,” I said on a laugh, tossing a rogue blueberry at him.

Antonella looked between us with a knowing smile before turning her attention back to the task at hand. “It sounds like you are both very talented.” She paused. “And a summer together in Italy, what an inspiring adventure, no?”

That reminder sobered me up, and Liam and I locked eyes for a moment before he cleared his throat and began dipping ladyfinger cookies into the rum and espresso mixture before laying them in the dish. “So, is this dessert going to get us drunk?” he asked in lieu of answering her assessment.

She chuckled. “No, but the wine my husband has lined up for you to taste might.”

“No complaints here,” Liam said.

Antonella wiped her hands on her apron, letting Liam take over completely. “This is my grandmother’s recipe,” she said with a distant smile. “I remember standing on a box to reach the kitchen counter and help her. I would have cocoa dust all over my cheeks,” she said, touching her cheeks with a reminiscent look in her eyes. “She always said there was nothing tiramisu and red wine couldn’t fix, and I’ve found that to be very true throughout my life.”

Liam and I shared a smile.

“She was a good woman,” Antonella added with sigh. “What about you, Liam? Does your grandmother have a special dish?”

Liam’s hand froze where he was dipping a ladyfinger in the espresso, but just for a split second, so quick that Antonella might not have noticed at all.

“Crab cakes,” he said, clearing his throat when the words came out soft and quiet. “She makes the best crab cakes.”

“Crab cake,” Antonella repeated, testing the words on her tongue. “Is that a dessert?”

He smiled. “No, it’s more of an appetizer, or it can be your whole dinner, depending on your taste for it. They’re little patties of crab meat and breadcrumbs and different seasonings, and you dip them in a sauce — grandma always does hers with her famous remoulade.” He laughed a little under his breath. “We’d have them every Christmas Eve, but otherwise only in the summer. When I was little, I used to say Grandma brought summer as her gift to Jesus.”

I smiled. “That’s really sweet.”

“Sounds deliziosa, too,” Antonella added.

“It is,” Liam said with a frown, his hands stilling again. “I haven’t had it in so long… I don’t remember what the remoulade tastes like anymore. I used to just think of it and I… I could taste it,” he explained, his fingers and thumb coming together like he had it on a spoon in his hands. He frowned even more. “I can’t taste it anymore.”

My chest squeezed, Antonella giving me a curious glance before she tried a smile and rested her hand on Liam’s wrist. “Memory is… how do you say…” She looked up at the ceiling for a moment before saying, “tricky.” She shrugged. “That is why we must soak up every moment while we have it.”

Liam nodded, a thick swallow bobbing his Adam’s apple as he wiped his hands on a dish towel. “Excuse me.”

He left without another look in either of our directions, disappearing out the open door onto the porch before he was rounding the house and out of view altogether.

I frowned, finishing laying the last of the dough over the blueberry dessert. It looked a little like the apple pies my mom used to make for Thanksgiving.

“I can finish here,” Antonella said to me, taking over where Liam had left off on the tiramisu. “We have some time before lunch will be served.” She nodded toward the door Liam had disappeared through with a soft smile, encouraging me to go after him.

“Thank you,” I said, and after a quick rinse of my hands, I jogged out the door and around the house.

I found Liam sitting on the edge of the pool, the deep blue water rippling in the breeze as he looked out over the Tuscan landscape. The sun was high overhead, making him squint when he wasn’t looking down at the water, and he’d kicked off his shoes, his bare feet idly swinging back and forth in the water.

I’d never seen a pool with a better view.

I was silent as I slipped off my sandals and lowered down next to him, dipping my toes into the chilly water. I rested back on my palms, taking in the expansive view of green and gold foliage that covered the hills around us.

The conversation and intermittent laughter floated on the breeze from the house out to where we sat, but neither of us said a word for a long while. We just sat there, side by side, kicking our feet in the water.

“For the last five years, I’ve felt like everything I’ve been running from has been coming right up on my heels behind me,” Liam said when the sun disappeared behind a fluffy white cloud. “It was just one or two things at first, but then more piled up, one on top of another until it all blended together like a giant snowball chasing me downhill.” He swallowed, shaking his head with his eyes still fixed on the hills. “I think it’s caught up to me now. I think… I think I’m being crushed.”

He looked at me, and I hadn’t noticed his bloodshot eyes until they were fixed right on me. Had he slept last night? Was he as restless as I was?

“I miss them,” he whispered, his nostrils flaring with the admission. “My mom, and my grandma. I want to make amends with them, and with Julie.” Just saying her name brought him an immense amount of pain. I could see it in the way his eyes closed, his shoulders slouching like he’d been socked in the gut. “I want them back in my life, but it feels impossible now.”

“It’s not,” I assured him, reaching over to rest my hand on his arm. “It’s never too late.”

“You don’t know what I did to them,” he said, shaking his head. “How I left them when they needed me the most, how I walked out on them when all they needed was someone to stay and assure them it would all be okay. They lost men who meant the world to them, and then they looked to me to take over, to handle it, to protect them and care for them, and instead, I… left.”

He said the word like he couldn’t believe it, like he was telling a far-fetched fairytale instead of the story of his life.

“It’s never too late,” I said again, waiting until he looked at me again. “You can call them, or email them. Explain. They will understand.”

“How could they? I don’t even understand,” he said. “It’s been five years of all of us trying to heal. If I show back up, I’ll rip their wounds back open. And my own, too.” Liam shook his head. “I can’t do that to them. To me.”

“What if instead of making them bleed more, you showing back up is the last stitch they need to truly heal?”

Liam looked back at the water.

“It’s not my decision, and I could never pretend to know what you feel, because I’ve never been through what you have,” I said, sliding my hand down his arm until I could lace my fingers over his. “But I can say that my life is better with you in it,” I whispered. “Which leads me to believe they would be happier to have you back than to live on without you.”

Liam rolled his lips together, his gaze focused ahead.

“I’m here,” I added, squeezing his hand. “You’re not alone.”

That made him close his eyes on a deep exhale, and on the next breath, he swept me into a crushing hug, his arms wrapped so much around me, it felt as though we were one in the same.

I held him back in earnest, resting my head on his shoulder and squeezing him tight.

“Pardon me,” a little voice said, breaking our embrace. We both turned to find a bashful Paolo with his hands behind his back. “Lunch is ready.”

“Thanks for letting us know, little man,” Liam said, reluctantly releasing me.

“I’m not little,” he defended with a frown, puffing his chest. “I’m big man.”

Liam smirked, standing before helping me do the same. “You are, aren’t you? Have you ever arm wrestled before?”

Paolo wrinkled his nose.

“Like this,” Liam said, demonstrating with my arm and his.

Paolo shook his head.

“Ah, well, after lunch, you and I will arm wrestle. See how strong you are.”

That lit up his face with excitement, and he ran ahead of us screaming to his parents in Italian what I could only imagine was something a mother didn’t want to hear about her child wrestling a stranger.

Still, the table was alive with laughter when we took our chairs at the end just in time for Antonella to pass us the salad. She winked at me, and then continued on with the story of how she and Elio met.

I passed the salad to Liam next, and as soon as it was gone, I felt his hand slide over my knee under the table with a soft squeeze.

When I turned to look at him, his eyes were laced with an unreadable expression, something between pain and sorrow, and yet somehow outlined in unmistakable wonder.

“Thank you,” he mouthed.

And I smiled, and squeezed his hand in return, and admitted to myself for the first time that I was in way deeper than I could swim.

The next day, we took full advantage of the first pool we’d been to in Italy.

We were sprawled out in deck chairs by nine in the morning, having had a traditional Tuscan farmer’s breakfast with Elio and Antonella, along with some fresh-squeezed orange juice. It was just me and Liam by the pool at first, and we would take a refreshing dip, only to lay out in the sun, neither of us feeling like we needed to fill the quiet space between us. It was another glorious day, blue skies and puffy white pillow clouds.

Around ten, Paolo came thrashing out of the house and across the yard toward the pool with an inflated blue tube around his waist. I was hanging on the edge of the pool, and he jumped over my head and splashed down between me and Liam, spraying both of us.

“Paolo!” his mother chastised as she and Elio pushed through the gate to join us. Biscotti was on their heels, and as soon as he made it past them, he jumped into the pool, too. “Chiedi scusa!”

Paolo wiped the water out of his eyes, feet kicking wildly to keep himself afloat while he held onto the tube for dear life. “Sorry,” he said, a bit nasally from the water, but his smile was cute enough for me to forgive anything the kid did.

“No worries, buddy. We were already wet, anyway,” Liam said, laughing when Biscotti swam right up to him and licked his face before swimming away again. “You’re a good swimmer.”

“His nonno taught him,” Elio said.

“I have to have i braccioli, though,” Paolo added, patting the blue floaty.

“I bet you could swim without it,” Liam countered, but Paolo quickly shook his head. “Want me to teach you how to float on your back?”

Paolo lit up at that, vigorously nodding his head and abandoning the floaty to reach for Liam, instead. I chuckled, deciding to clear the water so they had room for the lesson.

I padded over to my chair dripping wet, grabbing my towel to scrunch my hair a bit before I sat down under the umbrella next to Elio and Antonella. We all watched Liam in the pool with their son, laughing as they splashed around. Liam was attempting to show him how to backstroke.

“Doesn’t it just make your stomach hurt?” Antonella asked me as she watched Liam with Paolo.

I frowned. “Um…”

She glanced at me before laughing a little, waving her hands. “Oh, what I mean is… in a good way, a romantic way.” She made a clicking sound with her tongue as she struggled to explain it. “Like you can picture him as father.”

My smile slid off my face, and when I looked back at Liam, I swallowed hard. Because I could picture it.

And it did make my stomach hurt.

“Yes,” I whispered.

Antonella chuckled, reaching down to pet Biscotti where he was drying off in the sun at her feet. “I remember the first time I saw Elio with his nephew. I swore I would never have children,” she said, making an X with her arms. “But then I see them together, Elio tossing this little blond-haired boy into the air and catching him. He was giggling and looking at Elio like a… a…” She snapped her fingers a few times in search of the word. “Superhero.”

Elio smirked at her, leaning over to kiss her cheek before he went back to reading the newspaper he’d brought out with him.

I watched as Liam held Paolo up and talked him through how to fill his body with air to float. Every now and then he’d try to remove his hands and Paolo would panic, clinging to him, until Liam convinced him to try again. And then after a dozen times or so, he removed his hands and Paolo was floating.

He floated for a bit before realizing Liam’s hands were gone, and then he sank down into the water before bursting out again, both fists in the air.

“I did it! Hai visto, Mamma?!”

“I did see, paperotto. Bravo!”

Liam high-fived Paolo before his eyes found mine, and when he smiled, it was so bright, so young and free that it made my chest hurt along with my stomach.

We watched them have a few more lessons before Antonella called Paolo out to eat some cheese and grapes and drink some water — and so she could put more sunscreen on him. Liam dried off his hair a bit before hanging his towel over his shoulders and sitting next to me so we could snack, too.

“What’s wrong with your hand?”

Every single adult at the table stopped breathing at the question, wide eyes snapping over to Paolo. He stopped chewing, looking at his parents like he knew he’d said something wrong and was in trouble for it.

“It’s okay,” I assured them with a smile before I turned to Paolo. “I was born like this,” I explained, and though my throat was tight with everyone’s eyes on me, I somehow found the courage to bring my hand up on the table for them all to see. “It’s called symbrachydactyly.”

Paolo scrunched up his face, trying to say the word but failing. I could feel Liam’s eyes burning into my skull.

“I can barely say it, so don’t worry,” I said. “My thumb and my pinky formed all the way, you see?” I wiggled them. “But these here, these are called nubbins.” I pointed to my three middle fingers.

“Does it hurt?” Paolo asked.

I smiled. “No, sweetie. Not at all.”

“And you can use it?”

“Sure can. Watch,” I said, using my pinky and thumb to pick up a piece of cheese and pop it into my mouth.

“Wow,” he said on a breath.

Antonella gave me an apologetic smile. “Okay, mi amor, enough questions.”

“Can I go back in the pool?” he asked excitedly.

“Wait a bit. Take Biscotti for a walk down to the path and back.”

I could tell Paolo wanted to complain, but he knew better. “Come, Biscotti,” he called with a whistle, and then he jumped up, and the two of them ran out of the gate and toward the house.

“I’m so sorry about that,” Elio said.

“It’s really okay.”

Elio and Antonella smiled at each other before gathering up what was left of the food and telling us they were going to get started on lunch. They told us we were welcome to help, if we wanted, or to take the time to ourselves, and they’d let us know when it was ready. They still looked ashamed when they left, no matter how I assured them.

“You okay?” Liam asked when they were gone.

I frowned, trying to find the discomfort that usually sat in my chest when someone asked about my hand, but I came up empty. “Strangely, I think I am.”

“You handled that with grace.”

I shrugged. “He’s a kid. He wasn’t being mean, just curious.”

“If he would have been mean, I’d have tossed him in the pool and held him down.”

My mouth fell open. “Liam!”

He put his hands up, but didn’t take it back.

I chuckled. “I don’t know,” I said, rotating my small hand in front of me. “I think… I think I don’t mind talking about it anymore. I think I like that it’s a part of me, that it makes me different.” My eyes met his now. “Guess you could say someone has changed my perspective.”

Liam’s lips turned up at the corners, his eyes flicking between mine. “I’m kind of tired,” he said, though his eyes said another thing altogether. “Want to take a nap with me?”

I swallowed. “Sure.”

We retreated inside our little apartment, hanging our damp towels over the chairs outside our door before shutting and locking it behind us. We’d had the windows open to let the breeze in, but I watched Liam close them all one by one, drawing the curtains until it was dark inside the room.

When he drew the last ones, he silently made his way over to me, slipping his hands into my hair and pulling my lips to his without a word.

I closed my eyes, breathing in the kiss and the man behind it. I wrapped my arms around his waist, and when my fingertips skated across his back, it sent a shiver through him.

And it didn’t stop once it started.

“You’re shaking,” I whispered, leaning into his trembling hand.

His eyes flicked between mine, a thick swallow his only answer.

I closed my eyes again, leaning into his warm palm as emotion overcame me. There was something different, and we both knew it. It was all around us, like the air was weighted somehow, hot and heavy and impossible to breathe in.

“Liam,” I said, keeping my eyes closed. “I know I said I just wanted you for the summer, that I could walk away from you when the term ends…” I winced, pain radiating in my chest just at the thought. I blinked my eyes open, letting them gloss over because there was no sense in fighting it now. “But I lied.”

Liam’s nose flared, his eyes closing as a deep and heavy sigh left his chest. I reached up to hold onto his wrist where he still framed my face, not wanting him to let go.

“I want more,” I whispered, stepping into him, pressing my damp body against his.

“I do, too.”

I struggled for my next breath, wondering if I’d heard him right through the ringing in my ears. “You do?”

He blew out a pained breath, dropping his forehead to mine with a tender nod. “I do. I want all of you. I want you like I’ve never wanted anyone or anything else in my life.” He shook his head, then, eyes squeezing shut. “I need you, Harley. Like I need eyes to see.” He swallowed. “Like I need brushes to paint.”

I held onto him tighter, afraid to move, afraid to breathe else I’d shatter the entire illusion. Because that’s what this had to be — a dream.

“But I’m broken,” he continued. “I’m so fucking broken, and I…”

He couldn’t speak past that, his lips pressing together as a frustrated breath left his chest.

I nodded, threading my hands in his wet hair. “I know,” I whispered, lifting my head to look at him again. “But so am I, remember?”

Liam instantly shook his head, brows bent together like I was missing it, like I didn’t understand.

But I did.

I knew exactly what he meant. I knew that he’d been hurt in an unimaginable way, that he was battling with forgiving himself, with moving on, with feeling like he’d ever be able to love again.

And I wanted to prove to him that he could.

That he would.

Hopefully, with me.

Before he could try to talk me out of it, I pressed up onto my toes and crushed my mouth to his, breathing in his next exhale. He was stiff, at first, but the longer I kissed him, the more he softened, until his shoulders relaxed, and he melted into me.

We didn’t need words anymore.

Liam backed me up until my knees hit the edge of our bed, and we both tumbled into it, the sheets puffing up in a cloud around us.

So many ways, I’d had this man. I’d felt his impatient thrusts deep and hard, had him in the shower and in the bed and on both of our desks and in the middle of a dark alleyway in Florence. I’d felt his greedy hands take and take, felt the need to do the same burning at my core, felt passion like never before in my life.

But this was something else, something different, something new and tender and sacred.

Liam balanced on shaking elbows above me, shifting his weight to one side so he could pull at the ties fastening my swim bottoms to my hips. Just two simple tugs and he had me exposed, flipping the fabric down and sliding his finger between my wet folds.

I arched into the warmth of his palm, mouth falling open. His finger skated along the seam of me without touching my clit or pressing inside, just a tease of a touch before he rolled off of me and the bed altogether.

He kept his eyes on me as he stripped out of his swim shorts, abandoning them at his feet and crawling back into bed. He gripped my hips and hoisted me up until I was straddling him, his thighs under me, bare length slicking between my wet lips.

I gasped at the sensation, at how easy it would be to just angle my hips and drop down an inch to feel him inside me the way I desperately wanted to.

But Liam held my hips firmly, not allowing me to close the distance as he kissed me long and slow, stealing my breath more and more with each swipe of his tongue against mine.

Once he knew I understood not to move, he trailed his fingertips up over my hips, my ribcage, until he could tug at the strings behind my back. Just like my bottoms, the top fell loose, hanging around my neck as my nipples pebbled under the cool air.

I broke our kiss long enough to strip the fabric overhead, and then my mouth was on his again, and he palmed my breasts in each hand, testing the weight of them, his thumbs rolling over the peaked nipples.

I pulled back to watch him touching me, to admire the way our bodies fit together, how I arched into him and he into me, both of us yearning for connection. And when I looked back up at Liam, his hooded eyes watched me in return, a burning ache in their depths.

I love you.

I felt the words reverberate through my ribcage, ping ponging all around so fiercely I thought they might crack a bone. But I bit them down, kept them inside, begged them to quiet.

“I want to feel you,” Liam said, running the tip of his nose along the bridge of mine. He pressed a kiss against my lips before he whispered, “all of you.”

His hands wrapped around me and over my ass, rolling me forward and down just an inch, just enough to feel the head of his member press a centimeter inside me.

“Yes,” I gasped.

Liam swallowed, and with our eyes locked, he gently pressed, gently guided me until my hips dropped more, and he sank inside me.

It was just an inch at first, a searing inch that had both of our breaths hitched in our throats, and then he pulled me down more, flexed his hips, and he was so deep inside me I saw stars.

We both moaned, my forehead falling to his, eyes closing as I shivered from ears to toes.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You feel so fucking good, Harley.”

Without warning, I lifted up onto my knees, withdrawing until only the tip of him remained inside me before I sat back down.

It was even more consuming than the first thrust.

Liam bit my shoulder around a groan, and I rolled my hips against him, catching a bit of friction against my clit as I did.

Slowly, I began to move, pressing up onto my knees before slowly lowering back down, over and over, again and again. Our bodies slicked with sweat, the stifling heat from outside and lack of air conditioning turning our apartment into a sauna, but we didn’t care. Liam brushed my damp hair out of my face and pulled me into him, kissing me like he wanted to devour me entirely, like he wanted to fuse us together so that neither of us would know where he ended and I began.

We spent years in that embrace, or perhaps only mere minutes — time had warped into something immeasurable with him inside me, his eyes locked on mine, hands wrapped around my shoulders and pulling me against him as he flexed deeper and deeper with each thrust. I kissed his forehead, his cheeks, his jaw, his neck before capturing his lips, only to start all over again.

When I leaned into him, closing the gap between us and pressing my naked breasts against his chest, he held me to him tighter, his pace quickening, hands helping me ride him faster and faster.

Suddenly, he stopped me at the top with a hiss, a grimace of pain on his face before he muttered. “Condom.”

I left him long enough to hop off the bed and scramble for my purse, pulling a condom out and quickly rolling it on him. As soon as it was fixed tight, he pulled me into his lap again, helping me slowly lower down and take him inside.

“Goddamn, Harley,” he said. “You’re even tighter.”

I could feel it, too — like the break had made my body tight with the need to feel him inside me again, with the need to release.

Again, his pace quickened, but when I tried to close my eyes and surrender to the feeling, he shook his head, framing my face between his hands and holding me steady.

“Look at me,” he husked, flexing deep.

His eyes locked on mine, his hands sliding down again to grip my hips tight enough to bruise as he helped me move. Up and down, up and down, again and again as his eyes looked deeper into mine. His jaw tensed, lids fluttering, and then with a longing groan, I felt him spill inside me.

I clenched around him, too, fighting to keep my eyes open as I watched what I did to him, and he watched what he was doing to me. Every sense was overwhelmed with him, with the way it felt to have him inside me, to have him hold me, to have him look at me with such passion and desire it was palpable. He shuddered inside me with the last of his release and I clung to him with the exit of mine until we were both sated and trembling, drenched in sweat and holding onto each other for dear life.

It was the most raw and intimate connection I’d ever felt.

Those three heavy words were there again, dancing on the tip of my tongue, begging me to open my mouth and let them free.

I swallowed them down.

But when Liam lifted his forehead from where he’d pressed it into my chest, sweeping my hair aside so he could look up into my eyes, I could have sworn I saw those words reflected in his gaze, too.

Instead of speaking, he pulled me down for another long, slow, purposeful kiss.

And with that, all the rules were broken, all the lines were crossed.

We were in new territory now.