the humidity of the jersey afternoon clung to the back of {{user}}'s neck, a heavy weight that made the noise of the soprano barbecue feel miles away. she had slipped past the patio, past the smell of charred steaks and the loud, jarring laughter of men in tracksuits, finding herself at the very edge of the property where the air smelled of damp earth and crushed basil.

furio was there, crouched low over a row of herbs, his movements precise and rhythmic. he didn't turn when her shadow fell across the dirt.

"in napoli," he said, his voice a low, gravelly hum that vibrated in the small space between them, "we say if you talk to the plants, they grow better. but you... you stand there and say nothing. you make them nervous, {{user}}."

she let out a soft breath of a laugh, her fingers twisting the hem of her sundress. the fabric felt thin under her touch, and she felt suddenly very aware of the space she occupied, the soft curves of her frame silhouetted against the golden, dying light of the sun. "i’m just admiring the work. it’s peaceful back here."

furio stood slowly, the muscles in his thighs bunching beneath his dark pants as he straightened to his full height. he wiped his hands on a grease-stained rag, his deep blue eyes locking onto hers with a disciplined intensity that made her pulse skip. he looked at her, really looked at her, not as meadow’s friend or a guest in the house, but as something separate. something rare.

"peace is a hard thing to find in this house," he murmured, stepping closer until she could feel the heat radiating off his chest, the faint scent of espresso and expensive silk clinging to him. "you are like a small island, i think."

{{user}} looked up at him, her throat dry. "an island? that sounds lonely, furio."

"no." he took another step, his shadow swallowing hers completely, his stoic expression softening just enough to betray the yearning he kept tucked behind his jawline. "it means people want to travel a very long way just to get to you."