Free The Turning Point by Marie Meyer Page A

slow my thumping heart and find the ability to breathe again, I sighed. “Yes, you did.” He was such a liar.
    “Okay, maybe I did. Payback for this morning.” He laughed again, showcasing that striking dimple in his left cheek. “Fancy meeting you here.”
    “Yes, fancy that.” I took another deep breath and paused my podcast. I pulled the earbud from my left ear, keeping my attention focused on him.
    Lucas tucked a hand in his pocket and smirked. “So, you are alone.”
    What was it with this guy? “Why are you so concerned about my potential lack of travel companions?” I still didn’t want to clue him in on my solo status, even though he looked completely harmless. I couldn’t let my guard down.
    “Like I said before, I’d love to get something to eat. We can talk. I’m headed to Herculaneum next. I’m here alone.” He gestured to the empty space around him. “We could buddy up. Keep each other company. You could give me your number.”
    I eyed him warily. The little voice I heard this morning still echoed in the back of my head—the one that suggested he may be a criminal—but the sound was fading the more I stared into his extraordinarily blue eyes. “Where are you from?” I asked, like that made a difference. It wasn’t like sex slave traders didn’t live and work in the United States, too.
    “San Diego, California.” He held his hand out for me to shake. “Lucas Walsh.”
    Hesitantly, I reached for his hand. The moment our palms touched, he latched his fingers around mine, like he had this morning. My heart threatened to jump into my throat. Our connection had been restored. The power came back on and my body hummed with energy.
    Pumping my arm up and down, he smiled confidently. “Nice to meet you, Linebacker. See, now we’re friends. Now you can have lunch with me.”
    I raised an eyebrow and lowered my hand from his. “Linebacker?”
    In my soccer-playing days, I’d been a fierce defender, known to plow through an advance made by the opposing team, but I was highly certain that didn’t qualify me for linebacker status. “Are you insulting my size? Sure, I may not be petite at five-seven, but I don’t think I look like a football player,” I teased, keeping a straight face. It was time to have a little fun with him and his cocky self-assurance.
    A look of horror wiped the smug, handsome grin off his face. “No! God, I’m so sorry!” He clutched both of my hands, my phone and earbuds, too, between his long fingers. “This morning, when you bumped into me…I just…I…”
    It was my turn to laugh. God, it feels good to laugh. Since my heart-to-heart with dear old Dad, I hadn’t laughed at anything. “I’m joking!” I said through a fit of giggles.
    He smiled and let go of my hands, shoving his into his pockets. “Well, I can see I’ve screwed this up.” He took his right hand from his pocket and ran it through his sun-bleached blond hair.
    “Ah, come on. What happened to Mr. Confident?” I teased.
    With a closed mouth, he flashed a nanosecond grin. “Insulting the girl you want to take to lunch isn’t my best move.”
    He was so cute with his hunched shoulders and brooding pout. “Ah, come on, don’t be like that. I was only joking. I like the nickname.” I was such a liar.
    Cocking his head to the side, he peered at me from beneath heavy lids. I could see his ego inflating like a balloon as the hunch in his stance disappeared. “Good. Then it’s a date.”
    My head tilted, mirroring his. “I don’t recall agreeing to that.”
    “Technicality.”
    “You don’t give up, do you?”
    “Not when it’s important.”
    Important? Having lunch with me is important? Okay? That was random.
    I stared at him for a beat. He seemed genuine. I wasn’t picking up on any malicious vibes. I chewed the inside of my cheek, contemplating my next move. I hated deviating from my itinerary, but what harm could come from having lunch with a fellow American? It might even be nice