Early the next day, Paolo showed up at the flat carrying a tote bag. Gemma was wearing pajama pants and a camisole when he rang the buzzer. She made him wait in the hall until she put clothes on.
"I'm borrowing my friend's house in Dorset," he said, following her to the kitchen. "And I rented a car. Everything else anyone could possibly need for a weekend away is in this bag."
Gemma peered into the sack he held out: four Crunchie bars, Hula Hoops, Swedish Fish, two bottles of seltzer, and a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips. "You don't have any clothes in there. Or even a toothbrush."
"Those are for amateurs."
She laughed. "Ew."
"Okay, fine, I have my backpack in the car. But these are the important items," Paolo said. "We can see Stonehenge on the way. Have you seen it?"
"No." Gemma was indeed particularly curious to see Stonehenge, which she'd read about in a Thomas Hardy novel she'd bought in a San Francisco bookshop, but she wanted to see all the things—that was how she felt. All of London she hadn't yet seen, all of England, all of the great wide world—and to feel free, powerful, and yes, entitled, to witness and understand what was out there.
"It'll have ancient mystery, so that'll be good," said Paolo. "Then when we get to the house, we can hike around and look at sheep in meadows. Or take pictures of sheep. Maybe pat them. Whatever people do in the countryside."
"Are you inviting me?"
"Yes! There will be separate bedrooms. Available."
He perched himself on the edge of her kitchen chair, as if unsure of his welcome. As if maybe he'd been too forward.
"You're nervous right now," she said, stalling for time.
She wanted to say yes. She knew she shouldn't.
"Yeah, I'm very nervous."
"Why?"
Paolo thought for a moment. "The stakes are higher now. It matters to me what your answer is." He stood up slowly and kissed the side of her neck. She leaned into him, and he was shaking a little. She kissed his soft earlobe and then his lips, standing on tiptoe there in the kitchen.
"Is that a yes?" he whispered.
Gemma knew she shouldn't go.
It was the worst idea. She had left this possibility behind long ago. Love was what you gave up when you became—whatever she was now. Larger than life. Dangerous. She had taken risks and reinvented herself.
Now this boy was in her kitchen, trembling when he kissed her, holding a bag of junk food and fizzy water. Talking nonsense about sheep.
Gemma crossed to the other side of the room and washed her hands in the sink. She felt as if the universe was offering her something beautiful and special. It wouldn't come around again with another such offer.
Paolo walked over and put his hand on her shoulder, very, very gently, as if asking permission. As if in awe that he was allowed to touch her.
And Gemma turned around and told him yes.