Chapter 1

I peel myeyes open, hissing like a vampire against the sunlight streaming through the open blinds. Dried drool cakes across my cheek as I ease myself up on the couch, rubbing the crick in my neck. A chocolate-chip cookie hiding in the folds of my sweatshirt drops to the carpet, and for a split second, I contemplate picking it up and eating it. Nasty, Summer. You're better than a stale sweatshirt cookie on the floor.

Groaning, I pick up the empty bottle of wine on the coffee table, my head throbbing to the beat of my pulse. It's not a habit of mine to plow through a bottle and a half of wine by myself on a Friday night, but guys like Kevin will do that to you.

I close my eyes and flashbacks from last night unwillingly play like a bad Netflix movie in my head. I met Kevin at a local sports bar called Lucky's after swiping right on the dating app, The One. There was nothing lucky about that place. One look at the LED lights drooping from the Styrofoam ceiling like a limp bra strap should have been my first clue. The dried ketchup stains on the faux-wood tables and the busty server wearing a tank top made for a nine-year-old were my second and third clues to how this date was going to go.

Kevin, who is most definitely not the one, prattled on about how many reps he did at the gym that morning. I didn't even blink when he told me he maxed out at 395 pounds on a bench press.

His nostrils flared in irritation. "That's a big deal, Susan."

My eye twitched. I couldn't help but stare at the small glob of ranch dressing clinging to his goatee. My finger automatically edged up to my chin as I subliminally pointed it out.

"Wow, that's—"

"Gary couldn't believe it. He said it's the highest he's seen in months."

I couldn't even get a word in to pretend like I was interested in the conversation. All I could see was the ranch dressing stuck in his beard. I moved my limp lettuce doused heavily in garlic dressing around with my fork, annoyed he kept calling me by the wrong name, even though I'd corrected him twice.

After twenty more minutes of lackluster conversation about all his achievements at work, and Gary's reps at the gym, I had to pull the plug. I took out my credit card to cover my side salad and glass of cheap wine. Kevin got a plate of fire-breathing chicken wings, a cheeseburger with an extra side of onion rings, and three beers. When the server came over with the check, he had the nerve to ask her to split it equally between us and then he winked at me and said, "You look like the Gloria Steinbeck type who insists on paying her own way."

I gave him a flat stare. "I assume you mean, Gloria Steinem."

"Yeah, whatever. You feminist chicks are all the same."

I tilted my head and smiled. "I'm shocked you're still single, Kevin."

"Yeah, well, I like playing the field. Why buy the cow when you can drink the milk for free?"

After spending more than I wanted on dinner and wasting an hour of my life I'll never get back, I left Lucky's and came home to two chilled bottles of white wine in the fridge, a roll of cookie dough, and serious thoughts of never dating again.

I rub my eyes and blindly reach for my phone. One missed call from my best friend, Cara. I stumble to the kitchen and throw the empty bottle of wine in the trash while eyeing the half-eaten tub of melted ice cream and the baking sheet of cookie crumbs. I've hit an all-time low if I indulged in all three last night. Fucking Kevin.

I start the coffee, hoping a good douse of caffeine will rejuvenate me, and rummage through my cabinets for some blessed ibuprofen while I wait for the coffee to percolate. From the couch, my computer dings with a new message.

The heavenly aroma of freshly brewed coffee permeates the air. I pull a mug down and pour a good helping of cream into my coffee. Easing back down on the couch, I take a sip before picking up my laptop. I have a new Facebook message from someone named Monica Morelli. Curious, I open up the message and almost spit coffee all over the couch.

Ciao Summer, we're so glad you decided to join Tuscan Bike Tours, LTD.! My name is Monica Morelli and I run the social media for the tour. We can't wait to meet you! There's a Facebook page for TBT if you would like to join. If you have any questions, please email us at [email protected]. Buona giornata! Monica

The pounding in my head increases two-fold as I pull up my email. I have three emails from Tuscan Bike Tours that came in overnight. I open the first one, which confirms my reservation for the June 5th tour. I press my fingers to my eyes. What the hell is going on? I don't even remember signing up for this. There must be a mistake. There has to be a mistake. I don't even like bike riding!

The second email is a welcome letter.

Dear Ms. Andrews,

Congratulations on signing up for a ride through Tuscany! Here at Tuscan Bike Tours, LTD., we pride ourselves in our commitment to making our customers' trip a once-in-a-lifetime event. Our bikes are state-of-the-art, and our tour guides are trained in the art of hospitality to make your tour of Tuscany unforgettable. You can trust our guides to handle all the logistics and give you tons of background on each place you visit on tour. Our staff handpicks hotels to give you the utmost comfort on your journey. Meals are also included and will feature local staples and specialties. You'll get to know your fellow travelers at our welcome dinner and come together throughout your tour to celebrate and share stories.

Your reservation is for the June 5th–June 14th Singles Only Tour—Paid in Full.

We booked your Delta Airlines itinerary as well as the transportation from Florence to Tuscany. You'll be sent a follow-up email with that reservation. Please be advised you will need a valid passport. We look forward to meeting you!

Ricardo Filloni,

Director of Tuscan Bike Tours, LTD.

My fingers shake as I open the flight itinerary and receipt for payment. Why do I have no recollection of this? Did Kevin slip something in my drink? What in the hell possessed me to book this trip? I don't even speak Italian! I hastily email the address Ricardo left me for the sales department and tell them there must be a mistake and I need to cancel this trip ASAP. I'm about to check my credit card statement when I hear a key turn in my front door. There's only two people who have a key to my townhouse—Cara and my mother, Barbara.

"Knock-knock, anyone home?"

And that's definitely not Cara.

With a groan, I flop an arm over my eyes, hoping to miraculously blend into the couch cushions.

The last person I want to deal with right now is my mom.

She sits down in the chair next to me, huffing. Her signature scent of Obsession and cigarettes pervading the air. "What's wrong now? I thought you'd be up mopping the floors and singing with the birds."

"I'm having a rough morning," I tell her.

"Are you hungover?" I can hear the smile in her voice. "This is a delightful surprise. Perhaps the little birdie didn't fall too far from the nest, after all?"

Barbara and I have never seen eye to eye on anything. Growing up, she was in and out of my life—mostly out of it. When she was around, it was because she needed money or a place to stay, and my grandmother always took her in.

"What do you want, Barbara?"

"Can't I come by on a beautiful Saturday morning to see how my favorite daughter is doing?"

"I'm your only daughter." I peel one eye open. "Unless you have more kids out in the world I'm unaware of. Please don't light that cigarette."

Barbara rolls her eyes and tucks the cigarette into her leopard print bra strap. "Give me a little more credit, Summer."

"I wish I could," I mumble, watching my mom get up and help herself to some coffee in the kitchen.

"Someone have a little party last night? There's an empty bottle in the trash."

"Move over, Nancy Drew, Barbara Andrews is on the case." I sigh, staring up at the ceiling, wishing she would leave so I could figure out what to do about this trip to Italy.

She sits back down with her coffee. "So, Summer, I have a proposition for you."

And here it is…

"I thought maybe I could move in here for a bit. Before you say anything, let me give you some reasons why it's a good idea."

"I can't think of one."

"Don't be rude." She takes a sip of coffee. "Okay, one, I could help you with rent—"

"Barbara, you don't even have a job—"

"Two, I think it would be a good chance to bond—"

"I'm thirty-six. I think that ship has sailed."

"Exactly my point. You could really use my help." She waves a hand at me and my surroundings.

"Help with…"

"Summerita, you're not getting any younger. Don't you want to have fun in your life?"

I gnash my teeth together, hating my childhood nickname she gave me. "Who says I'm not?"

Barbara arches a penciled-in eyebrow at me as she takes a sip from the coffee cup. "I may not have been around much when you were growing up, but I'm here now and I think this could be good for us."

I eye her suspiciously as she sets her coffee back down. I can smell her lie a mile away like a dead skunk. The smudged hot-pink lipstick on my coffee cup grates on my nerves. Everything about Barbara vexes me. She's always been the chaos to my calm. I drum my fingers on my knee, fighting the urge to call her out on her lies.

"I thought you had moved in with Rick?"

"Rick? He's old news. Brian and I got into a fight. It's over."

"Ahh, I see. So, you're homeless."

"I'm not homeless, Summer, geez. Just shopping around for something better. Getting ideas like that Pintry thing."

I scrunch my brows. "You mean Pinterest? Not really the same thing."

"Don't sound so superior. You know what I mean."

It's the same old song and dance she used to tell Grams growing up. I want to spend more time with you. I just need a few weeks to get back on my feet. I lost my job again. Grams would give her some money and always had a room ready for her in our small house. As soon as my mom met some new guy, she'd be off again without a thank-you or even a goodbye.

Barbara digs in her purse, retrieving a pocket mirror. She rubs her finger over her front teeth, an old habit of hers that brings me back to childhood. Pocketing her mirror, she stares at me, and I know if I don't give in, she'll never leave.

"So, if I gave you some cash—"

"I swear, I'll pay you back. It's just to tide me over until my job interview on Monday."

"Really? Where?"

"I don't want to tell you and jinx it. I'll let you know after the interview." She pats her short, freshly box-dyed hair.

"On Monday."

"Yep." She smiles and the lipstick on her nicotine-stained teeth sets me even more on edge, because I know she's lying. I tried to get my mom some help after Grams died, but you can't fix other people's problems if they aren't willing participants. She's been to rehab, she's been to therapists, but at the end of the day, it's always someone else's fault.

When I was ten, she told me I was the reason she was always broke. At fifteen, she gave me a box of condoms for my birthday and told me not to drop out of high school and become a teen mom like she did. On my graduation day, as I proudly wore the Summa Cum Laude stole, she was a no-show. At Grams' funeral, she didn't even cry. She flung her arm around my neck and said, I guess it's just you and me, kid.

It always ends up right back to me giving her cash to get her by. My bestie, Cara, thinks I'm enabling her, but I can't keep spending money on treatment she refuses to acknowledge. If I can help my mother stay afloat, she won't end up on the streets or in some seedy bar, or worse, dead. It's all I can manage. "I have sixty dollars…"

"That'll work." She snatches the money out of my fingers and grabs her purse. "Thanks, Summerita. You're the best."

"Wait, aren't you staying here?"

"Oh, hon…probably not. Janice and I are going to hit the town tonight. I'll just crash on her couch, or maybe I'll meet someone new." She waggles her fingers. "Mama needs to get her nails done."

"But I thought you wanted to spend time together." I hate that I sound needy when she was the one insisting on staying with me. I follow her out to my front door like a lost puppy.

"Summerita." She turns around and clucks her tongue. "You used to give me the same pitiful expression when you were little." She frowns, her smudged pink bottom lip pushing out as she plays with my hair. "Tell you what, I'll come by tomorrow to drop off some of my things if that will make you feel better. Maybe you can try on the purple dress I've been trying to get you to wear." She blows an air-kiss and breezes out the front door.

I collapse back down on the couch, feeling deflated. Dealing with my mom always messes with my head, which already hurts from this epic hangover. I check my email and see that I have a reply from Tuscan Bike Tours. Thank God for speedy responses.

Dear Ms. Andrews,

I'm so sorry you believe there's been a mistake in booking your trip with Tuscan Bike Tours, LTD. However, according to our records, you signed up for the tour around twelve thirty Pacific Coast Time from Burlingame, California. Your VISA credit card ending 5412 was processed. You initialed the introductory paperwork and filled out the questionnaire. According to our phone records, you called and spoke to Jolan about what kind of clothes to bring. If this was not you, or your credit card has been compromised, please let us know.

Buona giornata,

Sylvia Rococo, Sales

No, no, no, no! This can't be happening. I grab my cellphone and check my recent call log. Oh my God. I close my eyes and vigorously rub them to make sure I'm correctly seeing the outgoing call placed at 12:40a.m. to Rome, Italy. I hit redial and pray it's just a spam caller.

"Welcome to Tuscan Bike Tours! We are with a customer right now. Please wait on the line and someone will be with you momentarily."

Panicking, I hang up and look around my apartment. What the fuck did I do last night? Dammit, Kevin, this is all your fault. Could I say my credit card was compromised? I mean, technically it was used by a drunk madwoman hell-bent on going to Italy. I swipe to my credit card app on my phone and check my credit card statement. My eyes bug out when I see the amount charged to my Visa to Tuscan Bike Tours, LTD. Sober Summer can't afford that! I quickly type out a message back to Tuscan Bike Tours, then glance around again for any clues. Finding nothing, I turn on my TV and huff.

"Un-fucking-believable." Cued up is my favorite movie, Under the Tuscan Sun. I've always wanted to meet a man like Marcello and perhaps fall in love with a rundown villa and remodel it like Frances did.

Oh.

Putting two and two together, I must've got a wild hair in my ass and signed up for a bike tour in Italy. But why a bike tour? I drag my computer over to my lap and peer at my browsing history and scroll down a bit to the first website I visited after returning home. A website called Tuscany on a Dime, reveals beautiful pictures of sun-drenched hills dotted with tall Italian cypress, and water so rich and blue, it makes you want to dive right in. The next tab is Tours of Tuscany. I pull it up and notice I clicked on the link for Tuscany on a Vespa. I imagine my hair permanently knotted in a ball of frizz as I zip around the countryside, not to mention the potential of getting into an accident. I've heard Italians drive like maniacs over there. The final tab I had scrolled through last night was Tuscan Bike Tours.

My mailbox dings with a new email. I quickly open it up.

Dear Ms. Andrews,

Thank you for emailing Tuscan Bike Tours, LTD. I am so sorry to hear you accidentally purchased the package while inebriated. Unfortunately, you did not purchase trip insurance as part of your package. I am afraid this trip cannot be refunded or transferred to another party. Please let me know if you have any other questions. We look forward to having you on Tuscan Bike Tours, LTD.

Buona giornata,

Salvator Pizzi, Tuscan Bike Tours LTD., Sales team

Well, that's just fucking fantastic.