The morning sun spilled through the large windows, draping the breakfast table in a golden glow. Jake stretched his arms over his head with a soft grunt, his body still loose from the warmth of the night before.
He shuffled into the kitchen—and immediately caught Ivory's dad staring down into the trash bin, arms crossed, a single brow raised in quiet judgment.
Jake followed his gaze.
Two empty ramen cups.
Side by side.
Jake scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Morning, sir."
Ivory's dad looked at him, squinted slightly, and said absolutely nothing. Just walked away, whistling, with a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
Jake sighed into his coffee.
***
Later, while they were all gathered around finishing breakfast, Ivory's mother clapped her hands together. "Alright! You three," she said, pointing her spoon at Ivory, Jake, and Marco. "You're coming with me to the market."
Ivory's dad chuckled, reaching for another slice of bread. "I'll stay behind. Old friend's coming by the vineyard."
Ivory perked up, excited. "The market?"
"Mm-hmm," her mom nodded. "Jake needs to see Tuscany's beauty properly. Not just the inside of your bedroom."
Marco immediately choked on his coffee, laughing.
Ivory sputtered, her cheeks flushing deep pink. "M-Mom!"
Jake was too busy trying not to laugh into his hand, biting his lip hard enough it almost hurt.
"And you," Ivory's mom turned to Marco, "need a break from that laptop before you grow roots into it."
Ivory scrambled to defend herself, rambling in fast, flustered Korean, "I do not keep him locked in! He's the one who—!"
Before she could finish, her mother—without missing a beat—smacked the back of her head lightly and grinned.
"Good. You can speak," her mom said proudly, her chest puffing up. "I was starting to think you forgot your mother tongue."
Ivory scowled, rubbing her head, while Marco and Jake both laughed.
As they left the villa and wandered into the breathtaking expanse of Tuscany, Jake found himself hand-in-hand with Ivory, the soft breeze tangling in her hair. The sky was a dreamy blue, the rolling hills of olive groves and vineyards stretching for miles.
Jake's heart squeezed.
He thought he'd seen beautiful places before. But this... Tuscany with Ivory... it was like stepping into a painting.
He looked at her, cheeks still flushed from her mother's teasing, the sunlight catching the freckles on her nose.
Maybe he was spending too much time locked inside with her.
But honestly?
He wouldn't have changed a thing.
The market in Tuscany was alive with color and chatter—baskets overflowing with tomatoes as red as fire, olives glistening in their brine, fresh flowers bundled in twine, and merchants shouting prices in sing-song Italian.
Ivory's mom and Marco had long disappeared into a heated debate with the butcher over prosciutto thickness.
Meanwhile, Ivory tugged Jake along by the wrist, eyes wide with excitement. "Okay, Mr. Superstar, this—" she gestured dramatically to a small sandwich cart—"is a panino con porchetta. You haven't lived until you've had this."
Jake blinked as she handed him the hot sandwich, warm rosemary-scented pork tucked into crusty bread.
He took one bite.
"Oh my God," he mumbled, eyes widening, "this is so good." in fact it was so good, his face looked like he's about to tackle on his sandwich. Bouncing his head up and down as he chewed.
Ivory laughed so hard she almost dropped her own sandwich.
They wandered from stall to stall, sharing bites of salted meats and sugared fruits. Jake bought her a cone of pistachio gelato while Ivory grabbed packets of sun-dried tomatoes and marinated artichokes to bring back to Iceland. They sampled cheeses that made Jake groan with pleasure and scooped handfuls of roasted nuts into brown paper bags. Ivory pointed out wines that would pair well with everything—already imagining a meal she'd cook once they got back.
She was glowing.
Jake followed her with his eyes, heart swelling, as she moved like she belonged to every scent, every sound, every laugh.
And then he saw it.
A small vintage shop tucked between a linen vendor and a bookstall.
He told her he'd just be a second, shooing her toward a dried fig tasting nearby. She raised a brow but let him go.
Inside, the shop was filled with antiques and trinkets—old brooches, faded postcards, glass beads catching the light. But one thing drew him in immediately.
A delicate gold chain. Hanging from it, a small, vintage heart-shaped pearl pendant—soft and warm, like honey in the sun.
He imagined it against her skin, the way it would catch the light when she laughed. It wasn't flashy. It wasn't loud. But it felt like her. Quiet magic.
"Wrap this, please," he said to the vendor, eyes fixed on the necklace as if it would disappear if he blinked.
When he returned, Ivory was already holding out a bag of figs for him, lips stained red from a pomegranate sample. "You disappeared."
Jake took the figs, grinning. "I got lost in your country's charm."
She snorted, clearly not buying it. "Uh huh. Did Italy flirt with you?"
Jake leaned in closer, whispering, "A little."
As he said it, he brought his other hand from behind his back and revealed a small bouquet of sunflowers, their bright golden heads almost glowing under the market lights. Ivory blinked, startled for a second, before a slow, stunned smile spread across her face.
He handed them to her with a small, almost boyish grin. "Like you," Jake murmured, voice low and sincere. "A ray of sunshine I can't seem to get enough of."
Ivory looked down at the flowers, her fingers brushing over the soft petals, before meeting his gaze again—eyes a little shinier than before, heart a little fuller.
"You're lucky you're cute," she teased, her voice catching just slightly at the end.
Jake only laughed, tugging her closer by the waist as they continued strolling through the lively streets, her sunflowers cradled safely in her arms.
Ivory rolled her eyes—but her smile was soft.
They were crossing a narrow street lined with flower stalls when it happened.
A loud vroom echoed down the lane—and before Ivory could even react, Jake's arm shot out, pulling her flush against his chest just as a motorbike zipped past dangerously close.
Jake's heart was hammering in his ears. He tightened his arms instinctively around her, still processing how close it had been.
But Ivory?
Ivory was already storming toward the motorist, her voice cutting through the street like a blade.
"Sei impazzito?! Potevi uccidermi, idiota!"
(Are you crazy?! You could've killed me, you idiot!)
Jake blinked, stunned, as she launched into a full-blown, fire-breathing rant in rapid-fire Italian. Hands waving. Eyebrows flaring. Every merchant and passerby within a block turned to watch.
Her mom and Marco scrambled after her, trying (and failing) to calm her down.
The motorist—just a lanky guy in his twenties—kept bowing and apologizing, holding his helmet sheepishly under one arm.
Marco, after a good minute of Ivory's tirade, finally got close enough to see the guy's face.
"...Wait a second." Marco leaned in, squinting. "Luca?!"
Recognition lit up the motorist's face. "Marco?! Ivory?! Dio mio! I didn't realize—it's been years!"
He turned even redder, stumbling over more apologies to Ivory, who crossed her arms, still glaring.
Jake stood a few steps behind, watching the whole thing unfold with wide eyes.
Ivory, never one to let a moment go, smirked and said, "You were reckless even as a kid, Luca. Good to see nothing's changed."
Luca laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head. "Still stubborn, I see."
She raised a brow and jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "This is my boyfriend, Jake."
Jake stepped forward, a little out of the loop from their conversation in Italian, giving a small bow out of habit. "Hi."
Luca's eyes widened slightly, realizing who Jake was, but wisely said nothing more.
After a few more friendly jabs and awkward chuckles, they finally said goodbye and headed home, grocery bags heavy with market finds.
Marco couldn't resist.
He leaned over to Jake, grinning like the devil. "You know," he said in a loud whisper, "Ivory used to have the biggest crush on Luca when we were kids. Used to write 'Mrs. Ivory Luca' on her notebooks."
Jake tripped over a cobblestone.
Ivory turned beet red. "MARCO!"
Jake glanced between them, looking a little betrayed, a little lost, his lower lip jutting out unconsciously.
Ivory groaned, dragging a hand down her face. "I was seven, Jake. Seven!"
Still, Jake stayed suspiciously quiet, his puppy eyes very much activated.
Her mom and Marco burst out laughing, teasing her all the way back to the villa.
By the time they arrived back at the villa, the sun was dipping low, casting a soft golden hue over the vineyard hills.
Ivory's dad was already in the kitchen, casually sipping on a glass of wine and helping set out cold cuts and bread for dinner. He looked up when they tumbled inside, laughing and bickering.
Marco wasted no time.
"Papà!" Marco called out dramatically, dropping the grocery bags on the counter. "You will not believe what happened. Your daughter almost got run over!"
Ivory groaned. "Marco, seriously—"
Her dad straightened up, alarmed. "What?! Who?!"
Marco slapped a hand over his heart, fake swooning. "Some maniac on a motorbike! And guess who it was? LUCA."
Their dad's mouth dropped open. "Little Luca?! The neighbor's boy who used to sneak candies into your schoolbag?"
Jake watched, wide-eyed, as Ivory's dad immediately picked up the teasing tone. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, a mischievous smile growing.
"And did our fiery girl let him live?" he asked, raising a brow.
Marco threw his arms up. "Barely! She roasted him for two full minutes—in Italian! The poor guy was ready to cry. Even apologized in three different languages!"
Everyone howled with laughter—except Jake, who tried to laugh but was clearly still nursing invisible wounds.
Then Marco went for the kill.
"And then," Marco said, turning to their dad with a wink, "I reminded Ivory that she used to write 'Mrs. Ivory Luca' in all her notebooks when she was little."
Their father wheezed with laughter, nearly dropping his wine glass.
"Is that true?!" he said, clutching his stomach. "Oh, cara mia, what a scandal!"
Ivory was a full tomato now, hiding her face behind a dish towel. "I was SEVEN!"
Jake laughed along, but his heart? His heart was making tiny sad whimpering noises.
Her dad noticed.
He clapped a heavy hand on Jake's shoulder, grinning ear to ear. "Don't worry, son. She chose you." He winked. "And between you and me, it's a much better upgrade."
Jake chuckled shyly, warmth blooming in his chest.
At least her family wasn't just roasting him—they were pulling him into their madness too.
And somehow, it felt... nice. Real.
While everyone busied themselves with unpacking groceries and setting the table, Ivory sidled next to him, poking his ribs.
"You okay, big guy?" she teased, smirking.
Jake fake-pouted. "Mrs. Ivory Luca, huh?"
She snorted. "Again. Seven."
He leaned closer, voice low. "Guess I'll just have to work harder to be your only 'Mr.' now."
Ivory flushed, biting back a grin, and bumped her hip against his.
They both turned to help as her mother called them for dinner, hearts full and teasing still hanging in the air like a shared secret.
Later that night, the entire family gathered in the cozy living room, the fire crackling warmly in the hearth.
The long table was pushed aside, glasses of rich wine in their hands, laughter ringing through the villa's rustic stone walls.
Jake sat cross-legged on the rug, a soft throw tossed over his shoulders thanks to Ivory's mom fussing over him. His nerves from earlier were long gone, replaced by a fuzzy feeling of comfort — even if Marco seemed determined to roast him at every opportunity.
Marco had finally abandoned his eternal companions — his phone and laptop — and now sat sprawled on the couch, swirling his wine like a man on vacation.
"So," Marco said, flashing Jake a devious grin. "How's it feel, superstar? Meeting the real boss of the family?"
Jake smiled sheepishly, taking a long sip of his wine. "Honestly? I'm just glad I survived the market without more death threats."
Everyone laughed, Ivory leaning back against Jake's side, smirking proudly.
Marco leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You know, you should be grateful. If she didn't like you, you'd have been six feet under by now. Literally. I have a shovel."
Ivory snorted into her wineglass while Jake raised his hands in mock surrender.
"I believe you," Jake said seriously, earning more chuckles.
Then Ivory smirked wickedly. Her chance had come.
"So, Marco," she sang sweetly, "when are you introducing your girlfriend to the family? You know... so I can make her suffer like you made my poor boyfriend suffer tonight?"
Jake perked up immediately, eyes wide with interest.
Their parents whipped their heads toward Marco, mouths dropping open in perfect unison.
"GIRLFRIEND?!" their mother gasped.
Their father gasped louder, dramatically slapping a hand over his heart.
"I thought you were gay! Thank GOD you're not!"
Ivory nearly choked on her wine, howling with laughter as she clutched Jake's arm for support, even hitting his shoulder as she bent forward wheezing.
Marco blinked, completely deadpan. "Wow. Betrayed. By my own blood."
Their dad raised his glass toward Ivory. "I always knew this one would get herself a man. But you? I was already preparing to walk you down the aisle with some guy named Luigi!"
The whole room dissolved into fits of laughter.
Marco clutched his chest in fake betrayal. "You always side with her!" he shouted, pointing at Ivory.
Ivory, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, shrugged innocently. "What can I say? I'm the favorite."
Their mom just shook her head fondly at her chaotic children, while Jake also wiped tears from laughing, grinning so wide his cheeks hurt.
This—this wild, ridiculous, loving chaos—it was everything he had never known he needed.
The night carried on with jokes, playful insults, and plans for another vineyard tour the next day. Jake sat there, watching Ivory laugh until she hiccupped, and thought:
Home. This feels like home.