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“When you have your garage, I’ll only allow you to work on my sweet baby,” I informed her with a nod afterward to show that I meant it. She gave me a warm smile, as bright as the scorching sun overhead.
“You are kind, but we need to talk of you and Donvino.” She deftly led us back to a discussion I was hoping to avoid. Now that I looked through it via a different lens, I could see that my painting the town red with Ricardo could be a poke in the eye to a man who had just lost a race due to being a serf among rowing royalty. “Do you still like my cousin?”
“Yes, so much!” That burst free, but there was no point in denying it. There was only me, Bianca, and the various farm critters back here. “I truly do, but I just don’t know what to do to get him to speak to me.”
“That is rough one.” She tapped her chin, deep in thought. “What a pity he is home today with a day off from work sulking in his apartment all alone.” She stared at me. I stared back.
“What?” I asked.
More Italian cabbage references. “Arlo, he is alone all day at home. Maybe you go to him after we get the seats in the minivan and talk to him?”
“Oh, okay, yeah, that’s a good idea. Do not flick me.”
She giggled and poked me instead. If this was what having a good gal pal was like, I was kind of enjoying it. I could do this. I could drive into Florence alone—GULP—and have a long sit down with Donvino. Clear the air as they say. Yeah, that was totally doable. But first, we had seats to maneuver into a small van. Lots of pivoting and grunting and sweat would be involved. The life of a working man was incredibly clammy and grimy. Maybe someday I would learn to wear work clothes—whatever they were—to do manual labor instead of silk vests and Prada cotton Bahama shorts.
Chapter Fifteen
Idid it.
Holy mother of all the tiny cheese crackers, I did it! I drove through Florence alone and arrived at Donvino’s place with no incidents or accidents. I did get beeped at once by an impatient driver when I paused to try to decipher what Google Maps was telling me. Instead of taking it as an insult, I opted to think of it as a toot of honor. My first Firenze honk!
I circled his block a few times, finally giving up being close to his door. Instead, I pulled up behind a row of bins for trash, recycles, and other such things. Easing out of my car, I wiggled between the door of the green and white Bianchina and the last bin. Perhaps I had parked a bit too close, but there was literally not one single place to park. Hoping I didn’t get a ticket of some sort, I made my way to Donvino’s home, stopping at a small deli to pick up a bottle of red wine, then I ducked into a bakery to grab a loaf of Tuscan bread still warm from the oven.
Mom always said that you should never show up at a person’s home without gifts. She never mentioned if said gifts would smooth out a lover’s tiff. If a tiff was what one person cold-shouldering the other could be termed.
I took in the sights and sounds of the city as I neared his home. It was encouraging to see the Suzuki parked in a skinny spot amid several other motorbikes. My stomach was tender. I hoped we could sort things out. He was the first man that I’d ever been this drawn to on an emotional as well as physical level. I found the same sleepy orange cat curled up around the same wilted tomato plant. The cat looked fat and healthy, the tomato plant not so much. I rang the bell next to his name, nervously chewing on the inside of my cheek.
“It’s you,” I heard Donvino say. I glanced up to see him leaning out of his window far above.
“Yes, it’s me.” I held up the wine and bread. “Please, can we talk? I think we’ve come to cross odds as they say.”
“Who says this?”
I blinked skyward, unable to see his face well as the sun was right in my eyes. “The British maybe? I don’t know. It sounds British.”
He stayed quiet, looking down on me as I held food and drink over my head, praying he’d be a big enough man to—
“Let me ring you in,” he called down and then disappeared.
A massive sigh of relief billowed my cheeks. I jogged into the shady foyer, taking in the smell of cigarette smoke before climbing to the third floor, the temperature rising with each step higher. Donvino stood in his doorway, tense but so incredibly gorgeous I found it hard to breathe.
“Buongiorno,” I chanced to say, hoping to lift the dark vibe clinging to the man. “I think we need to talk.”
He filled the door, shoulders bare and wide, chest slick with sweat, lower half clad in only thin cotton shorts that left little to the imagination. My lips were suddenly dry. “If you want. If not, then I’ll just leave this sitting here on your step.”
“How did you come?”
I tipped my head in confusion. “I drove.”
His dark brows flew to his hairline. “You drove to me?”
“I did. That’s how badly I wanted to speak to you. Can we please do this inside?” I asked, sniffing the air and then wrinkling my nose as the stink of cigarette smoke grew stronger. Peeking downward, I saw a middle-aged woman in pink shorts and a crop top, with a smoke in her hand, staring up at me. She saw me staring, flicked her ashes on the step, and then disappeared. “That was rude.”
“Come in,” Donvino said, stepping back into his apartment to allow me to enter. It all looked the same, yet it felt much different than it had when I’d been here last. The chilliness that permeated the room sadly didn’t make it any cooler. The door closed behind me. “She is my neighbor, smokes too much, and is always saying for me to bring her food from work.”
“Do you?” I placed the wine and bread on the bed and divested myself of my vest. Ha! Okay, I still had my wittiness, even though my chest was as tight as a kettledrum. Being this close and yet so far away from Donvino hurt like a broken toe.
“Sometimes. She is not well mentally,” he replied, his sight locked on me as I stripped down to only my shorts. He might be upset with me but he still lusted after me. That was obvious to someone as well-versed in picking up the signs as I was.
