Page 30 of Better Than Gelato (Ciao Bella #1)

We leave the shelter of the bathroom and walk the sandy path down to the beach.

The boys are already there, and they’ve managed to commandeer a couple of lounge chairs and umbrellas.

Diego and Jake are trying to make the umbrellas stay up in the sand, so they don’t see us right away.

But Paolo, who studiously avoids manual labor, has noticed us and his reaction is priceless.

I wish I had my camera to capture the look on his face. Valentina pretends she doesn’t see him ogling her, but I can tell from her tiny smile that she really does. She walks over to him and says, “ Ciao bello .”

And Paolo says nothing because he’s incapable of stringing words together at this moment. It’s hilarious. I wander away from the two of them and head to Jake and Diego. Jake is trying to twist the umbrella into the sand while Diego pounds on it from the top.

“Need some help?” I ask.

“Sure that’d be—whoa.” Jake looks up and sees me. I try to look less awkward than I feel, but I’m not sure I’m pulling it off. I swear I was not this awkward in California.

“You look…You’re wearing…I’ve never seen you…wow.”

“Thanks,” I say and give him a kiss on the cheek. “Nice job getting these umbrellas and chairs. Can I help you get them in?”

“Nope, that umbrella is dead to me now. Sorry Diego, you’re on your own.”

Then he scoops me up honeymoon style and carries me to the water’s edge. I think he’s going to toss me in, but he doesn’t. He wades in waist deep and then gently sets me in the water. It’s cold and my skin breaks out in goosebumps, but it feels good.

We’re only ten yards from the beach, but suddenly it feels like we’re alone.

Jake pulls me closer to him, and his chest is warm from the sun.

His arms wrap around my waist, and I lean into him.

My hands are in his hair and then running across his shoulders, and it feels so good to touch his bare skin, that I don’t even notice when he’s scooped me up again and I’ve wrapped my legs around him like a koala.

Suddenly we’re kissing in a way that is not appropriate for public consumption.

Italy has a way of making you feel like you’re in a private bubble, but it’s a trick. You are, in fact, making out at the beach where anyone can see. I muster all my self-discipline and common courtesy and untangle myself from Jake.

Jake lets out a shaky breath. “So that escalated quickly.” He’s slowly moving away from me.

I nod my head.

“So,” Jake says. He’s still breathing heavily.

“So,” I reply.

I stand there waist-deep, checking Jake out, and it doesn’t do anything to slow my heart rate.

For a scientist, Jake has the muscles of an athlete, and I remember that he played soccer at Johns Hopkins.

A bead of water drips down his sculpted shoulder, over his chest and through the gauntlet of abdominals as I watch, mesmerized.

This image of him, naked from the waist up, standing in the Mediterranean and glistening in the sun, is one I’ll have with me for a long time.

Jake coughs, and I snap out of my ogling. I spot a buoy thirty yards out.

“How about a race?” I say, pointing.

“You’re on,” Jake says. “On your mark, get set, g?—”

I’m under the water before he can finish.

I take long strokes with my arms and hard kicks with my legs, and it feels good to get this energy out.

It’s been ages since I’ve swam, and I didn’t realize how much I missed it.

I come up for air, then keep pushing myself as hard and as fast as I can.

When I smack my hand against the buoy, Jake is a half a body length behind me.

“You smoked me!” he says when he reaches me.

“I really did.” I can’t help gloating a little.

“I had no idea you were such a good swimmer.”

“What can I say? I’m a California girl.”

“Stupid Arizona desert with its stupid cactuses,” Jake grumbles. “So, darts, swimming, any other secret talents I should know about?”

I shake my head. “Not really. Although I do play the bagpipes.”

Jake’s eyebrows shoot up. “The bagpipes? Really?”

“Learned from my paternal grandmother. She also taught me Swedish. My accent isn't great, but I can carry on a conversation.”

“Wow. I had no idea.”

“I’m also a two-time regional chess champion. And last year, I published a book of limericks.”

“Is that so?” His eyes narrow, and he’s smiling.

“Did I go too far with the chess champion?”

“I believed all of it right up until the limericks.”

“I knew that one was too much. I could sense it.” I wipe a strand of wet hair out of my face.

“So how much of that is real?”

“The darts,” I say with a smile. “And the swimming.”

He shakes his head. “What should I do with you?”

“I have some ideas,” I say, and then we’re kissing again.

We slowly make our way back to the beach. We do more races, a handstand contest, and Diego and Jake build a decent-looking sandcastle with a moat and everything. We stay until the sun is almost setting, then we grab dinner and catch the last train back home.

“I think I’m going to go with Columbia,” Jake says as I snuggle in next to him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s an amazing school. Their research is cutting edge. And I’ve always thought it would be cool to live in New York City.”

“They’re lucky to get you,” I say, pushing down the rising sadness I feel about my own thwarted college plans.

Jake asks what kind of house I want to live in and after some discussion, we agree on a beach house with a secret passageway.

This game of make-believe is addicting. It’s easy to picture a wonderful life with Jake if I look at us ten years down the road and not two.

The odds for long distance relationships aren’t good.

And one of us relocating really means me following him to New York.

But I don’t think of those things. I stubbornly and defiantly block them out. Instead, I think about Jake in the ocean, smiling at me with saltwater dripping off his shoulders.