has run into me and basically bounced off my body, landing haphazardly at my feet.
She’s sprawled out, legs askew and purse contents scattered. But as much of a mess as she appears, her words are more surprising. Even here, a tourist-heavy part of Italy, New York-accented English is rare.
“Holy shit! I’m so sorry! I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
I still give her no more than a cursory scan, considering whether she might be a threat, not with her diminutive size but perhaps as a spy herself. One can’t be too careful, something I learned the hardest way of all when I lost her.
I quickly but carefully brush my T-shirt off and then along my shoulders, feeling for any trace or bugs. But there is nothing, and something in the woman’s narrowing eyes makes me ashamed that my first thought was to check myself and not her.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Uh, yeah. Sorry again.” She reaches out to gather her things, and I squat down to help, keeping an eye on her even as I hand her the tube of lipgloss, wallet, and tampons. Yeah, not just one, but two that have rolled a bit further away.
She blushes furiously, scrabbling forward to grab the goods from my hands. I’m not sure why, but I try to put her at ease. “Nothing to be embarrassed about. Just shows you’re prepared. Like a Girl Scout.”
She snorts, the sound wild and unladylike. “I’m the furthest thing from a Girl Scout you’re ever going to find. That’s for damn sure.”
Her answer isn’t what I expect.
Even in this moment, I recognize that she’s got an expensive but scuffed and worn Louis Vuitton wallet stuffed in a standard canvas sack street market bag. The sunglasses perched on her head are designer too, but her highlights are woefully grown out. And though the words she says are crass, there’s an air of education about her.
She’s a study in contradictions, and that makes me nervous, unsure about her intentions.
Even so, I offer a hand to help her stand, which she takes after the slightest hesitation. Pulling her to her feet, I realize just how small she is, barely coming to my chest, though at 6’6”, that’s not unusual for me.
She looks up at me through the fringe of her bangs, her eyes wide like she’s looking at a Jack and the Beanstalk giant come to life. It’s a look I’ve seen most of my adult life.
But it’s when she looks at me that I notice how large her eyes are, like they’re almost too large for her face but making them all the more enchanting because of it, the spattering of freckles across her nose, fairy dust on silk, and the full lushness of her lips.
Time freezes, stretching and pulling us together though we’re already standing almost body to body. I’m shocked, a feeling of warmth coming to life inside me, running out in rivers through my being. I’ve been dead inside so long, I forgot what being alive felt like.
It’s overwhelming, painful, in a way.
It's followed by shame. I cannot be attracted to this little thing in front of me. I would not dishonor her that way. I promised her forever, and though we might not have said vows, I meant them long before I gave her a ring.
I step back, breaking the current of electricity.
“Sorry,” I say gruffly before inexplicably adding, “Have a nice night.”
The last words are awkward as fuck to my ears, more syllables than I’ve spoken to a stranger in ages, and I don’t remember the last time I wished someone a nice day or night.
But as I put space between us, I see confusion rushing through her eyes too as she breathily murmurs, “You too.”
From across the room, I hear a loud voice call out, “Carly! Do not think of skittering out of here without something to tide you over tonight. Silly girl.”
The voice tapers off to a stage-whisper as the grey-haired woman I saw earlier continues to herself, “Thinks she can work all night doing her acrobatics with only coffee for sustenance. Thinks I know nothing, but Strega knows all. She should listen to me.”
The woman in front of me cringes, her shoulders jumping to her ears and the pink tint covering her cheeks again. “Strega! I promise I won’t starve if you don’t feed me. I’m not some stray cat.” She rolls her eyes like we’re sharing a private joke, but she turns, going over to the counter dutifully while an