My phone rang just as I was about to walk inside the island community center to cover a municipal meeting for the paper, and my mood soared. It was Luca.

I hadn't heard from him in a couple days, and the edges of panic were setting in, which was silly since he'd sent me the chocolates. Still, I had to wonder why he hadn't called or texted in two days.

"Buonasera, what are you doing tonight?"

"Luca. Heyyyy. Nice hearing from you." I didn't want to seem clingy, but I did want him to know I was a little annoyed he'd disappeared on me.

"Tesoro. I apologize for not calling. I was in Miami, visiting my...uncle."

I was about to ask whether Miami had phone and text service, but then thought better of it. Something in his tone made me not want to get too scrappy with him. And it wasn't like he owed me a phone call every day.

We weren't officially dating.

My eyes went to a large tropical plant with foliage almost as big as me. I reached out with my free hand and ran my finger over the veins of a giant green leaf. I then twisted a strand of her hair around my finger, recalling how Luca liked to do that. "I have an exciting night planned. I'm writing a story on bridge tolls. Woo-hoo."

Luca chuckled. "Well, I can't stop thinking about you. What are you doing later tonight? The rest of the week?"

I turned toward the giant leaf and beamed. "Umm, tonight around nine, I'm joining some people from the newsroom at a wine bar on Main Street..."

"Oh? Which bar?" He didn't sound jealous, just curious.

"It's called Bacchus. It's right near the paper. Just down the street."

"Hmm. And Thursday? On Friday, you're mine for the weekend, no?"

His words made me unsteady with desire. "I'm yours for the weekend. On Thursday I have yoga. There's a new studio I'd like to check out. Do you wanna come with me?"

There was a pause. I totally didn't expect him to go to yoga. Most guys didn't do yoga.

"Yeah. Yoga. I'd love to. What time and where?"

I all but did a little dance. I couldn't wait to tell Emily.

After we hung up, it was a lot easier for me to concentrate on the assignment. As a department of transportation official turned down the lights for a PowerPoint presentation, I zoned out and remembered of all of the places Luca had kissed the previous weekend. My neck. The inside of my wrists. Just above my bellybutton. When the lights in the community center came up, I was uncomfortably wet between my legs, and I pulled the hem of my black sheath dress toward my knees.

An hour later, after filing an article for the paper, I bounced into Bacchus to meet my friends. A giant glass of sangria called my name as a reward for a long day.

It was crowded for midweek in August due to a seashell collectors' convention on the island. Weaving through the crowded bar, I found my friends sitting at a table in the middle of the room. Kira, the editorial assistant, Rebecca, an advertising salesperson, and Megan, who was a news reporter like me, were all there. Emily said she'd try to join us later after covering a high school football game.

With a faux fresco mural of the Parthenon on one wall and paintings of nude people frolicking amongst vineyards, the place had a slightly tacky yet pleasant ambiance. Usually a bad Jimmy Buffet cover singer crooned in the corner, but I noted with relief there was no live music that evening.

In my three months in Florida, I'd gotten so sick of that "Margaritaville" song.

Bacchus also wasn't outrageously overpriced, which the cash-poor newspaper employees appreciated. The bar drew a mix of locals and tourists, and the women from the paper liked to scope out the potential single vacationers on the island. Although I had never actually met a tourist that I wanted to hang out with, I liked checking out the guys too.

Now that I'd met Luca, the charm of ogling random men was gone.

I greeted the girls and considered telling them about Luca but decided against it. It was one thing to tell Emily, but it was another to tell every woman in the newsroom who lived on the same tiny island. Maybe if we were still together in a month. Then I'd tell them.

I ordered a sangria and focused on the conversation. Megan was a little drunk and railed against the paper's new edict for shorter, tighter articles, tossing her shoulder-length curly hair as she spoke.

"I am, like, never going to get anywhere if I can't write more than a six hundred word story. What the hell is that? It's bad enough I had to write a feature about the rainfall totals for July and then about a billiards tournament at the senior center. I should be covering New York Fashion Week."

Everyone laughed. Being a twenty-something journalist on a Florida island filled with mostly retirees definitely had its challenges. This was not the glamorous profession we'd anticipated while in journalism school.

"O-M-G. Oh my God." Megan's eyes moved from left to right as she leaned in to whisper to the group. "Right behind Skylar. Gorgeous guy. Holy shit. Sky, you're the only one who can't see him, but don't turn around, it will be too obvious. Especially since Kira is drooling in her wine."

Kira snorted. "Whatever, bitch."

"Megan, I thought you were dating Daniel from advertising?" I said, amused as I sipped my drink.

Megan sat back, her eyes focused behind me the entire time. "I am, but I can still admire and look for someone for the rest of you ladies. Sky, just get up and go to the bathroom. He's at the bar. He's got on jeans—oh wow, what an ass! And a black T-shirt. A slightly tight, black T-shirt skimming his broad, strapping chest. Short dark hair, smoldering eyes... Shit, I need to stop reading those romance novels. Oh God, he just turned around and looked at us."

Megan averted her gaze and buried her face in a menu. I chortled.

"Sky, go check him out. He's super hot," Rebecca said.

Okay, I'd play along. Just for laughs. After Luca, I didn't think Brad Pitt, George Clooney or Ryan Gosling would impress me if they were standing at the bar.

Sending a snarky eye-roll to my friends, I rose and turned.

Oh my God.

Luca?

I caught my breath and tried not to look shocked. Tried not to gasp out loud.

His lips held a secret smile as our eyes met for a quick second. I was wearing my tall black heels causing me to wobble slightly. My fingers found the back of the chair and squeezed, seeking some stability so I wouldn't fall over. Luca glanced again at me, then scanned the bar, still smiling in that mysterious way.

What is going on?

"See, I told you. He's so hot, you can't even stand up," Megan hissed from behind the menu. "Jesus, was he looking at you?"

What was he doing here? Teasing me? Checking up on me?

I turned to the group and attempted a smirk. "No. He was not looking at me. But I have to go to the bathroom anyway. I'll scope him out."

I walked slowly by a few tables, then past Luca. He looked like a model tonight, something out of the pages of Italian Vogue. Dark and dangerous, and so fucking hot. I noticed several women staring at him. Practically drooling. Not that I could blame them.

But why was he even here, with a beer in front of him? He'd said he didn't feel comfortable in bars.

From where he was situated, I knew he could see me walk down the long hall to the bathroom at the side of the restaurant. I went inside and locked the door.

____