Page 42 of Better Than Gelato (Ciao Bella #1)

And he says, “I don’t think it’s worth the risk.” And his tone is so...conclusive. Like he is the decision maker, and he’s made the decision.

I don’t push or pout or complain. Even though I think it’s really stupid to miss out on something so fun.

We get a boring car, and I try my best to have a good attitude as we drive, boringly, to the other side of the island. But Jake still seems bothered.

Finally, I say, “It looks like something’s bothering you. Do you want to talk about it?”

And Jake sighs and says, “I’m just surprised that you weren’t concerned about driving a scooter for the first time in a foreign country.” The judgment in his voice is evident.

I don’t know what to tell him. You got your way. We’re driving the lame car. What do you want from me? I shrug my shoulders and say, “I wasn’t.”

And the deep disappointment in his eyes seems out of proportion to our situation. So I take a stab in the dark.

“You’re not just concerned about us on scooters today. You’re projecting things ten years down the road, the way you do, and you don’t trust me to drive our kids to school in a minivan.”

I know I’m correct by the look on his face. And then he says, staring straight ahead, “I just think you’re pretty reckless sometimes. Like you don’t understand or care about the consequences.”

My hands squeeze into fists in my lap and all the muscles in my neck tighten.

I understand how consequences work. I understand that as a consequence of being the youngest of five kids, I’m on my own for college.

So I worked hard to earn a scholarship to cover tuition.

I understand that as a consequence of my parents paying for one sister’s rehab and another sister’s divorce, they don’t have money to help me with rent or groceries.

So I got a part-time job to cover my expenses.

I carefully crafted a plan to leave my hometown and make something of myself. Recklessness had nothing to do with it.

For a while, I’m too angry to say anything. I stare out the window of our stupid car and look at the trees whizzing past.

After a few minutes, Jake puts his hand on my leg and says, “I just think you could be more responsible.” I brush his hand off.

I’m a terrible singer. I don’t understand film noir. But I am responsible. I set goals and achieve them. I am self-disciplined and levelheaded. Apparently, Jake doesn’t know that about me, and that hurts. But I know that about myself.

I don’t turn to look at him, but I speak loudly so I can be sure he hears.

“I actually like being just the way I am.”

The rest of the drive is pretty awkward.

We don’t talk. When we make it to the other side of the island, we find a steep trail to hike.

It gives us something to focus on and a reason for not speaking.

By the time we drive back to our condo, most of the weirdness has disappeared. We never talk about it again.

On our last night in Naxos, we participate in a traditional Greek dinner.

Jake made friends with the guy at the snorkel shop—because of course he did—and scored us an invitation to his daughter’s engagement dinner.

We eat home-cooked souvlaki, smash plates, and dance like hooligans under a bright moon.

It’s one of those nights I’ll remember forever.

Then we’re off to Santorini. I think this might be my favorite place yet. White houses cling to rocky cliffs above water the color of sapphires. I want to photograph every square inch.

We spend our first day hiking the trail connecting Thira, where we’re staying, to Oia at the very tip of the island.

It’s hot, but there’s a cool breeze blowing.

The sea is a dark blue, like it contains all the mysteries of the world.

As we hike, I think about Jake, and that feeling I had in the car that he didn’t really know me. I wonder what I don’t know about him.

“What’s your most embarrassing moment?” I ask.

Jake scoffs, “I’ve never had a single embarrassing—eighth grade basketball tryouts.”

I laugh. “You didn't make the team?”

“I did not. I took a shot, got hit in the face by the rebound, and broke my nose.” He kicks a rock off the trail, and it goes tumbling down the hillside into the ocean. “All in front of Sarah Flemming, who I’d been trying to impress.”

I burst out laughing. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s okay, that’s when I got into soccer. Turns out I’m better with my feet.”

“Once you were a star soccer star, did you ask Sarah out?”

“I did not.” Jake takes a swig from his water bottle. “She dated Brad Meyer, a basketball player, on and off through high school. And when she wasn’t dating Brad, I was dating other people, so it never worked out.”

“Who did you date in high school?” I ask without thinking. I stop to take a drink from my water bottle.

“Different girls,” he says. “I was in relationships through most of high school and college. What about you?”

“I was the opposite. I hung out with different boys. Maggie and I were both pretty boy-crazy in high school, but I never liked having a boyfriend. For the most part, I managed to avoid falling into that trap.”

“Okay, the first month of our relationship is starting to make more sense,” Jake says.

“So many girls at my school ‘fell in love,’ ditched all their friends and ended up heartbroken six months later,” I explain. “No thanks. Besides, the guys at my high school were idiots.”

“Okay, so what about college?” Jake asks.

“What about college?” A giant puffy cloud has moved over the sun, giving us some relief from the heat.

“Did you find someone to date and fall in love with in college?”

“I wasn’t trying to find someone to fall in love with. I was trying to pass my classes while working five shifts a week. There were certainly better options in college than my small high school. But I never actually...wait, how many people have you fallen in love with?”

There is silence, and I wish I could take the question back. Because suddenly, I’m sure it’s more than the one person I’ve ever fallen in love with. I feel like an idiot .

Of course Jake’s fallen in love before. Probably a heap of times. Why did I assume I was his first just because he’s mine?

Jake still hasn’t answered. Ohmygosh is he counting?! This is excruciating.

“You don’t have to answer that,” I say. “It was a stupid question.”

“I don’t think it’s a stupid question,” Jake says. “But I don’t think a lot of good will come from pulling at that thread. All those girls are in my past. You’re my present. And hopefully my future.”

It’s a sweet thing to say. But all those girls? How many are we talking here? This time, I keep the question to myself. Instead, I tell him about my most embarrassing moment involving junior prom and self-tanning lotion.

The whole hike takes us less than three hours, and then we’re in Oia, the iconic Greek town. There’s a staircase carved into the side of the cliff and after descending approximately seven million steps, we get to the beach.

It’s not crowded, and I’m so hot I don’t feel embarrassed as I strip off my shorts and tank top and dive into the cool water in my bra and undies.

It feels glorious. I don’t come up for a long time.

Long enough for my body to go through the shock of the cold and then acclimate.

When I do break the surface, Jake is just a few feet away.

“Doesn’t the water feel amazing?” I ask.

His hair is dripping, and his smile is big. “You know what else is amazing? That thing you did where you took all your clothes off and jumped into the sea in your underwear.”

“What else was I supposed to do?” I say. “It’s a million degrees, and I don’t have my swimsuit. Besides, my bra and underwear cover just as much as my bikini.”

Jake tips his head from side to side. “Maybe. But it feels different.”

“Well, if I’m offending you with my indecency, feel free to look away.”

“Oh, if only I could.”

And then he’s kissing me, and it’s the kind of kiss that lets you know everything he’s thinking and feeling and wanting.

We stay at the beach for a long time, swimming, and when our muscles are worn out, laying in the shallowest part of the shore where the waves wash over our legs. We’re two of the last people on the beach, and I never want to leave.

Eventually, we put our clothes back on and tackle the giant staircase. My legs feel like Jell-O. The kind of Jell-O that complains when you make it walk up stairs.

Oia is famous for its sunsets, and it feels like the town was designed to appreciate them as much as possible. We choose one of a dozen restaurants with patio seating and stuff ourselves on a platter of the restaurant’s specialties.

I fall in love with spanakopita, a light and flaky pastry stuffed with spinach and cheese. I also eat several little balls of herb rice wrapped in grape leaves. They’re called dolmades, and they’re my new favs.

We’re just finishing our last bites when the sky show begins.

The white clouds melt into a vibrant orangey pink that seems to grow until the whole sky looks like it’s about to catch fire.

It feels like everyone in the restaurant is holding their breath as we watch the red blazing orb finally drop below the horizon.

We stay on the terrace until the pink has melted away and the sky is indigo. Then we take a taxi back to our hostel and spend the rest of the evening playing cards with a group of travelers from Australia.

Just when I’m feeling ready to climb into bed, Jake says, “Well, guys, I think we’re going to call it a night.”

He gets up from the table and offers me his hand. And I know it’s not a big deal, and I know I was just thinking about going to bed. But why does he get to decide when we call it a night? What if I wanted to stay up and keep playing cards?

I take his hand and get up from the table, but feeling suddenly stubborn I tell him, “I’m actually not ready for bed. I’m going to head down to the beach.”

“See you later,” I say to the Aussies and head to the door.

“It’s pretty late,” Jake says, following me.

I shrug my shoulders. “I’m not tired.”

Which is silly because I am really and truly exhausted. But I’ve decided to dig in, so that’s what I’m doing.

“Didn’t you say we have something planned for tomorrow morning?” Jake asks.

“Yep.”

“So shouldn’t we get some rest?”

I can tell that he thinks he’s being reasonable, and I’m being unreasonable. And that makes me unreasonably irritated.

“You can if you want to,” I say. “I’ll see you in the common room at nine.”

I head out the door into the warm summer air. Jake follows me.

“You can’t go out by yourself,” Jake says.

“Of course I can.”

I head in the direction of the beach. It’s not far, I can hear the waves crashing.

“It’s not safe,” Jake says and reaches out a hand as though to take my arm, but at the last second changes his mind.

“Jake, I’m perfectly fine on my own,” I say. “If you’re feeling tired, go to bed. If you'd like to join me on the beach that’s fine too. But come for my company, not as my chaperone.”

Jake pauses and then softly takes my hand. “I always love your company,” he says. He looks at his watch. “Even at one in the morning.”

Most of my irritation melts away as we walk down to the beach. The area is not well lit, and I feel the cool water slide over my flip flops before I see it. I look out to the sea but can’t make out the horizon.

“Look at the stars,” Jake whispers.

I look up and suck in my breath. The sky is sparkling like a thousand diamonds spilled across black velvet. The moon is a tiny sliver, as though embarrassed to show up and get upstaged. We lay on our backs on the dry sand and gaze up at the sky.

“This is incredible,” Jake says.

“It really is.”

“So, what's the first thing you’re going to do when you get home?” he asks.

The question catches me off guard. Laying on a beach in Santorini under a blanket of stars, home is far from my mind.

I shrug my shoulders, realize he can’t see, and say. “Not sure.”

“I’m going to get a bacon cheeseburger and chocolate milkshake from Shake Shack,” Jake says. “I haven’t had a shake in ages.”

“Hmm.”

“They’re phenomenal. I’ll take you there. Maybe you could come for Thanksgiving.”

Suddenly my eyes fill with tears, and I don’t even know why.

I lay on my back and let them slide down my cheeks into my ears.

Jake rambles on about all the things he’s excited to do back home and how fun it’ll be to show me everything.

I stare up at the stars and cling to this moment in this little Greek village and refuse to think about leaving.

“What do you think?” Jake asks.

I have no idea what he’s talking about. I clear my throat, which still feels tight with tears and then answer. “Sorry, I missed that last part.”

“It doesn’t matter. I think you’re just tired. Should we head back to the hostel?”

“Sure,” I say. And we leave the stars to watch over the beach without us.

* * *

Santorini is small, and after three days, we’ve seen most of it. We took a boat tour around the island and explored some underwater caves. We hiked a volcano and lounged on a beach with sand the color of obsidian.

When it’s time, we walk down to the main dock and catch the last ferry of the day.

After this, we’ll catch our flight from Athens to Milan, and our trip will be over.

The ferry slowly pulls away from the dock.

We stay on the deck and watch the sun sink into the Aegean.

The sky remains a stubborn pink long after the sun has gone, like it’s clinging to something that’s no longer there. I know the feeling.