Chiara Vignale

Chiara made the first move. Of course she did — Jimmy never would have.

It started simply. A touch that lingered, an invitation that turned into a walk through the vines behind her family’s house, a quiet look held too long over a shared bottle of wine. She never pushed. She just left space for him, warm and open, and he found himself stepping into it before he even realized.

She kissed him one evening at the edge of the vineyard, with the light slanting gold across the hills. He let it happen. He kissed her back, gently, dutifully. Not with heat, but with something close to gratitude.

She was kind. She was beautiful. She cared for him in a way that was steady and uncomplicated — and Jimmy, who had only known love as something that devoured, didn’t know what to do with that.