GENRE: NA Romance
1967. Heartbroken from one relationship, Molly flees to Europe on a study program only to meet Erik, a good-looking Dane who just won’t give up.
He certainly sounded sincere. Or maybe I just wanted him to be sincere. Oh God, I can’t go through it again!
“Say you’ll try,” he said. “That’s all I ask.” He reached across the table and took my hand.
I looked into those eyes and knew I wasn’t going to be able to resist. He must have seen the answer in my expression; he expelled a long sigh as if he’d been holding his breath.
“Molly, I promise—
“Don’t.” I shook my head. “I’ve had enough promises to last a lifetime. But if we do this—if I do this—we have to take it slow.”
“Yes,” he said softly. He squeezed my hand, then let it go and sat back.
We smiled at each other like shy twelve-year-olds, and I felt, briefly, like I was stepping off a cliff.
“Let’s go,” he said, tossing a handful of lire onto the table and pulling me to my feet. We ran through the cobbled streets, played tag in the chiaroscuro of the late afternoon, meandered along the path atop the thirteenth-century walls. Then suddenly, in the shadow of a graceful archway, he gently pinned me against a wall.
“Molly …” He pressed closer, his face inches away. He leaned in to kiss me, but paused and pulled back, drawing his finger slowly down my cheek.
I shifted uneasily, half-paralyzed by the male smell of him, by the heat of his body against mine. “Erik, I thought we— ”
“ Shh …” he said, silencing my lips with his finger. The ache in his eyes almost wilted my resolve, but then he stepped away, lifting his arms in surrender, and with that half smile said, “From now on, it’s hands off, I promise.”