I kept myself busy with my sketch pad, books, and hanging with my aunt. She’d take me to long lunches and let me sip Prosecco at Caffè Positano while we feasted on mussels, pasta, and fresh prawns, gazing out at the magnificent view of water and sky from the wrought-iron balcony. She dragged me shopping and bought me my first pair of real Italian sandals, buttery soft with a block heel and crisscross straps. Aunt Silvia seemed to know everyone—the shop owners, café workers, and pedestrians filling the walkways—stopping quickly to introduce me, then flitting on with a dramatic wave of her hand.
I grew closer to Julia and Ava. We hung out at the beach—which was unlike any I’d ever visited, full of pebbles rather than sand. I learned quickly that water shoes were crucial after the first time I cut my foot, and the sandy strip was narrow and overcrowded. But I got used to it, my fingers hurriedly trying to capture the scenes before me—rich women in tiny designer bikinis and floppy hats; the brown-skinned Italian men, stocky and muscled, walking on the shoreline in briefs that revealed more than concealed; striped teal and lemon beach chairs and umbrellas lined up in perfect rows; the crush of summer people like me, giggling and gossiping in small groups as we lazed away hot afternoons, just waiting to get to the thrill of nighttime parties.
I wondered if the locals despised the tourist invasion each season. Wondered if they mocked this bright peacock-like strutting in their streets, contradicting all the simplicity Italy was supposed to stand for, or if they relished the fresh flow of money and interest in their home.
Either way, it didn’t matter, because the tourists were here to stay.
At night, Rafe and I would get together with the group. We’d start off kind of shy with each other, almost as if we believed the connection between us would simply disappear like smoke and one of us would be left feeling awkward. But eventually we’d maneuver ourselves close together in the crowd, start talking, and pick up where we left off.
For two weeks, the tension between us was hot and sweet. We never kissed or even held hands. Just broke off from wherever our friends were to go for a walk, shoulders brushing together, me breathing in deep gulps of his scent, obsessed with his every movement and the erratic beat of my heart in his presence.
Rafe finally managed to wrangle a late afternoon off and we made plans for him to take me out on the boat. I never asked if he’d invited anyone else, but when I arrived that muggy afternoon, we were alone.
“Do I ask for permission to board?” I called out, watching him confidently stand on the boat deck, fiddling with some thick ropes.
He stood and squinted in the sun, smiling. “I don’t understand.”
“Never mind, I think it’s an American thing I’ve seen in too many movies.”
He offered his hand to me. “Jump on.”
My fingers closed around his. Besides the tiny shock of awareness, I felt completely safe when he touched me, as if nothing would happen as long as he held my hand. He didn’t let go right away when I stood beside him, and we stared at each other for a few moments, recognizing the wild energy that was eventually going to push us together.
Slowly, he released my hand, then cleared his throat. “Ready to take off?”
“Yes. Just us?”
He nodded. “That okay?”
I smiled. “Very okay.”
Pleasure shone from his dark gaze, and a touch of red appeared on his cheekbones. I loved the easy way he moved from confident man to a tad shy; it made him so much more authentic than any guy I’d known before. I watched him ready the boat to pull away from the dock, his strides purposeful, every movement deft and focused. I took a seat and relaxed, taking in the beauty of Positano from the distance.
“Was your dad okay with you taking some time off?” I asked.
He nodded. Dark curls tossed in the wind and fell over his forehead. “We had a cancellation and decided not to book a new appointment. My dad is with your aunt right now. Enjoying some alone time.”
The knowing quirk of his lips confirmed they were definitely doing it. As much as I loved my aunt, the idea of her being intimate with Rafe’s dad freaked me out. It must’ve showed on my face, because Rafe began laughing.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll take our time. Maybe grab some dinner if you’re up for it?”
“Sounds good.”
We fell into easy chatter as he showed me how to drive the boat. Something flickered on his face, a pride and peace I wished for myself one day, as if he was happy with what he did and who he was. Why did everything inside me always feel jumbled up and empty at the same time, as if I was looking for a missing piece?
I pushed away the questions and concentrated on enjoying our time on the water. Rafe pointed out the various sights, giving me a hint of his tour-guide savvy.
He cut the engine. “We can lie out here and relax a bit. Enjoy the view.”
My breath caught at the stunning visual of giant carved rocks thrusting from water to sky. The shoreline was littered with jagged boulders, giving a glimpse into gaping holes that led to numerous caves, making me shiver in the hot sun. Lone individuals sunbathed on towels spread out on rocks.
I stripped down to my bikini and we laid out our towels on the bow of the boat. I felt his gaze sweep over me, taking in my bare skin, and hoped he liked what he saw. I was never confident in my body—who was?—but the energy from my surroundings gave me bravery and a need to show him I wasn’t afraid to let him see me. When his eyes finally met mine, there was a heat and admiration that made a thrill jump through my veins.
Yes. He liked what he saw.
I dreamed of him kissing me. I dreamed of sliding my hands around his neck and sinking into a kiss that would finally satisfy me, instead of experimentation or a dare by friends. Mostly, boys didn’t excite me like I wished.
But Rafe did.
I pulled myself out of the daydream. “How did this thing with my aunt and your dad get started? They seem so different, but when they’re together, I feel like they fit.”
“Ah, my father was eating alone at a café when he overheard an argument. Your aunt’s friend was pretty drunk and got really loud and rude. She was trying to get him to calm down. Dad thought things were getting out of hand, so he asked if she needed help, and she said yes. He tried to escort the guy out, and he took a swing at my dad.”
“Oh my God! I didn’t hear this story!”
Rafe grinned. “The fight was brief and my father laid him out quickly. He arranged to get him home and walked your aunt safely back to her house. She kissed him at the door, he asked her out, and she agreed. That was last summer.”
“That’s amazing and kind of romantic. Well, without the drunk, violent guy.” I treasured his laugh. “I’m surprised it lasted the entire year without seeing each other.”