Page 52 of The Slug Crystal

"There's a train leaving for Venice in twenty-five minutes," Marco interjects, his tablet already displaying the schedule. "If we leave immediately, we could make it."

“Let’s do it,” I say, glancing around at each of the men surrounding me, until my eyes land on snail-Alex.

“Okay,” Jake responds with a nod.

A whirlwind of activity follows as we hastily gather our backs and scuttle around the villa to ensure everything is packed.

Luca refuses to leave behind fifteen croissants that he baked, so those get shoved into my backpack while he calls to arrange for the plane to be fueled and prepared for our arrival.

Jake focuses on securing Alex's terrarium, ensuring he has everything he needs for the journey. The snail seems unperturbed by the chaos, methodically exploring his enclosure as if nothing has changed.

"As adaptable as ever," Marco observes, appearing beside me while the others load bags into the taxi. "An incredibly useful trait, given our circumstances."

His proximity sends a fresh wave of heat through me, memories of last night flashing vividly behind my eyes. Before I can respond, he gently touches my arm, his voice dropping to ensure privacy.

"About last night," he begins, scholarly precision momentarily abandoned for human uncertainty. "I want you to know?—"

"We're going to miss the train if you two don't hurry up!" Ben calls from the doorway, his timing suspiciously perfect.

Marco steps back, composure returning like a mask sliding into place. "We'll continue this conversation later," he promises, then helps me carry my bag to the waiting taxi.

The train station is a chaos of bodies and announcements, our mad dash to the ticket counter complicated by last-minute purchases and limited availability. We manage to secure seats, but not together, a fact that becomes apparent only after we've boarded the crowded train.

"Two in car four, three in car six," Jake reads from our tickets, looking disappointed. "We'll have to split up."

After a brief negotiation, the arrangement solidifies.

Jake, Marco, and Luca will take car six, while Ben and I settle into car four.

Alex's terrarium goes with Jake, the special carrier designed to minimize jostling during travel, tucked under his arm as he joins the others to head to the other car.

As the train pulls away from Rome, I find myself acutely aware of Ben beside me, his lanky frame folded into the small seat, his knee occasionally brushing mine as the train sways. He's been uncharacteristically quiet since we boarded, his usual stream of jokes and observations notably absent.

"You okay?" I ask after several minutes of silence. "You're freaking me out with the whole silence thing."

Ben's laugh is soft, almost self-conscious. "Just thinking."

"That's even more terrifying," I tease, nudging his shoulder with mine.

His smile is crooked, not his usual performative grin but something more genuine. "I've been meaning to ask you something," he says, turning slightly to face me. "What's your love language?"

The question catches me off guard. "My what?"

"Love language. You know, how you give and receive affection." He waves a hand vaguely. "Words of affirmation, acts of service, all that psychology stuff."

I blink at him, trying to reconcile this surprisingly thoughtful question with the Ben I thought I knew. The one who makes inappropriate jokes and flirts as easily as breathing.

"I've never really thought about it," I admit, watching the Tuscan countryside blur past our window. "Maybe... acts of service? I appreciate when someone does something thoughtful without being asked. Shows they're paying attention." I pause, then add, "What about you?"

Ben looks down at his hands, turning his watch around his wrist, a nervous gesture he’s never done before.

"Physical touch," he says simply. "Not just the obvious stuff.

The small things. Like a hand on my shoulder, fingers brushing when passing something.

" He glances up, his green eyes surprisingly vulnerable.

"People think I'm all talk, but I communicate better through physical contact. "

Suddenly, his constant proximity, the casual touches, the way he always seems to be within arm's reach… it makes sense in a new way.

"What do you want?" he asks, his voice dropping slightly. "From life, I mean. When all this is over."

The question feels weightier than our swaying train car should be able to support. I consider how to answer, surprised to find myself wanting to give him honesty rather than deflection.

"Connection," I say finally. "Real connection.

I want work that matters, that helps people communicate better.

And..." I hesitate, feeling unexpectedly vulnerable.

"I want to build something lasting with people that I care about. Not necessarily the traditional house-marriage-kids package, but something that just feels right. Like it’s mine. "

Ben's eyes haven't left my face, his attention so focused it almost feels like a physical connection between us. "That's why your mom's expectations feel so heavy," he observes. "Because she wants you to build someone else's dream."

The insight startles me. How has he picked up on something so fundamental that I've barely articulated to myself? I’ve only talked to Ben in passing about my mom, I didn’t realize he listened so attentively.

"What about you?" I ask, deflecting from my surprise. "What does Ben Clark want when he's not chasing witches across Italy?"

His laugh has no humor in it. "Would you believe pretty much the same thing?

Connection. Creation." He glances out the window, his profile sharp against the passing landscape.

"I write because I want to make people feel something.

All the jokes and the charm are just the surface.

Underneath, I just want to matter. To find my people and my true purpose. "

The confession hangs between us. This conversation has become more intimate than I expected. I find myself seeing Ben in a new light. He’s not just an irreverent jokester, but a man with depths and vulnerabilities I hadn't imagined.

"You matter," I say softly, my hand finding his on the armrest between us. "To me. To all of us."

His fingers intertwine with mine, warm and surprisingly steady. "Even with all this competition?" he asks, tipping his head to the back, as if to signify the other men in the train car behind us.

"It's not a competition," I say.

Ben's thumb traces small circles on the back of my hand, the gesture sending tiny shivers up my arm.

"Isn't it?" he murmurs, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch.

"Because I've never minded a challenge. I want to be your favorite boyfriend, if you’re going to have four. "

The train rounds a curve, the motion shifting our bodies closer together.

Neither of us moves to recreate distance.

His shoulder is warm against mine, with our hands still joined.

Something shifts between us in that moment.

Perhaps it started shifting when I began to recognize how similar we are beneath our different exteriors, and I’m just now realizing it.

Both of us are seeking connection, and both of us are hiding vulnerabilities behind our chosen shields.

"Venice, next stop," the conductor announces over the intercom, the crackling, loud voice breaking the moment.

Ben straightens, though his hand remains linked with mine. "Ready to fly?" he asks, his familiar grin returning, though a new warmth lingers in his eyes. Like a newfound understanding, or a possibility.

I nod, suddenly looking forward to the next leg of our journey with an anticipation that has little to do with finding Sarah and everything to do with discovering more layers to the man beside me.

Wednesday, 3:02PM. The Venice airstrip buzzes with activity as we approach, our taxi depositing us beside the aircraft where a uniformed attendant already waits.

After the crowded train journey from Rome, the private plane feels like an impossible luxury.

Boarding, I look at the luxury seats and almost groan in excitement.

"You're up front with me," Luca announces, passing Alex's carrier carefully to Jake. "I need a co-pilot."

"I know absolutely nothing about flying," I protest, eyeing the complicated array of instruments visible through the door to the cockpit, then my eyes flit to the much more luxurious looking seats in the passenger portion of the plane.

Luca's smile is confidence personified, his aviator sunglasses reflecting my uncertain expression back at me. "You don't need to. Just keep me company and look pretty."

Behind us, Ben makes a gagging sound. "And they say chivalry is dead."

"Ignore him," Luca says, placing a hand at the small of my back to guide me toward the front of the plane. "He's just jealous he doesn't get the best seat."

The others arrange themselves in the passenger seats behind the cockpit.

Jake sits with Alex's terrarium secured beside him with special straps, Marco is already absorbed in his tablet, and Ben sprawls across his seat with deliberate casualness though I notice his knuckles are white where he grips the armrest.

"Not a fan of flying?" I ask him as I peek back at him, surprised I didn’t notice him seeming stressed on our previous flight.

Ben's smile is strained around the edges. "Love it. Especially in tiny tin cans piloted by overconfident Italians."

"This 'tiny tin can' costs more than your annual income," Luca retorts, sliding into the pilot's seat beside me. "And I'm exactly the right amount of confident for someone with my skills."