Chapter 3

I kick mypurse farther under the seat in front of me and settle back. I'm so excited to be going to Italy, I can hardly keep my knees from bouncing. I'm also incredibly nervous. Cara might have been right when she said it was stupid to go on this trip alone, but I've decided to live in the moment and make the best of it. Who knows, I might even find the love of my life on this tour.

I pull out my phone and text my mom. She readily agreed to staying in my townhouse when I asked. It's not exactly ideal, but at least Cara and Damien will be around to keep an eye on things.

Me:Barbara, just checking in before my flight takes off.

Barbara:Summer, you need to relax and quit texting me every five minutes.

Me:I just want to make sure you don't have questions about the alarm system and remember no smoking inside and NO parties or random men over.

Barbara:Don't be such a buzz kill, Summer. What do you think I'm going to do, film a porno and burn your house down?

That exact scenario did wake me up in a cold sweat last night. I don't trust my mom one bit. Luckily, I have nothing of value in the house. When my grandmother passed away, the only thing I kept of hers was a hand-knit blanket she made for me and a few knickknacks. I tuck my phone back in my purse.

A woman sits down in the aisle seat and sighs after she gets situated. I turn my head and smile.

"Hi."

"Hi," she says, her attention returning to the passengers taking their seats. She high-fives a couple of them as they pass by.

"Are those your friends? I can switch seats with someone if you'd like to be next to one of them."

"Oh, that's kind of you. It's okay. We're all here to go on a bike tour."

"Me too. Tuscan Bike Tours?"

"Yes." She eyes me curiously and holds out her hand to shake. "Ginny Pizaki from Grand Rapids, Michigan."

"Summer Andrews from San Francisco. It's so nice to meet someone in the group. I thought I was all by myself on this flight." I pull my hand out of her cold, vise-like grip.

"Oh no, there's a bunch of us. I think the tour tries to get most of us on the same flight out of New York, so it's easier to pick everyone up in Florence."

"That makes sense."

"I don't remember seeing you on the Facebook group page."

"I never got the chance. Not much of a Facebooker to start, but I was swamped finishing up some projects at work. Is that how you know everyone?"

"Yes, there are a bunch of us who talk regularly on there."

I mentally kick myself for not taking the time to join the group page. I would have felt better going on this trip knowing someone. A young, gangly man dressed in a black hoodie and jeans with light brown hair and glasses stops in our row.

"I think that's my seat." He looks at his ticket and nods at the empty seat between Ginny and me. Ginny immediately gets up and lets the man into the row. He settles in and sticks his carry-on under the seat in front of him. He takes a small plastic container out of his hoodie pocket and shakes something into his hand.

"Tic Tac?" He holds his hand out to me.

"No, thank you." I turn my head toward the window while he offers one to Ginny. I discreetly cup my hand over my mouth and try to see if my breath smells funky. I did just get off a five-hour flight from California.

"Are you traveling to Italy for vacation?" he asks Ginny.

"No, I'm on the Tuscany Bike Tour. So is she."

"That makes three of us, then," the man says and turns his head toward me with an outstretched hand. "Harrison Gunner."

"Summer Andrews." I gingerly shake his hand. "You're on the bike tour as well?"

"Yep." He sighs and closes his eyes, stretching his long legs out. He looks like he's barely old enough to drive. Ginny digs something out of her carry-on while a guy in his early forties with a man-bun passes by. He pauses at our row and holds out a fist to bump. "Tuscan Bike Tour?"

Harrison cracks an eye open and side-eyes him. I clear my throat and nod. Ginny pops up, holding a t-shirt to her chest. "Oh hey, Blake. Where's your seat?" She smiles goofily at him and bumps his fist.

"14A. Go A-team. Woo-hoo!" He pumps his fist into the air and continues down the aisle.

"That's Blake." Ginny turns to us, her cheeks rosy.

"I gathered," Harrison says flatly, resuming his nap position.

"What's the A-team?" I ask Ginny.

"Oh, well, if you were on the Facebook chat, you would know Blake dubbed some of us the A-team. We even had bike jerseys made." Giggling, she holds up the royal-blue shirt with her name and the A-team bedazzled on the back.

"Wow, that's—"

"Stupid if you ask me," Harrison grumbles. I nudge his arm with my elbow.

"I think it's fun. How do we get on the A-team?"

"Um, I guess you can ask Blake, but you won't have a shirt…" With a shrug, Ginny puts her prized shirt back in her carry-on. "We bonded in our group chat before the trip, so…"

We pause our conversation during the flight attendant's safety speech. Ginny turns toward us when she finishes.

"Are you guys skilled bike riders? Done any races? I love doing triathlons. Blake just finished an Ironman. Can you believe it? He reminds me of Lance Armstrong." She sighs and Harrison coughs into his fist.

"Uh…not exactly a bike rider. I practiced on my friend's Peloton, but I didn't get very far. Those classes were exhausting. But I enjoyed the music." I laugh, but it quickly dies when I notice Ginny's appalled expression.

"You mean to tell me you are going on a bike tour and aren't into biking?"

"That's exactly what she's telling you, Gin. Don't worry, Summer, we'll form our own team…the C-team."

"The C-team?" Ginny asks looking genuinely perplexed, like why would anyone want to be labeled a C?

"Yeah, the Cool team." Harrison holds out his fist for me to bump. I can't tell if he has a glint in his eye or if it's the sun reflecting off his glasses, but this moment feels like a turning point—a choice. And for some inexplicable reason, I like Harrison. I gingerly bump my knuckles to his and he grins. The plane hurtles down the runway and lifts off American soil.

"No turning back now." Harrison puts his earbuds in and cranks up his music loud enough for me to hear.

Ginny turns her back slightly on us as she takes a book out. Of course, it's Wheelmen, the story of Lance Armstrong's doping career.

Are Ginny and Blake a taste of what's to come on this trip? I worry my bottom lip. The tour is supposed to be for all biking levels, amateur to pro. Should I have brushed up on Lance Armstrong and done a few triathlons before committing to this tour? Not like I had much of a choice in the commitment department. But perhaps I should have tried harder on the Peloton or taken a spin class at the gym, maybe even rented a bike?

What the hell was I thinking?

Closing my eyes, I picture coasting down hills past sunlit fields of wheat, my legs outstretched like I used to do as a kid. I toss my head back, my face hitting the rush of wind that sweeps over me, and I'm finally, for once, feeling free. Harrison is biking beside me on my right, laughing at some witty remark I've made. Ginny and Blake, huffing and puffing behind us, struggle to keep up. I fist-bump Harrison and smile.

A chiming sound, alerting the flight attendant for help, jerks me awake. The cabin lights are dimmed and everyone else seems to be sleeping. I raise my window shade a fraction, but all I can see is inky blackness and the red flash of the light from the wing, as we cruise somewhere over the Atlantic. Ten hours to Florence and then a one-hour bus ride to San Gimignano, where we'll begin.

Harrison's right about one thing. There's no turning back now.