The Taste of Almost

The air between us crackled with silence.

Luca didn’t say another word as he stepped into the hotel room, and I didn’t stop him. I should have. I know I should’ve. But knowing what’s right and doing it? Two very different things. He placed the coffee and the painting gently on the side table, then turned to me with a gaze so gentle it disarmed every defense I had left.

“I didn’t mean to come here like this,” he said. “But I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about you. About us.”

I stood near the window, wrapped in the hotel’s white robe, arms folded across my chest like a barrier he’d already broken through. “And what exactly are we, Luca? Because last time I checked, I’m still married.”

His expression didn’t change. “Are you, though?”

I flinched at the honesty in his voice. Not cruel. Just… true. “Daniel threw me out.”

He nodded. “And what do you want now?”

“I don’t know.” I bit my lip. “I shouldn’t want you. Not like this.”

“But you do.” His words weren’t a question. I looked at him. Not as a ghost from my past, not a fantasy I had locked away. But as a man—flesh and blood, standing in front of me, reminding me what it felt like to be seen. Not just looked at. Seen.

“I haven’t felt alive in years,” I whispered.

Luca stepped closer. “Then let me remind you.”

And God help me, I let him.

His mouth brushed mine, soft at first, barely there. The kind of kiss that asks for permission and gives you every second to deny it. But I didn’t pull away. I leaned into it because I needed to feel something that wasn’t guilt or confusion. I needed heat, comfort, truth.

His hands slid around my waist, and I gasped into his mouth, that long-forgotten ache sparking like wildfire. He kissed me like a man starved for years, like he’d imagined this moment every night and was terrified it would vanish again.

And maybe I had too. I shouldn’t have let it happen. But the robe slipped off my shoulder, and his hands were there—steady, warm and knowing exactly how to touch without needing to be told.

He kissed the spot beneath my ear that once made me lose my breath, and just like before, I melted.

“Ari,” he murmured against my skin. “Tell me to stop.”

I couldn’t. I didn’t want to. But something in me hesitated. Not from fear... from history. “I’m not who I was back then,” I breathed.

He lifted his head, eyes dark with everything he’d been holding in. “I know. But neither am I.” He pulled back. Just a step, enough to make me feel the emptiness between us again.

“I won’t take you halfway,” he said. “Not this time. If you want me, I’m all in. But I’m not your escape, Ari. I’m not your secret.”

I wrapped the robe tighter around me, heart pounding. “Then what are you?”

He met my eyes with the same fire I’d once fallen into so recklessly. “I’m the life you were supposed to live before you traded yourself in for someone else’s version of happiness.” His words hit harder than I expected. Because he was right. I had traded myself.

I married a man who looked perfect on paper. Who gave me structure, stability, predictability, but not passion. Not fire. Not this.

We sat in silence for what felt like hours. He didn’t touch me again. He didn’t kiss me. He didn’t even ask to stay.

He just said, “You will find me in Hotel Fiori. Room 508. If you want to see what your life could look like… come by tonight.”

Then he left. Just like that. And for the rest of the day, I paced that sterile hotel room like a prisoner debating her own parole.

******

By sunset, the city buzzed with weekend energy.

Couples laughed beneath string lights outside cafés. Cars honked. Life moved on. But mine stood still. I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I looked tired. Beautiful, maybe, in a way, but tired.

And ye, beneath the ache, I saw her again: The girl I used to be. The woman I almost became. I didn’t pack anything. I didn’t call Daniel. I didn’t make a list or write pros and cons. I just grabbed my bag… and left.

The elevator to Room 508 felt like a rocket ride straight into madness. My hands were shaking when I knocked. Luca opened the door in a white shirt, barefoot, holding a glass of red wine like a temptation he knew I wouldn’t resist.

“You came.”

“I shouldn’t have.”

“But you did.” He stepped back, letting me in. The room smelled like cinnamon and wood and something heartbreakingly familiar.

“I didn’t plan anything,” he said. “I just… hoped.”

I set my bag down.

“I’m not here for sex,” I said, half-laughing, half-serious... “I don’t even know what I’m doing here.”

He took the glass of wine and handed it to me.

“Then don’t explain. Just be here.”

I nodded and took a sip. It burned just enough to remind me I was real.

We sat on the floor with the TV on mute and a record playing softly in the background—some old jazz tune he’d always loved. He didn’t ask about Daniel. I didn’t ask about the past ten years.

We just existed. In this strange, quiet space where nothing was expected and everything felt dangerous. At one point, I told him, “You ruined me.”

He laughed. “You ruined me first.”

I didn’t mean it as an accusation. I meant it as the truth. Because when someone teaches you what love is supposed to feel like, it’s impossible to forget. Even when everything else fades. 

The clock ticked past midnight when the mood shifted. Luca stood and held out his hand. I took it. He led me to the window, pulling back the curtain. Below, the city glowed like a sea of stars.

“We used to dream about escaping here,” he whispered. “Now look at us.”

“Still trapped,” I said.

“No,” he murmured. “Still dreaming.”

Then he turned me to face him. He didn’t kiss me, he didn’t touch me, he just looked. Like I was everything he ever lost and found again.And I started to cry. Not ugly sobs. Just quiet, trembling tears. For the life I built on compromise. For the love I buried under vows. For the girl I forgot how to be. Luca pulled me into his arms, and we stood like that for minutes—maybe longer. Until my tears dried, and my heart remembered how to beat.

“I love you,” he said.

I closed my eyes.

“I never stopped.”

And I knew—if I stayed tonight, there would be no going back. No more pretending. No more almost. Only truth. And the terrifying freedom that comes with it. 

But just as I was about to answer him… My phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number. But the voice on the other end made my blood run cold.

“Ariana? This is Officer Grant. I’m calling about your husband, Daniel Blake. He’s been in an accident.”