Our love story: Part 17 (the kissing part)

The proprietors at our Florence hotel were nice. They always put out a little breakfast in a cute little European eating nook. But Liz and I usually missed it; we were usually tired from the sightseeing the day before. So sleep usually won out over food.

Italians are minimalists where breakfast is concerned. They like steaming cups of coffee (members of the LDS church don't drink coffee, so that one was out for me) and pastries. Now, I'm all for sugary pastries, but not first thing in the morning. So missing out on breakfast wasn't a big deal to me. But it was for Marco and Toby. I don't think those two ever missed a breakfast. They'd stumble out of bed and go straight over to common area and chow down enough food to feed breakfast to several Italians.

One morning, in an effort to help (and probably because they couldn't fathom anyone going without breakfast), they saved some food for Liz and me. Liz ate part of hers but I wasn't feeling the love for all the sugar (don't worry, I'm only anti-sugar in the mornings) so they ended up happily eating mine as well.

We boarded a train on the morning of May 17. We played card games and watched the scenery stream by as we traveled to Siena. I'd never heard of this town, but Marco assured us it was worth seeing. At this point, I trusted him as our Italian travel guide.

As we neared Siena, we quieted every time the overhead speakers crackled in the car. The conductor would announce the next few stations and, of course, everything he said was all in Italian. Marco told us to listen for "Siena" and I swear I did, but nothing that conductor said sounded anything like a language I could decipher.

"Okay, Siena's in five more stops," Marco said. And we resumed our card game.

"Wait, did he really say that? Did he actually announce Siena?" I asked.

"Yeah, didn't you hear him?" Marco looked at me.

Toby looked over as well.

"Um, no. I couldn't understand anything."

"Just listen really carefully, you'll understand him next time."

At the next station the conductor again announced the upcoming stops. I listened again, super intently, I might add. Mid-way through the gibberish Marco and Toby looked at me expectantly.

"Sorry, guys. As far as I'm concerned, all he said was, "weoiruaojdfewuqleiura."

Finally, the train slowed to a stop at Siena and the conductor announced our station, I told everyone I had finally understood. Amid all their eye-rolling and laughter, we got off the train and started our adventure in Siena.

Liz's note: we spent a good amount of time during our 2015 Reid Family Italy trip on trains. I was surprisingly disappointed when the train conductors announced upcoming stations in Italian and English. I mean, it was nice to understand what they were saying, but part of the mystery and the whole cultural-immersion thing seemed to have faded from my previous train-riding experience.

Siena, Italy is famous for a few things. It has an awesomely cool bell tower and a huge square totally paved in brick. It's also home to a horse race every summer. But we were a few months early for the horse race; that day we were only sightseeing.

The two Lizzes in the Siena plaza. Soon after this picture was taken the below incident happened.

We walked around the brick square, taking in the smells and looking over the vendor booths. We were contemplating where to go next when a tailor stepped out from his shop and made his way over. Staring at Liz, he took the measuring tape from around his shoulders and held it out to her, um, chest. He then proceeded to measure her, all while exclaiming in Italian.

Was he doing what I thought he was doing?

Liz lunged away from him and screamed out, "You dirty old man!"

He laughed and stepped toward her. But before he could do anything else, Marco and Toby glared at him. They commanded several sentences in Italian and the man scurried off with a scared look on his face.

"Wow," I looked at Marco. "What did you say to him?"

"He thought he was dealing with Americans who didn't understand Italian. We told him what we'd do to him if he continued to bother our friend and he decided he didn't want to stick around," Marco said.

"Oh, okay." Then I realized he really hadn't answered my question. "But what did you two actually say to him?"

Marco and Toby gave each other a knowing glance and Toby piped up, "It doesn't matter. He won't bother us again."

Liz shook the incident off and we continued along the square. I made sure to keep my eyes open for any other nefarious Italian tailors.

Overlooking the huge brick square was a bell tower (I know, Italians and their many bell towers). Marco asked who wanted to climb to the top. I was still tired from sight-seeing the day before, but this was probably the only time I'd ever be in Siena in my entire life; I said I was up for the adventure. Toby and Liz wanted to window shop, so Marco and I paid our entrance fees and started the climb.

At first I was nervous, having this excursion be just Marco and me. Without Toby and Liz's constant bantering back and forth, I wasn't sure what we'd talk about. But the silent tension didn't last long. At this point, Marco and I had been traveling companions for over a week. We'd seen each other jet-lagged, in bad moods, irritated, and hangry. We made our way up the narrow stairs and finally emerged at the top of the tower. The scenery was gorgeous. And I was surprised with how comfortable I felt being alone with Marco.

View from the top of the bell tower. Ancient buildings and rolling green hills? Yes, please.

Maybe you've noticed by now that, while there are many photos of Liz and me, there is a dearth of photographic evidence of Marco. Yeah, I found out quickly that Marco is not a picture-lover. He hates being in front of the camera.

After our time at the top of the tower, we made our way down and found Toby and Liz. Then the four of us went over to the famous Siena duomo.

That duomo was gorgeous, I could have spent hours in it. It's not surprising that many Italian churches took hundreds of years to complete; those buildings are serious works of art. I know many people think LDS temples are ornate--and they are breathtakingly beautiful--but they don't compare to the magnificent abundance of ancient Catholic cathedrals. Every inch of that cathedral was decorated. The walls were hung with masterpieces of art and the sculptures were outrageously impressive. At this point in the trip, I'd gotten over the embarrassment of seeing statues of naked men everywhere I turned; it was everywhere and part of the Italian culture.

The two Lizzes at the center door.

One thing that did crack me up, and still does, is realizing those practical Italians had inserted smaller, people-sized doors into the larger-than-life ones.

I wish the above photo showed the duomo better, because that building was super colorful. The amazing thing was that none of the exterior was painted; all the coloring was naturally part of the marble. I had never known marble could be so ornate.

After sightseeing around Siena, we went back to the train station and started our journey to Florence. Liz and I declared that tonight was not the night for a pizzeria. We were hungry and wanted an actual restaurant.

When we arrived in Florence, we wandered around centro searching for a good restaurant. I expected Marco and Toby to look over at least a dozen menus, and was surprised when they quickly decided on an outdoor restaurant in a large piazza, Piazza della Signoria. It was obviously a popular spot because several restaurants were crowded next to each other.

The four of us were seated by a tuxedo-clad waiter and we perused the menus. Accordion music played in the background and I was ecstatic with the whole ambiance of our situation. We were surrounded by tall buildings and statues (all of them naked, unfortunately) and nearby was a huge bell tower (I'm telling you, Italians love their bells). Now this was the Italy I had wanted to experience.

Our dinner took a long time arriving and my stomach growled. I wondered out loud if the waiter had forgotten to put our order in.

Toby laughed, "This is Italy, where you never rush food. It'll come. Relax."

Finally, our dinners arrived. The boys had steak while Liz and I had pasta. And wow, that dinner didn't disappoint. Italian pizza is great but authentic Italian pasta was divine. At this point, I knew a doggy bag wasn't a possibility so I stuffed myself as full of pasta as I could.

Dinner took at least an hour and a half and by the time we were finished, the evening had turned to night. But I didn't want the magical day to end.

We left the restaurant and began our way back to the hotel when Marco asked, "Does anyone want to walk up to the Piazzale Michelangelo?"

"What's that?"

"It's a piazza up at the top of that hill," Marco pointed to a summit some distance away. "It has a copy of the statue of David up there. The view is pretty amazing at night. We could walk up there and take a bus back."

Walk around Florence at night and see the city sights? Suddenly I didn't feel as tired as I thought, "I'm in!"

"I'm beat, I think I'll go back to the hotel and go to bed," Toby said.

I looked over at Liz. Of course I wanted my side-kick to come along. But at the same time, being alone with Marco would be amazing. I felt guilty when I realized I hoped she'd stay behind.

Liz took her time answering. She looked at me for several long seconds, while I attempted to maintain an impartial look, before finally saying, "I think I'll go back with Toby too. I'm tired."

I glanced at Marco. Would he cancel the walk now that only I wanted to go?

"Okay, I guess it'll just be the two of us then," he said.

Liz gave me a look that practically shouted our excursion was a date. I rolled my eyes in an attempt to downplay the situation. Pft, sure I had a small--very small (okay, super huge)--crush on Marco. But only I knew that. Right?

I glanced over at Toby and he waggled his eyebrows back.

Him too?

The two of them turned to leave when Toby warned, "Remember, the hotel locks its doors at 1:00 am. Be sure to be back or you'll get locked out."

"For sure we'll be back way before then. It's only 9:30," I told him.

Then we were alone.

Well, as alone as we could be in a city crammed full of tourists at an hour when all the natives came out to walk about and socialize.

I told myself this wasn't much different from earlier that day, when Marco and I had climbed the Siena bell tower. But it was. Earlier, we had been with a group of tourists and had spent most of our concentration traversing the steep winding tower staircase. Now, as we walked along the path heading up the hill, we only occasionally came across some couples, most of them obviously caught up in one another.

The path was paved, but it was long. Much longer than I had envisioned (I think it's only 2-3 miles, but it seemed twice that). As the night deepened, the temperature dropped and I started shivering.

"Are you cold?" Marco asked.

"Yeah, it's freezing out here. I should have brought a warmer jacket." I zipped my jacket up all the way to my chin.

"Do you want my jacket?"

Yes, absolutely. "No. Thanks though. I'll be okay."

Marco shot me a disbelieving look and caught my hand in his, "Your hand is freezing. At least put it in my jacket pocket."

Would that even help? "Okay," and I slipped my hand in. "Ahhh," I sighed in relief. "How does your pocket stay so warm?"

"My hand was in it."

"Seriously? That's all it took?"

I hadn't learned yet that Marco is a human heater. The guy is rarely cold. It's a situation that works out well for me because, unless it's the middle of July, I'm usually freezing. I'm pretty sure I inherited my maternal grandmother's bad circulation.

"Aren't you cold at all?" I asked him.

"No, I'm fine."

To prove his point, he slipped his hand in his (jacket, not jeans!) pocket as well and held my hand. It was warm. I couldn't believe it. His hand clasped over mine felt nice and warm. But wow, Marco was holding my hand. I tried to analyze the situation. Was he only holding it because he was a nice guy and he wanted to help me stay warm? Or were Toby and Liz right and he viewed me as more than a friend?

We continued walking and I saw a view of Italy I hadn't before. Almost everyone we came across was a native Italian. It was like all the tourists had gone somewhere else and we were truly surrounded by culture.

Yeah, a lot of culture, I realized when we rounded a corner and found a man and woman having an intense make-out session.

As we passed them Marco gave a quiet laugh, "Typical Italians." He squeezed my hand and changed the subject, "This one seems warm now. But how's your other hand doing?"

My other hand was encased in my own jacket pocket and it would probably need to be amputated, it was so cold. "Not too good."

"K, switch sides."

Marco and I walked around each other and he held his other hand out; I gave my freezing one to him.

"You weren't kidding." He held my hand in his and into the jacket pocket they went.

After a few minutes he asked, "Are you doing okay?"

"Yeah, but now my right hand misses being warm."

He laughed, "Sorry, it won't work for me to hold both of them. But let's do something else." He unzipped his jacket and took it off, placing it over my shoulders.

"No, I can't take this. You'll freeze," I protested verbally. But inwardly I took a sigh of relief.

"I'm fine. It's not that cold out here." He zipped it up and retook my hand in his.

Finally we made it to the top of the overlook just as a bus was pulling away. We walked over to the statue of David.

"Was that our bus?" I asked worriedly.

"It might have been, let me look at the schedule for a minute."

We stood in front of the bus schedule and looked it over. I couldn't read Italian, but I could tell time and it looked like we had just missed the last bus of the night.

"Hmm, yeah. That was our bus and there won't be another one until tomorrow morning. Sorry, we'll have to walk back. I didn't realize it would take us so long to get up here."

"What time is it?" I asked.

"About 11:00, we'll make curfew. But let's sit down for a minute and enjoy the view."

My hand still enveloped in his, we sat on a (cold) cement bench and looked out at the entire city of Florence. Lights were on and the view was amazing.

But if we weren't back at the hotel in time, we'd be locked outside all night. And while that could be romantic in the movies, being sleep deprived with contacts stuck to my eyes didn't sound appealing. After a few minutes, we began walking back down the trail we had just come up.

Going down the path was obviously easier than walking up it had been. But man, I was tired. We had to switch sides constantly, my hands taking turns being warmed up. We also took several breaks on benches; both of us tired after days of sight-seeing. But Marco never complained about holding my hands and he often caressed the top of my hand with his thumb.

I was pretty sure Liz and Toby were right; this guy did like me.

Finally we made it back to the Piazza della Signoria. I was exhausted.

"Let's sit down for a few minutes before we go the rest of the way," Marco suggested.

"But it's 12:30, we've got to hurry."

"We'll make it. Our hotel's just a few blocks from here."

We sunk down on the cement steps and I put my head on Marco's shoulder.

"Here," he lowered my head onto his knees and put his arm across my shoulders. "Rest a few minutes, I'll watch the clock."

Too tired to enjoy the possible romantic moment, I agreed and feel asleep within seconds.

After what seemed like only a moment, I woke to Marco whispering in my ear, "Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. We need to get back." He leaned over and kissed my forehead.

All I knew was I hadn't slept nearly long enough and I didn't want to move. So I said the first thing that popped into my sleep-deprived mind, "That's supposed to wake me up?"

But I knew he was right and we needed to get up. So I opened my eyes and, in a fog of sleep, started sitting up. Marco took me by my hands and guided my face to his where I woke up even more when his lips reached mine. It took my brain a few seconds to realize what was going on. But pretty soon I had it figured out, so I kissed him back.

In an ancient, cobblestoned piazza, overlooked by the famous Florence bell tower, surrounded by famous (naked) statues in Italy, Marco and I enjoyed our fist kiss.

Okay, let's take a little break here because this is where, if Marco had writing privileges on this blog, he'd try to take over and tell his side of the story. Because, for some strange reason, Marco has it in his head that things happened more like this (okay, so I might just have embellished what he says happened, but you get the idea):

After what seemed like only a moment, I woke to Marco whispering in my ear, "Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. We need to get back." He leaned over and lightly kissed my forehead.

Instantly awake, I issued a challenge, "That's supposed to wake me up?"

I opened my eyes and saw my unsuspecting prey leaning over me. I slowly sat up and pulled his face to mine where I surprised him by eagerly pressing my lips to his. Shocked, but not disappointed, he gave in to my overtures and kissed me back.

Yeah, Marco and I have a little disagreement over who initiated our first kiss. I'll let all my loyal readers decide for themselves which scenario seems more likely. But may I please remind everyone that I'm a lady and I never, ever, initiated kissing a boy--kiss initiating is a man's job. Also, I have what Marco calls the Garrett Sleep Genes. It takes me a good twenty minutes to become coherent after waking up. So really, even if I had wanted to lay one on him, I wouldn't have been cognizant enough to do so.

Ahem, back to our story.

After kissing me, Marco took my hands in his and pulled me to my feet. Still holding hands, we made our way back to the hotel in time for curfew. As he took me to my room, he stopped me in front of the door and gave me a quick kiss.

"See you tomorrow," he said with a wink.

I reluctantly took my hand from his and went into the room. Everything was dark and Liz was sleeping. As quietly as I could, I washed my face and put my pajamas on. I was still reeling over Marco's kiss.

He did like me! And I liked him! Gosh, we still had weeks left on our trip. How was this going to work out? What if we stopped liking each other and we still had to travel together? That could get awkward fast.

I got into bed and Liz rolled over. She took one look at me and groaned, "You kissed him, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did." I tried to suppress the grin from my face, but it didn't work.

"I knew it. I knew you two liked each other." She rolled back over and went to sleep.

Finally, I did too. But not before hoping Marco would kiss me again and wondering if things would be awkward between us the next day.

Part 18