The Itinerary

The Train Encounter

The gentle rocking of the train carriage lulled Haley into a contented daze as she gazed out the window at the idyllic Dutch countryside rolling by. Patchwork quilts of emerald fields and dusty rural towns knitted the landscape together in a portrait of pastoral serenity.

Haley had craved a final adventure before buckling down for graduate school - one last summer of unfettered wandering and cultural immersion before analysis and academics consumed her days. At 25 years old, her insatiable sense of curiosity still burned as bright as the homeland from which she'd emigrated over a decade ago.

Stretching her lean legs out along the vacant seats opposite her, Haley sighed contentedly. The rhythm of the railways hypnotized her into a light doze, her tousled dark hair fanning across the faded plush upholstery like a vignette of espresso waterfalls.

A heavy thunk and jostle stirred her from her reverie. Bleary hazel eyes blinked open as a tall, rangy figure slid into the seats across from her.

"Pardon," came a disarmingly deep voice caressed with the gentle lilt of an Italian accent. "I did not mean to disturb you, signorina."

Haley found herself gazing up at the shadowed profile of a man who could have been chiseled from marble. Even with the overhead light obscuring his features in mysterious darkness, his commanding presence enthralled her with an unmistakable charisma.

When he turned to her, his striking visage was illuminated like a renaissance sculpture. Artfully disheveled chestnut waves framed a striking pair of emerald eyes that sparkled with rakish charm. His chiseled jawline and roguishly crooked grin oozed with an unrepentant aura of irreverent mischief.

Swallowing hard, Haley suddenly felt unbearably frumpy in her lightweight backpacker attire of a quarter-sleeve henley and skinny khakis. This bronze-skinned Adonis looked as if he'd strolled straight off the runway of a high-end Milan fashion exhibition.

"Not to worry," she assured him in a lilting Kentucky drawl, silently praying her deodorant remained effective. The spring temperatures were rapidly climbing, adding a level of environmental chaos to the atmospheric tension now amplifying between them.

The striking stranger settled his lean, muscular frame into the thinly padded seat with casual grace before extending a calloused palm. Up close, his bergamont cologne teased Haley's senses in a smoldering blend of citrus and woodsmoke.

"Nicodemus Rossellini," he introduced himself in that low, honeyed rasp. "Though my friends call me Nico.""Haley Brown." She placed her hand in his, half-expecting a spark might quite literally ignite at the electrifying contact of their fingertips.

"A pleasure, Miss Brown." That crooked half-smile of his deepened with unmistakable appreciation as his gaze leisurely roamed her features, missing nothing.

Squirming under his unabashed appraisal, Haley couldn't decide whether to bristle at his overt admiration or bask in it like a desert flower unfurling her petals to the sun. So often American men came on so strong with their forward advances that any coquettish glances were immediately rebuffed as a deterrent from unwelcome interaction. Yet Nico's European air of sophisticated nonchalance disarmed her typically wary defenses.