Page 38 of Someone Exactly Like Me (Wounded Hearts 1)
9
Destiny
Exhausted, I roll over and look at my phone. 7:04 lights on the screen. I slept later than I wanted to. Lying under the covers, I stare at the chippy ivory chandelier above my bed, wishing I could remember my dreams. I know Nicco was sprinkled in them, but have no idea what he was doing or saying. It’s best I don’t remember.
I grab my phone off my nightstand and text him.
Me:Good luck today!
Nicco:Buongiorno, mia dolce ragazza. Thank you.
Hmm, now I know how to spell it. I toss off my sheet and duvet, throw my robe on over my satiny camisole and shorts, and run down to my computer. Pulling up a new tab, I type it in, mia dolce ragazza. One result: my sweet girl. That sounds like a term of endearment. It must be some kind of generic thing Italians say.
I get my coffee started and go back up to my bedroom to change into gym clothes. My head is spinning with different scenes, some driven by the time I’ve spent with Nicco and some driven purely by my lack of sex over the last few years and my current fantasies.
Grabbing my coffee, a notebook, and pen, I go out to the back porch and climb into my swing. With the muted sound of the crashing waves filling my ears and the smell of sea salt swirling in the air as the breeze carries it to me, I jot down words, phrases, and bits and pieces of scenes as I sip my coffee. I know more will come and some will change once I interview Nicco, but I don’t want to forget them.
Once I finish my coffee, I hit the gym then get back home for, hopefully, a good day of writing. My notebook has scenes all over the place with no order or structure. It’s time to create my goal, motivation, conflict spreadsheet and get into the heads and hearts of my characters.
By evening, I have a few things filled in, but there are still lots of blanks. At least I named my heroine: Emma. It feels like I’m trying to force the story and I know myself well enough to know that that approach never works well for me. So, I call it a day and make dinner.
As I’m eating, my phone chimes with a text.
Nicco:Today went well. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow. What time are we meeting?
Oh right. After the whole let-me-stick-my-face-inches-from-yours-and-get-you-all-hot-and-bothered-then-tell-you-I’m-not-going-to-kiss-you thing, I completely forgot about settling on a time to meet tomorrow.
Me:That’s great! I’m excited to hear about it. Let’s go with 11:00 again, my house. Dress comfortably.
Nicco:Sounds good. Okay, I will. Have a good night.
Me:You too.
I hit the gym, come home, shower, and put on jean shorts and my white eyelet tank top. Before Nicco arrives, I decide to spend a little time on research. Since he’s Italian, I want some of the book set in Italy. As I Google, I stumble across Ponza Island and it looks so beautiful. A few more clicks and I find a guide for Ponza Island on Amazon. Add to cart.
Nicco arrives a little before eleven. I already have our bikes and bottles of water on the front porch. When I open the door, the smell of smoke hits me and I ignore it. He’s wearing gym shorts and a black T-shirt. The man is adorable and sexy all rolled together.
“Hi.”
“Good morning.” The deep rumble of his voice sends goose bumps up my spine.
Damn, he has me going already. I slip into my nude-colored flipflops, grab my small purse, and lock the door.
“Is this one for me?” he asks, pointing to the men’s bike.
“Yeah. I borrowed it from my neighbor since I only have two women’s bikes. You may need to adjust the height of the seat with your long legs.”
He takes a minute to adjust the seat. “Okay, I think I’m good.”
“Great. Just follow me. It’s about a fifteen-minute ride. We won’t be able to talk much during the ride, but we can catch up once we get to the pier. I want to hear all about your meetings.”
“Okay, I’ll follow you.”
I keep a mild pace since we’re not in a rush and I want him to be able to enjoy the scenery. When we reach the pier, I find a visible spot to lock up our bikes and we enter the pier.
We’re met with the vibrantly painted buildings and booths and the buzz of happy people. Carnival music fills the air that smells of burgers, buttery popcorn, and sweet funnel cakes. He looks up, looks around, and his mouth drops open as an expression of wonderment coats his face.
“Wow, this is amazing. It’s like a child’s playland.” He spreads his arms out wide. “An amusement park on stilts in the water.”
