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He studied me for a moment. “Do you do the good things for the workers for your own gratification or because it is the right thing to do?”
It seemed like that should be an easy answer, but if I were being honest, it was a little of both. Was that such a bad thing?
“If I said both, would you think poorly of me?”
He shook his head. “No, I would think you are human.”
Oh. Cool. Okay. The ride home was uneventful. My arms felt comfy around his middle, and my cheek really enjoyed resting on his back.
My aunt, on the other hand, did not enjoy what I had to say when I flopped down at the dinner table, still covered in road dirt and sweat. The text that arrived from my father that night—the first since I’d been airmailed to Florence—was also not filled with warm congratulations. He was unsure if I should be poking about in worker relations with so little knowledge of negotiations and union protocols. I hit him right back.
You wanted me in the biz. I’m in the biz. Can’t have it all your way. Please send money for a bus. ~ Arlo
Once the reply was sent, I kicked myself for not asking for cash for a car. Oh well, the people walking five miles to pick olives for our family needed the money more than I did. Still wheels would be nice. Although being pressed against Donvino was incredibly nice too.
The following morning, my phone pinging woke me up. Someone—my father, I was sure—had set up a banking account for me at a bank in Florence and had deposited two thousand euros into it. I pumped my fist into the air and leapt from the bed to do a happy Arlo has money dance. Then I remembered I had to buy a bus for the people at farm 20. I had no clue how to go about that. I’d assumed the business would handle it, but nope, that fell to me, so cool.
Padding around my room in my undies, I stepped out onto the balcony, rising to my toes as the sun was tinting the sky mauve. The mossy door was open. I hurried to shower, gel my hair, and slip into something playful. I chose a tank top of charcoal, some pink shorts, and tiny flip flops with sparkly gems on the straps.
Lucia met me outside, her tiny paws leaving damp prints on the walkways as we made our way to the dock. Donvino was gone, but I had suspected he would be. I sat down, dipped my toes into the Arno, and enjoyed the sound of ducks downstream.
She curled up beside me, her whiskers twitching when a fly would buzz past. I stretched out, using my cupped hands behind my head for a pillow, and watched the wispy clouds drifting past. It was maybe seven a.m. if that, and here I was, awake and greeting the day. What a different Arlo I was from just a week ago. Old Arlo would have been sleeping off a binge of sex and booze with whoever had been willing to engage. I let my eyes close to really listen to the water moving past, the hum of insects, and the song of birds. I’d not meant to drift off, but I must have.
The feel of water sprinkling on my face woke me up. My eyes flew open and Donvino stood above me, gloriously sweaty, his water bottle in hand. I sputtered. He gave the bottle a good squeeze. Water flew into my face. I kicked and shrieked, leaping to my feet and darting away with him right on my heels. I lost a flip flop. He caught up to me before I even reached the old mossy door, his longer legs giving him a speed advantage. I also might have let him catch me just a little.
His arms came around me. Off my feet I went with a squeal, then he gently placed me back on the cool grass. I held onto his forearms while laughingly looking up at him.
“You’re not mad at me anymore?” I asked, even though his happy face told me what I needed to know.
“I was not mad at you, Arlo,” he replied as he searched my face for something. I rose to my toes to press a kiss on his rough cheek. He turned his head into the innocent peck on the cheek, his lips meeting mine. I was shocked, but only for a second. Pulling back, my lips tingling from that sweet brush, I stared into simmering dark chocolate eyes.
“Did you do that on purpose?” I had to know. He’d been so ping-pongy that I did not want to misread a simple mistake. He edged us out of the doorway, nodded just once, and then captured my head and crashed his mouth to mine. My brain stalled like an old car then suddenly fired back up with a hearty YES!!
I climbed Donvino like a kid who had just emptied the candy dish and hit the jungle gym. I threw myself onto him, legs around his waist, arms around his neck, tongue gliding over his as he wobbled this way and that to balance us out. I let myself get lost in the taste of him. Strong coffee lingered on his tongue as it swept over mine. His hands cradled my ass perfectly. I licked and lapped at his mouth like a dog too long in the sun. He matched each stroke so passionately my head swam as my dick swelled. My back hit the wall. I grunted, uncaring if the skin on my shoulder was grated off by centuries-old stonework. Skin was overrated.
“God…your kisses are incredible,” I huffed when we broke apart for air.
“I was not mad at you,” he whispered gruffly, holding me with such ease that I felt safe as a babe in arms. Not that most babes had raging erections. “Please, forgive me for yesterday?”
“Of course.” I rubbed my fingertips over the back of his tacky neck, then tugged his mouth back to mine. His tongue was feathery soft this time as it slipped between my lips. I sighed into the kiss, ready to stay pressed against this wall for eternity. Sadly, the kissing eased off, and he lowered me down, inch by inch, my body gliding over his on the descent. I shivered despite the morning warmth when my cock slid over his. Both of us were hard as iron spikes. I cradled his cheek. His long lashes fell as he turned his nose into my palm. “Can you tell me what was wrong yesterday? If it was something that I did, then I’ll know not to do it again.”
“No, no, it was not you.” He pressed a kiss to my palm, inhaled, and then opened his eyes. Now they held sorrow instead of passion. “It was me. I have…” He looked for the words mentally, then shrugged. “How to say this right in English? I’ve not told my family that I am gay.”
“Oh…oh okay. Oh crap.” I patted his cheek, then stepped back, clasping his big hand and leading him back to the dock. “Sit. We should talk. If you want to? Sorry, I get bossy at times.”
“I like your bossy. It is a good bossy. Like at farm 20,” he said, lowering himself to sit on the dock. I sat beside him, crossing my legs so I could sit facing him. He was so glorious with the new sun warming his skin and face. I wanted more kisses. Hell, I wanted more than kisses, but I sensed he was in a confused place. “Those workers are so poor, Arlo. You give them hope.”
“I’m glad. I honestly had no clue that we paid our workers so dismally.”
“No, on the contrary, Bonetti pays better than most, but migrant workers…” He let that dangle and that was fine. I knew from living in the States how those who came into the country to do the work that Americans refused to do were treated by the government, their bosses, and the people they helped feed. “Seeing you take interest? Was big for them. It is hard to be working man or woman today.”
I nodded, although I had little knowledge of that. Sure, I was now expected to put forth some effort, but I knew that even if I did nothing but be a sulky jerk, I’d not go hungry. My aunt and father might be employing tough love, but I’d still have food, a roof over my head, and fashionable clothing. Even the outlines of my father’s dictates said that my stipend would be what a working man makes. So yeah, food and shelter would be taken care of. That was a lot more than most people I was starting to see.
“I’m trying to learn,” I told him.
“I know, I see. You are bold for being so tiny.” That made me chuckle. “I like you much. So much that I am not sure how to go right now, yes?” I agreed with a bob of my head as I tried to follow along. He gave me a feeble smile. “You are a brave, bright bird. I wish I had your courage. My family is not knowing that I like men. My church does not know. It is hard to be one way for them but another for myself.”
“I understand. I felt that way too.”
