Halfway to You(16)

“Here it is,” I said. From the back of the gelato line, we watched the tourists ahead of us point to flavors. “What’s your favorite?”

Todd dipped his shoulders my way, speaking low. “What do you recommend?”

He was close enough that I could smell the soap on him—something like citrus or lemongrass. “Well, you’re in Italy, so you have to try pistachio. Stracciatella is a classic too.”

“What’s that?”

“Cream with chocolate shavings. Simple, but good.”

“Sounds like a winner to me.”

“But you have to do two flavors. That’s what I’ve heard. At least two, otherwise you’re weird.”

His chuckle was mostly breath. “Seriously?”

“An Italian woman told me that.” I imitated her accent: “‘Pick many flavor, because why not.’”

“‘Because why not,’” he repeated. “Good advice.”

I glanced at his lips, reveling in the way their mauve color bloomed into red where they parted, like the intense pigmentation of a flower at its center. “It’s a good motto.”

“Buona sera.” The young man behind the counter waited expectantly.

I fumbled through our order in broken Italian, two cups with three flavors each: pistachio, stracciatella, and chocolate. I insisted on paying. “A thank-you for the pleasant day,” I explained to Todd as we left.

Again, he smiled that smile that refused to reach his eyes. I began to wonder if something had happened in Colorado, some sort of heartbreak that made him so reserved despite the kindness and light clearly flickering inside him still. I wanted to ask but didn’t.

We found a bench by the water and sat, picking at our gelato in silence.

“What do you think?” I asked, pointing with my wooden spoon. “Do you have a favorite?”

“Pistachio is good, but I have to say stracciatella,” Todd said. “You?”

“Pistachio. I love the salt.”

He nodded slowly, watching a water taxi buzz by. His demeanor had changed as the sun went down, growing subdued. I wasn’t sure how to pull him out of it. Had I said or done something wrong?

Eventually we finished our cups, stood, and moseyed along the canal.

Hoping to reignite the connection we’d experienced earlier, I piped up. “Have you ever been somewhere tropical?”

He glanced down at me, questioning.

“I was just thinking about the glass horse you bought me. The teal color reminds me of a postcard.”

“Oh yeah, it does.”

“So . . . ?” I spread my hands in question.

“Hawaii,” he answered.

“Was the water really that blue?”

“In some places.” His gaze was distant. “Have you been anywhere tropical?”

I shook my head. “I want to, though. Maybe I’ll do that next. Tahiti, perhaps.”

“Tahiti?”

“Yeah, French Polynesia. South of Hawaii?”

“I know where it is.” He bumped me with his shoulder, a playful nudge. I hoped this was a sign that he was warming up again. “I just mean, Why Tahiti?”

I shrugged. “Seems like a cool place, that’s all.” We turned down my side street. “If you could go anywhere, where would you go?”

“Tahiti.”

I giggled. “Seriously.”

“I’d visit Thailand.”

“Thailand?”

“Yeah, it’s south of China.”

“I know where—” I cut myself off. “Very funny.”

He bumped me with his shoulder again.

“What about Thailand appeals to you?” I asked.

“The temples,” he said. “And there’s a hospital for logging elephants and elephants whose feet have been blown up by land mines left over from the war. I’d want to see them.”

“That’s . . . really sad,” I said.

“I heard about it on PBS and immediately wrote them a check.”

His compassion made my heart squeeze.

We walked another half block, and then I halted. “Oh, that’s my hotel,” I said, pretending I hadn’t realized our proximity until that moment.

“Oh.”

I stared into his shadowy eyes. I wanted to ask him up, but I hedged. “I’m glad I met you, Todd Langley. This was a nice day.”

“I agree.”

“It’s funny, had the wheel on your bag not broken, we might’ve never—”

“I can’t do this, Ann.”

“Do what?”

He touched my arm—in pity? Regret? “I’m not going upstairs with you. Maybe I’m being presumptuous, but it seems like that’s where tonight is headed, and I just can’t. Today has been great, but I think we should just leave it at that.”

The sounds of the street—water lapping, boats motoring, people laughing—hushed. All I could hear was my own breathing, the rapid intake of my disappointment and hurt. “‘Leave it at that’?” I asked, my throat thick.

He nodded, bent down, and kissed my cheek. “Please hear my sincerity when I say that it was a pleasure meeting you, Ann Fawkes.”

If you sincerely enjoyed today, why cut it short? I wanted to ask, but I couldn’t. My mouth was full of dust. My cheek burned where he’d kissed it.