somewhere in northern italy
older!joel miller x younger!reader
summary: A summer in the heart of Tuscany rekindles an unexpected connection between y/n, a spirited traveler with Italian roots, and Joel, an enigmatic older man from her past, as love blooms amidst sunlit vineyards, secret ambitions, and the allure of second chances.
a/n: I miss summer, reader speaks Italian, Joel’s business man, this is all fluff, kissing
joel miller masterlist
There was something about summers in Italy that made me feel like I was living in a dream. Maybe it was the slow mornings spent sipping cappuccinos in the sun or the way the golden light bathed everything in warmth. Or maybe it was just the way life felt simpler here, quieter, like I could finally breathe.
Nonna always said I belonged here more than anywhere else. “Sei come me, y/n. Il tuo cuore è italiano.” You’re like me, y/n. Your heart is Italian.
Maybe she was right.
It was another warm evening when I saw him.
I had just left the market, a bag of peaches cradled in my arms, when I caught sight of someone who looked so entirely out of place that I almost didn’t believe it.
Joel Miller.
For a second, I thought I was imagining things.
He didn’t belong here. Not in the way the locals did, with their easy smiles and the familiarity in their movements. He stood apart—too refined, too polished. His clothes were simple—dark slacks, a crisp button-down with the sleeves rolled up—but they fit him too well, like they had been made just for him. And then there was the watch. Sleek. Understated. Expensive.
But it wasn’t just the way he looked. It was the way he carried himself. Relaxed, but deliberate. Like a man used to being in control.
I should have kept walking.
But then he looked up, and our eyes met.
Something in my chest tightened.
His brow creased slightly, and he glanced at his phone before looking back at the buildings around him.
I slowed. “Ti sei perso?”
Joel’s head snapped toward me, his gaze sharp before recognition flickered across his face. Then came the smirk—slow and knowing.
“Well, hell,” he muttered.
I raised an eyebrow. “Are you lost?”
He exhaled a short laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Somethin’ like that.”
I shifted the bag in my arms, studying him. “What are you doing in Tuscany?”
His smirk didn’t fade, but something about his expression changed, like he was waiting to see how I’d react to whatever he said next.
“Work.”
Interesting. Joel looked like a man who worked with his hands, but he didn’t carry himself like a businessman either. Not the kind who sat behind a desk all day, at least.
“What kind of work?” I pressed.
A pause. “Business.”
Vague. Purposefully so.
I hummed, but let it go—for now.
Joel chuckled, shaking his head. “Didn’t expect an interrogation when I stopped to ask for directions.”
I smiled. “Fine. Where are you trying to go?”
He glanced at his phone, then back at me. “Some restaurant—uh, Trattoria del Sole?” His pronunciation was terrible.
I laughed. “You mean this Trattoria del Sole?” I turned and pointed to the restaurant just across the piazza.
Joel followed my gaze, then exhaled another quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Well, hell.”
I bit my lip to hide my smile. “Guess you were lost.”
Joel looked at me for a long moment, like he was still trying to piece together how, out of all places, I was standing in front of him.
“You always spend your summers here?” he asked.
“Yes and no,” I said, adjusting the bag in my arms. “My grandmother lives here. I grew up coming to visit.”
He nodded, considering.
Then, after a beat, “Join me for dinner.”
It wasn’t a question.
I studied him, weighing the offer.
Joel had always been like this—straightforward, sure of himself. It wasn’t arrogance, exactly, but he wasn’t the kind of man who expected to be told no.
I liked that. But I liked keeping him on his toes more.
I raised an eyebrow. “You always invite old acquaintances to dinner?”
Joel smirked, slow and lazy. “Only the ones who used to babysit my kid.”
A laugh bubbled up in my throat. “That was a long time ago.”
His eyes glinted with something unreadable. “Still happened.”
I exhaled, shifting the bag of peaches in my arms. “Alright,” I said finally. “But only because I’m curious.”
“About what?”
I stepped past him, toward the restaurant, glancing back just enough to catch the glint of amusement in his eyes.
“About you.”
And just like that, dinner became the start of something I wasn’t sure I was ready for.
The restaurant was warm and intimate, the kind of place where locals lingered over wine and spoke in hushed, easy tones. Golden candlelight flickered against the stone walls, and the scent of garlic and fresh basil filled the air.
Joel sat across from me, one arm draped over the back of his chair, fingers lightly tapping against the wood. He looked at ease, but I could tell he was studying me, the way I moved, the way I spoke. Like he was trying to figure me out.
I let him wonder.
The waiter approached, speaking to me in rapid Italian. “Acqua naturale o frizzante?”
I glanced at Joel. He looked completely lost.
Biting back a smile, I turned back to the waiter. “Naturale, grazie.” Then, I glanced at Joel again. “Still need a translator?”
He smirked. “Workin’ on it.”
I hummed. “You should work faster.”
Joel let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Somethin’ tells me you like havin’ the upper hand.”
I tilted my head. “Maybe.”
The waiter returned with the water, and we placed our orders—well, I did. Joel simply glanced at me and said, “Order for me.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You trust me with that?”
His lips twitched. “Reckon I do.”
Interesting.
I ordered us both pasta—something simple, fresh, the kind of meal that let the ingredients speak for themselves. When the waiter left, I leaned forward, resting my chin on my hand.
“So, Joel,” I said, tasting his name on my tongue, watching the way his expression flickered when I said it. “What kind of business brings you to Italy?”
His gaze held mine for a beat, unreadable. Then, he exhaled, leaning back. “Investments.”
I considered him. “Not exactly a vacation, then.”
“Not exactly.”
I twirled the stem of my wine glass between my fingers. “You don’t stay in one place long, do you?”
Joel’s jaw ticked slightly. “Depends on the place.”
Something in his tone made my stomach flip.
Outside, the night had deepened, the piazza quieter now, bathed in the soft glow of the streetlamps.
Joel walked beside me as I led him through the winding streets. His pace was slow, deliberate, like he was in no rush to leave.
I stopped at a small bridge overlooking the canal, leaning against the stone railing. He stood beside me, close but not touching.
“You enjoyed yourself,” I said, watching the water ripple below.
He smirked. “That obvious?”
I turned to face him. “You don’t strike me as the kind of man who does things he doesn’t enjoy.”
Joel exhaled, his gaze drifting over my face, pausing just briefly at my lips before meeting my eyes again.
“You’d be right,” he murmured.
I should go.
But then his fingers grazed my wrist, settling lightly against my skin. Not pulling, not demanding. Just… there.
I could have stepped away.
But I didn’t.
I should have walked away sooner.
That was the smart thing to do—leave before I got too comfortable, before the pull between us became something I couldn’t ignore.
But when Joel’s fingers grazed my wrist, lingering just enough to make my breath hitch, I knew I was already in trouble.
Still, I smiled softly and pulled away. “Goodnight, Joel.”
He didn’t stop me. Didn’t try to convince me to stay.
But as I walked away, I could feel his eyes on me, the weight of his presence still thick in the warm summer air.
And for the first time in a long time, I left someone behind and actually wished I hadn’t.
—
I didn’t expect to see him again.
Tuscany was big enough for two people to never cross paths twice, but small enough that fate sometimes had other plans.
It was three days later when I spotted him again, standing near a vineyard just outside of town, speaking with a man I recognized as one of the local winemakers. His sleeves were rolled up again, exposing strong forearms, and his brows were furrowed as he listened, nodding at whatever was being said.
I should have kept walking.
But something made me stop.
Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was something else.
I stepped closer, tilting my head with a smirk. “You still lost?”
Joel turned, his expression shifting from mild surprise to something softer, something unreadable.
“Well, if I was, reckon you’d enjoy that too much,” he said, that slow drawl making me bite back a smile.
“Maybe,” I admitted. “You’re fun to mess with.”
He exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head.
The winemaker excused himself, leaving us alone.
Joel watched me, that same way he had the night we met—like he was still trying to figure me out.
“You stickin’ around long?” I asked, arms folding over my chest.
“For a little while,” he said.
A beat of silence stretched between us. The midday sun was high, casting long shadows over the vineyard.
Then, I made a decision.
“You’ve only seen the surface of Tuscany,” I said. “The tourist spots. The places people write about in guidebooks.”
Joel raised an eyebrow. “And you know better?”
I smirked. “I know the good places.”
His lips twitched. “That so?”
I took a step back, tilting my head toward the narrow road leading away from the vineyard. “Come on, Mister Miller. Let me show you the real Tuscany.”
Joel exhaled, shaking his head slightly—like he couldn’t believe he was agreeing to this—but he followed.
And just like that, our summer began.
—
I didn’t give him the tourist tour.
I took him through the narrow alleys tourists never found, past crumbling walls where wildflowers spilled from cracks in the stone. We ducked into the tiny bakery run by Signora Valli, where Joel nodded politely as she scolded me for staying away too long.
“She likes you,” Joel said when we stepped back into the sun.
“That was her being nice,” I said, breaking off a piece of warm cornetto and handing it to him.
He chewed thoughtfully. “So, what’s she say when she’s mean?”
I grinned. “You don’t want to know.”
We wandered down to the olive groves, where the cicadas hummed and the sun turned the leaves silver-green. I showed him where the best figs grew, and when I pointed to the twisted old tree near the stone wall, Joel surprised me by stepping forward and tugging a ripe fig from a low branch.
“Didn’t think you’d climb a tree,” I said as he handed it to me.
He shrugged. “Didn’t have to. Got you to do all the hard work.”
I shot him a glare and bit into the fig, sweet juice dripping down my wrist. His eyes followed the movement, dark and intent. I didn’t wipe it away.
By late afternoon, we ended up at the old stone bridge overlooking the vineyards. I leaned against the warm stone, watching the distant figures move between the vines. Joel stood beside me, arms crossed, gaze on the horizon.
“You really spend every summer here?” he asked after a while.
“Every one I can.” I smiled faintly. “Nonna likes having me around. Says I keep her young.”
Joel huffed a laugh. “Don’t reckon she needs help with that. She looks like she runs the place.”
“She does,” I said, grinning. “The whole village’s scared of her.”
He smirked but didn’t respond. The breeze tugged at the hair curling against his temple, and I caught myself staring.
I glanced away. “What about you? You’re supposed to be working, aren’t you?”
His jaw shifted. “Yeah.”
“That convincing?”
He shot me a sidelong glance. “No.”
I waited, but he didn’t offer more. I should’ve been annoyed, but it was hard to be when he stood there like that—solid and unyielding, like the bridge itself.
The wind shifted, carrying the scent of rosemary and cypress. I rubbed my thumb along the stone. “So, is Tuscany what you expected?”
Joel’s eyes flicked to mine. “Didn’t expect Tuscany.”
The air thickened between us. His gaze didn’t waver.
I felt it again—that pull, familiar now but no less disorienting. Like standing at the edge of a step you didn’t know was there.
I opened my mouth to deflect with a joke, but Joel shifted closer, his arm brushing mine. The warmth of it sank through the fabric of my dress, solid and steady.
The sun dipped lower over the vineyards, painting the sky in soft strokes of orange and pink. We sat on the low stone wall at the edge of the hill, our legs dangling over the side. The breeze carried the scent of wild thyme and warm earth, and somewhere in the distance, a church bell rang.
Joel stretched his legs out in front of him, his boots scuffed against the old stones. His hand rested beside mine on the wall—close but not touching this time. The warmth of it still lingered from when he’d held it earlier. I couldn’t quite decide if I missed it or if I was relieved he’d let go.
“So,” I said, breaking the silence, “did you ever think you’d run into me here?”
Joel huffed a laugh. “Didn’t think I’d run into anyone I knew. Tuscany ain’t exactly down the road from Austin.”
I smiled faintly. “Yeah, well. You never know where Texas will follow you.”
He grinned, and the sight of it hit me harder than I expected. I wasn’t used to seeing him like this—relaxed, amused. It made him look younger. Less weighed down.
“you ever miss it in summer?” he asked after a beat.
“Texas?” I considered, tilting my face toward the sun. “Sometimes.”
“Like what?”
I tapped my fingers against the stone. “Summer storms,” I said after a moment. “The ones that roll in out of nowhere. The smell of rain on hot pavement. And barbecue. God, I miss barbecue.” I sighed dramatically, and Joel chuckled. “What about you?”
His eyes softened. “Yeah. Miss the little stuff. Mornin’s on the porch with a cup of coffee. That first cold snap in October when the air actually feels different. And the stars.” He exhaled. “Stars here are nice, but…ain’t the same.”
“Yeah,” I agreed softly. “Not like home.”
The word slipped out before I thought about it. My cheeks warmed, but Joel didn’t say anything. He just nodded, like he knew exactly what I meant.
The cicadas buzzed louder in the trees.
He didn’t press me for more. Joel was good at that—giving me space to say what I needed without pushing.
Instead, he reached down and picked up a stray pebble, rolling it between his fingers. “Sarah still talks about you, y’know.”
That surprised me. My chest tightened. “She does?”
Joel smiled faintly. “Yeah. Told me the other day she still remembers when you made her those chocolate chip pancakes with the smiley faces.”
I laughed, the memory sharp and clear. “I did that every time I babysat her. She used to insist on extra chocolate chips for the eyes.”
“She still does.” His voice was soft. “You were good to her.”
“She was easy to be good to.”
Joel didn’t respond right away. His thumb traced the edge of the pebble, eyes distant. I wondered if he was thinking about Sarah, or maybe her mom, or maybe something else entirely.
“I remember when you first showed up to babysit,” he said eventually. “You were what—twenty?”
“Barely.” I smiled wryly. “And nervous as hell. Your daughter had more confidence than I did.”
“She liked you right away.” His mouth curved slightly. “Kept askin’ when you were comin’ back.”
My chest warmed. “She was always the sweetest.”
Joel nodded, but his expression turned more thoughtful. “Didn’t expect to see you here, though. In Italy, I mean.”
I arched a brow. “Why not?”
He shrugged. “I dunno. Back then, you were always talkin’ about Texas like you never wanted to leave.”
I laughed softly. “Yeah, well. Life has a way of surprising you.”
Joel’s eyes flicked to mine. “Yeah,” he murmured. “It does.”
The weight of his gaze settled over me, heavy and warm. My pulse stuttered. I wanted to look away, but something held me there, locked in place.
The sun dipped lower. The cicadas hummed. And Joel Miller, the man I never expected to see outside of Texas, sat beside me like he’d always belonged here.
I cleared my throat, breaking the moment. “Anyway,” I said, forcing a teasing lilt into my voice. “How does it feel to have a Texan showing you around Italy?”
Joel chuckled, the tension easing just slightly. “Humblin’,” he said, straight-faced.
I snorted. “Yeah, right.”
He turned his head to look at me again. “Nah. I mean it.”
My smile faltered. “Why?”
Joel shifted slightly on the stone wall, his shoulder brushing mine. “’Cause I know how much you love this place,” he said after a beat. “And you don’t share it with just anyone.”
I swallowed hard, my chest tightening. He wasn’t wrong.
But the realization that he knew that—that he saw me like that—hit harder than I was ready for.
I didn’t know what to say, so I just smiled faintly and bumped my shoulder against his. “Don’t get a big head, Miller. I’m just making sure you don’t embarrass Texas while you’re here.”
His eyes twinkled. “Too late.”
I laughed, and the tension shifted. But later, when we walked back down the hill toward the village, Joel let his hand brush mine again.
This time, I didn’t pull away.
—
The sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the villa and everything it touched. The heat of the day was starting to settle in, the warm air wrapping around us as I walked barefoot toward the pool. The sound of the water was calming, a gentle lapping as it caught the sun’s reflection, sparkling with every movement.
Joel was already in the pool, his figure cutting through the water with ease. He had his arms resting on the side, looking up at me as I approached. His eyes twinkled with that easy smile he wore so often, but there was something different about his expression today—something a little more intent.
I didn’t hesitate, peeling off my sundress and stepping into the water, the coolness of it a perfect relief from the heat. The water lapped against my skin, and I felt weightless, free. I swam toward Joel, the soft splash of my movements the only sound between us.
He reached out, taking my hand as I neared, his grip warm and firm, guiding me closer. “You look like you’re enjoying the summer,” he said, his voice low and steady, a slight teasing note beneath it.
I grinned, the warmth of the sun on my skin mixing with the coolness of the water. “I am,” I replied, letting my fingers brush against his. “It’s hard not to when you’re surrounded by this.”
He studied me for a moment, his eyes dark and intense as they locked onto mine. There was a quiet moment, a small shift in the air between us. I could feel the pull, the way everything seemed to slow down when we were near each other, the way the world felt a little bit more alive in his presence.
I swam a little closer, not breaking eye contact, until I was standing just in front of him, the water lapping gently at our waists. My heart was beating faster now, not from the swim, but from the closeness between us. The tension that had been building in little moments over the past few weeks was palpable now, the air thick with it.
Joel’s hand gently cupped my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek as if memorizing the feel of my skin. His touch sent a shiver down my spine, the connection between us undeniable. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned in, and before I could even think about it, his lips brushed softly against mine.
The kiss was slow, a gentle exploration of what had been building between us for days, weeks even. The water seemed to heighten everything—the way his lips moved against mine, the way his hand slid down to the back of my neck, pulling me closer as the world seemed to fade away.
My hands found their way to his shoulders, and as I leaned in deeper, the kiss became more intense, more desperate. His breath mingled with mine, and I could feel his heart beating just as fast as mine. Every moment felt electric, like the entire summer was being condensed into this one perfect second.
Joel pulled away slightly, his forehead resting against mine, his breath coming in short bursts. “You drive me crazy,” he murmured, his voice rough.
I smiled, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw, savoring the feel of him, the warmth of his body against mine. “I think you do the same to me,” I whispered back.
There was something in his eyes, something vulnerable and open, as he looked at me. It was as if we both knew this moment was more than just a kiss, more than just a summer fling. The intensity was undeniable. But for now, there was no need to rush—everything felt right in this suspended moment.
We lingered there, our faces close, letting the soft splashes of the water and the warmth of the sun settle around us. He kissed me again, this time deeper, a kiss that spoke of longing, of something unspoken but understood between us.
I closed my eyes, leaning into him, feeling the pulse of the water around us as I pressed my body closer to his. The coolness of the pool mixed with the heat of our skin, creating a contrast that only made the moment more intoxicating.
For a moment, nothing else existed but the two of us, lost in the water, in the sun, in the quiet intimacy of the summer. It was a perfect kind of peace, the kind that wrapped itself around you and made you feel like you were exactly where you were meant to be.
And as we pulled away once more, his hands resting on my waist, I knew—whatever happened when the summer ended, this moment, this connection, was something that would stay with me. Something that I would carry long after the warmth of the sun had faded.
—
The night was calm and peaceful, the kind of evening that made you feel like you could stay outside forever. My grandmother’s villa was perched on a small hill in Tuscany, and the view from the terrace was breathtaking—endless fields of green, the soft glow of street lamps below, and the distant hum of a town that was slowly quieting down for the night.
Joel and I sat across from each other at the dinner table, my grandmother beside us. The meal was simple but delicious—fresh pasta, roasted vegetables, and a glass of red wine that had already started to loosen our tongues.
Joel looked more relaxed tonight, his smile easy and natural. Every so often, his eyes would linger on me, but he didn’t say anything outright. We had danced around it—the unspoken pull between us—but neither of us was ready to admit what was happening. It was as if we were both waiting for something to tip the balance.
My grandmother, who was always a bit of an enigma, sat across from us, watching with an air of amusement. She didn’t press us with questions, but I knew she could tell something was different. She always knew.
“So,” she said casually, cutting a piece of chicken, her eyes flicking between the two of us. “Joel, I hear you’re enjoying your time here in Tuscany.”
Joel smiled, taking a sip of his wine. “I am. It’s… beautiful here.”
My grandmother nodded. “Ah, Tuscany. It’s magical. But the most magical part is the company.” She paused for a beat, her lips curling into a mischievous smile. “Especially when you find someone who makes you feel like you’re living in a dream.”
I nearly choked on my wine, coughing lightly as I caught her meaning. She had said it with such ease, but the double entendre was clear. I shot her a look, but she only winked at me, a glint of mischief in her eyes.
Joel raised an eyebrow, sensing something in the air, but didn’t press it. Instead, he turned to me with a grin. “I think she’s got a point, y/n. It is magical here. The whole experience.”
I smiled, trying to hide the blush creeping up my neck. “Yes, it’s beautiful. But I think Nonna just likes to talk about love, even if it’s not quite the right time for that conversation,” I said with a teasing tone.
My grandmother gave a short, knowing laugh, then shifted in her seat. “Sì, y/n, parli troppo poco di amore,” she said in half Italian, half English. (Yes, y/n, you talk too little about love).
I rolled my eyes, knowing exactly what she meant, and shot Joel an apologetic look. “Ignore her,” I said, but there was no mistaking the glint of mischief in my grandmother’s gaze.
“Ah, love,” she continued, tapping her fingers on the edge of her wine glass. “It has a way of finding you when you least expect it, no?” She raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying herself. “A volte più tardi, a volte più presto—sometimes later, sometimes earlier.”
Joel chuckled, taking it all in stride. “Sounds like good advice.”
“Wise words from a very wise woman,” he said, glancing at me with a playful smile.
My grandmother smirked but didn’t say anything more, letting the conversation flow naturally. It wasn’t that she didn’t notice the tension between us; she just wasn’t pushing it. She knew how to let things unfold at their own pace, and that’s what I admired about her.
The night passed by quietly, the air cooling as we continued our meal. My grandmother, despite her subtle jokes, was content to let us be. She didn’t need to say much to let us know that she saw what was happening between Joel and me. It was written all over us. But tonight, there was no pressure, no rushing—just the gentle, unspoken bond that had begun to form.
When we finished eating, my grandmother stood up, her hands smoothing down her dress. “Well, I think it’s time for me to get some rest. You two—” she glanced at us with a playful smile, “—don’t stay out too late. Va bene?” (Alright?)
I nodded, a soft laugh escaping me. “Va bene, Nonna.”
Joel stood as well, offering her a polite smile. “Thank you for the wonderful meal. It was delicious.”
“You are welcome, Joel,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “Good night.”
As she disappeared into the house, I turned to Joel, my fingers instinctively brushing against his under the table. There was a comfortable silence now, a quiet tension that hummed between us but didn’t feel overwhelming.
“So,” I said, my voice a little quieter, “what did you think of her?”
Joel smiled, his gaze never leaving mine. “I like her. She’s… sharp. But she knows how to make you think.”
I chuckled softly. “That’s one way to put it.”
His smile softened, and he reached for my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “She’s right, though, you know. About love, I mean.”
I raised an eyebrow, meeting his eyes. “How so?”
Joel leaned in just a little, the soft glow of the moonlight casting shadows on his face. “Sometimes later, sometimes earlier… maybe we don’t always get to decide when we find something worth holding on to.”
I swallowed, his words hanging in the air between us. It felt like the weight of everything unsaid, everything still untold, was starting to settle into something real.
“I think we’re both figuring that out,” I whispered, my hand still in his.
And for the rest of the evening, we didn’t need to say anything more. The quiet between us said everything that needed to be said.
—
The mornings after we got together were my favorite.
Italy had always been beautiful, always been magic—but now it was different. Warmer. Softer. Like the sun rose just for us, spilling gold across the hills and sneaking through the cracks in the wooden shutters of our small apartment. The air smelled like coffee and jasmine, and the sheets were tangled around us, skin against skin, heart against heart.
Joel wasn’t much of a morning person, but he never complained when I woke up first and ran my fingers along his jawline, tracing the scratch of his stubble. He’d just hum low in his throat, eyes still closed, and tighten his arm around my waist to pull me closer.
“You’re starin’,” he mumbled one morning, voice rough with sleep.
“You’re pretty when you sleep.”
His lips twitched. “Don’t lie to me this early.”
I laughed, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Okay. Handsome. Ruggedly handsome.”
His eyes cracked open then, dark and lazy, and he shifted just enough to roll me beneath him. The mattress dipped under his weight, and I grinned up at him as he braced himself with one arm beside my head.
“Better,” he said.
The mornings blurred into days spent wandering cobblestone streets and driving through the countryside with the windows down. The radio crackled with Italian ballads, and Joel tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as I translated the lyrics with a grin.
“She’s singing about her lover who promised her the moon and left her with nothing,” I said once, over-exaggerating the drama of it with a hand over my heart. “Ti ho amato fino alla fine! I loved you until the end!”
Joel smirked. “That so?”
“It’s very tragic.”
“Guess I better not leave you, then.”
My breath caught, and I turned toward the window, biting back a smile.
At sunset, we took our glasses of wine to the balcony and watched the sky bleed pink and orange over the rooftops. Joel leaned against the railing beside me, his arm brushing mine.
“Nonna used to sit out here every night,” I said softly. “Said the sky looked like a painting God left just for her.”
Joel’s gaze didn’t leave the horizon. “Smart woman.”
The silence stretched, comfortable and familiar, before he shifted closer. His hand found mine, warm and solid. I squeezed it and exhaled slowly, the kind of breath that settled in your chest like peace.
“Never thought I’d be here,” he said after a while.
“In Italy?”
Joel shook his head. “Here. With you.” His thumb brushed over my knuckles. “Never thought it’d feel like this.”
“Like what?” I asked, voice quieter than I meant it to be.
His jaw flexed, eyes softening when he met my gaze. “Like I can breathe again.”
My throat tightened, and I stepped into his arms without a word. He held me there, against his chest, the world fading into nothing but the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear.
Later that night, after the city quieted and the moon rose, we danced barefoot in the kitchen while pasta boiled on the stove. The record player crackled in the corner with an old Italian love song, and Joel’s hand pressed against the small of my back, guiding me in slow circles across the tile.
I sang along under my breath, the lyrics instinctive and familiar. Joel didn’t know the words, but he didn’t need to. His eyes never left mine.
“Sei il mio destino,” I whispered as the music slowed.
“You’re my destiny,” he repeated softly.
I smiled and kissed him, tasting wine and forever.
—
The beach was quiet, secluded, the kind of place only locals knew about. I had taken Joel there a few times now, and even though he pretended to be indifferent, I knew he loved it just as much as I did.
Today, he had stretched out on a towel beneath the shade of an olive tree, a book in his hands, looking as unbothered as ever.
I, however, had other plans.
Grinning to myself, I sauntered over, still damp from my last swim, droplets of water trailing down my skin. Joel didn’t even glance up as I hovered over him, too engrossed in whatever he was reading.
I huffed. “You’re really going to spend the afternoon reading instead of enjoying the water?”
He turned a page, the hint of a smirk playing at his lips. “Ain’t stoppin’ you from enjoyin’ it.”
I narrowed my eyes before dropping down on top of him, effectively pinning him to the towel.
That got his attention.
His book tipped slightly as he peered down at me, an amused exhale escaping his lips. “You tryin’ to suffocate me?”
I smirked, resting my chin on my hands as I lay against his chest. “If that’s what it takes to get you in the water, then maybe.”
Joel sighed, but there was no real protest in it. His free hand found the small of my back, resting there like it belonged, his thumb grazing my skin absentmindedly.
“You’re trouble, you know that?”
I grinned. “You love it.”
He exhaled, shaking his head before looking back at his book. I watched as his eyes skimmed the words, waiting, waiting—then I reached up and snatched it right out of his hands.
“Y/n,” he warned, reaching for it, but I was faster.
I sat up, holding the book above my head. “The book or the water, Miller. Pick one.”
He squinted up at me, like he was actually considering his options.
I laughed. “Unbelievable.” Then, before he could argue, I bolted.
Joel let out a gruff damn it before chasing after me. I ran straight into the waves, squealing as the water hit my skin, my victory short-lived because in a matter of seconds, his hands were on me, lifting me right off my feet.
I yelped. “Joel, don’t you—”
Too late.
I was tossed into the sea with a splash, the cool water swallowing me whole.
When I resurfaced, gasping, hair plastered to my face, Joel was standing there, arms crossed, watching me with a smug expression.
“Happy now?” he drawled.
I lunged, grabbing his arm and yanking him toward me.
He stumbled, cursing as he splashed into the water, the smugness wiped clean from his face.
I burst into laughter.
Joel pushed his wet hair back, shaking his head. “You’re somethin’ else.”
I grinned, swimming closer. “You love it.”
This time, he didn’t argue.
Instead, he pulled me flush against him, the warmth of his body stark against the cool waves.
And when he leaned in, pressing his lips to mine, I decided that maybe, just maybe, I had won this round after all.
—
The night was thick with summer heat, the air scented with lavender and salt from the distant sea. We had spent the evening wandering through the hills, ending up at my favorite hidden spot—a quiet overlook where the world stretched endlessly before us, rolling green and gold beneath the moonlight.
Joel stood beside me, hands in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the horizon. He had been quieter than usual tonight, but not in a way that made me uneasy. More like he was thinking about something, rolling it around in his mind, trying to decide whether or not to say it out loud.
I turned to him, smirking. “You’re thinking too hard.”
His lips quirked, but his eyes stayed on the view.
“That obvious?”
I nodded. “I can practically hear the gears turning.”
He exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. But he still didn’t look at me.
That wouldn’t do.
So I stepped closer. Just enough that my shoulder brushed against his, just enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his skin.
“Joel.” My voice was softer now. “What is it?”
He hesitated. Then, finally, he turned to me.
And for the first time since I met him, he looked uncertain.
Something shifted between us then—something unspoken, something inevitable.
I swallowed, my pulse quickening.
I had never been nervous around him before.
But now, standing this close, his gaze fixed on mine, the weight of the moment settling between us like something fragile and delicate—I suddenly felt everything.
My breath hitched as he reached up, brushing his fingers against my jaw. It was the lightest touch, barely there, but it sent a shiver down my spine.
“You make it real hard not to fall for you,” he murmured.
My heart stopped.
Then, before I could overthink it, before I could talk myself out of it—I closed the distance.
Our lips met, soft and slow, hesitant for only a second before the hesitation disappeared entirely.
Joel exhaled against my mouth, his hands finding my waist, pulling me closer. I melted into him, my fingers tangling in his shirt, the warmth of him overwhelming, grounding.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate.
It was something deeper. Something dangerous.
Something that made me wonder if maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t going to be just a summer after all.
—
The soft evening light spilled across the stone steps as we sat there, our glasses of wine nearly forgotten between us. The air was warm, with a cool breeze now and then that made the leaves rustle above our heads. The soft hum of life from the villa seemed distant, almost nonexistent in this quiet moment we were sharing.
Joel had been unusually quiet, his gaze often drifting to the horizon, his fingers lightly tapping against the glass. I knew what was on his mind. The conversation about the end of the summer hadn’t been the easiest one, and it lingered in the air between us like a weight neither of us wanted to acknowledge.
“I guess I’ve been thinking a lot about what happens after,” Joel said, his voice breaking the comfortable silence. His eyes were still distant, but his hand shifted toward mine, his fingers brushing over my skin, making my heart skip a beat.
I met his gaze, my throat tight. “Me too,” I said, swallowing the lump that had formed there. “It’s hard to imagine going back to my life without… this. Without you.”
He glanced down at our hands, which had somehow ended up intertwined, his thumb brushing across my knuckles in a comforting, almost absent way. “It’s the same for me,” he murmured. “But… it’s not like this is the first time I’ve had to leave someone behind.”
I frowned, not fully understanding. “What do you mean?”
Joel sighed, shifting slightly on the steps to face me more directly. “I travel a lot for work,” he said, his voice low. “I’m never in one place for too long. Even when I’m home, it’s for a short time before I have to leave again.”
I blinked, surprised by the revelation. “I didn’t know that,” I admitted. “You never really talked about your job.”
“I know,” he said, and there was a slight hesitation in his voice. “I don’t talk much about it. It’s… complicated.” He gave a small shrug, almost like he didn’t want to elaborate further. “But… that’s why I try not to get attached to anyone. It’s easier this way. No long-term ties, no complications.”
I nodded slowly, absorbing what he was saying. “I get it,” I replied quietly. “You have your life, your responsibilities. But it still doesn’t make this easy.”
Joel met my eyes, his gaze softening. “No, it doesn’t. But it’s not like I’m going to forget about you, y/n. This summer—” He trailed off, his hand still resting on mine, his fingers gently tracing the lines of my palm in an almost hypnotic pattern. “What we have… it’s real. Even if it’s only for now.”
I shivered slightly from the way his fingers moved, the light touch making me feel like his hands were drawing on more than just my skin. He was tracing me, memorizing me. His fingers sketched over the curve of my wrist, down to the delicate curve of my elbow, as if he was drawing something in the air only he could see.
“I’m not good at this,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not good at… saying how I feel, at letting people in.”
I nodded, understanding that more than I wanted to. I wasn’t exactly good at it either. But something about the way he spoke, the way he touched me so gently, made it feel like he was letting me in, bit by bit.
“Maybe we don’t need to figure it all out right now,” I said softly, my free hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Maybe we can just… be here. Together.”
Joel looked at me with a tenderness that almost broke me. Then, his fingers moved to trace the line of my jaw, then down the side of my neck, his touch light, deliberate. His hand was warm against my skin, and his eyes followed the path of his fingertips, as though he were painting a picture of me in his mind.
“I like that,” he said, voice thick with something deeper. “I like just being with you.”
His hand lingered on my neck, his thumb grazing the soft skin there before moving back to trace the curve of my collarbone. The intimacy of the gesture, the way he was touching me as if I was something precious, made my heart race.
“Does it ever scare you?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “The idea that you won’t be here after the summer?”
Joel’s hand paused, his fingers resting lightly on my skin, and he met my gaze with a mixture of sadness and understanding. “It does,” he admitted quietly. “But I don’t think we should let fear stop us from living the moments we have now.”
I swallowed, feeling that familiar ache deep in my chest. “I don’t want to say goodbye,” I whispered.
Joel’s gaze softened, and he leaned closer, his lips brushing the side of my cheek in a tender kiss. “We don’t have to say goodbye yet,” he murmured, his voice warm against my skin. “We still have time.”
I nodded, closing my eyes as his hand moved to cup my face, his thumb gently brushing over my lips. “I want to make the most of it,” I whispered, my breath shaky.
And there, under the fading light of the evening, we stayed close, letting the silence speak for us. Joel’s hand rested on my neck, his fingers slowly moving down again, tracing the lines of my body with an intimacy that felt so natural, so right, despite the uncertainty of what was to come. It was a language we spoke without words—one touch, one breath, one shared moment at a time.
