Flash Point by James W. Huston Page B

square. They sat down at a worn wooden table, grateful for the warmth.
    “What’ll you have?” Vialli asked.
    “Cappuccino for me,” Woods said enthusiastically.
    Vialli looked at Irit. She shook her head. “I have to get going. I need to get the train back to Trento. I didn’t really even have time for this morning, but I’m glad I came.” She stood up and adjusted her coat with her left hand.
    “You sure?” Vialli asked.
    She nodded. “Send me an e-mail when you know where you’ll be next. We’ll see if there’s some way to get together.”
    “Sure,” he said. He was dying at the idea of her walking away. “Are you going to the train station?”
    “Yes. I have about an hour to get there.”
    “I’ll walk you,” he said, deciding suddenly. “Okay with you?” he asked Woods.
    “Sure. I’m going to go to the admin. I’ll probably just crash. I’m beat.”
    “You sure?”
    “Yeah. You going to come back here or go to the ship?”
    “I’ll meet you back at the admin.”
    “Okay,” Woods said. He finished his coffee quickly and put the cup down softly on the saucer, then looked for the waiter to order another. “It was nice to see you again,” he said to Irit.
    She averted his gaze. “Did you hear what I told Tony?”
    He nodded.
    “I’m sorry.”
    “I’m sure you have your reasons,” he said, not giving her the complete forgiveness she expected.
    “There’s really no excuse. I’m sorry.”
    “Don’t worry about it.” He smiled.
    Vialli watched Irit, thankful for the opportunity to observe her as she talked to someone else. “I’ll see you in a while,” he said to Woods, walking out with his arm around her.
    “Bye,” she said to Woods as they went through the door.
    Vialli took her left hand in his and they walked down the street toward an arching bridge that rose up over a canal. He stopped on the bridge and said, “What time is your train?”
    “One o’clock.”
    “We’ve still got forty-five minutes. How far away is the train station?”
    “It’s a pretty good walk.”
    He put one hand on the bridge rail and looked past her. He knew he had to bring it up again. “You could see I was shocked,” he said.
    “Sure.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “It’s nothing to be sorry about. It happens.”
    “I expected better of myself.”
    “I just don’t want you to feel like you have to be with me now out of pity or something. Like now. You held my hand. Why?”
    Vialli was pierced. “Because I care. Why do you think?”
    “So you can show me you’re not holding it against me. And so you can think better of yourself.”
    “Come on, Irit. Give me some credit.” He was growing frustrated. He couldn’t say anything right. “I really do care for you. I haven’t felt like this before,” he blurted.
    “What do you mean?”
    “You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever known.” He turned toward her and touched her face. He leaned down and kissed her on the lips, tentatively, unsure of himself, not about how he felt, but about how she would respond. He was afraid. He broke off the kiss before it became a commitment. He kept his face next to hers and put his hands on her waist. She put her hands on his waist at the same time. The bridge was deserted. There was no one to be seen along the road. Two gondolas made their way under the bridge in opposite directions but took no notice of them.
    “I’m sorry,” he said again.
    “Enough of that. We have to get past it,” she said softly.
    He kissed her again and felt her warmth as she pressed against him. He was glad not to have to explain himself anymore. She understood and didn’t hold it against him. She was remarkable. She had forgiven him at a level beyond where he was entitled to it. He kissed her deeply. He put his arms around her and held her tightly as he kissed her, his desire for her growing with every moment.
    “We need to get to the train station.”
    “Stay the night, here in Venice,” he pleaded.
    “I