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“It does, but the bigger question is does it make you happy?” I felt as if we were possibly making some big changes in our lives sitting here stuffed full of melon, prosciutto, and my family’s olives, which had been pretty damn good. Guess tastebuds did change just like lives could.
“I think so. Maybe?” He shrugged. “I am more thinking about my family.”
“Yeah, I feel that perhaps we should contact Bianca to let her know you’re okay, and then maybe we should go back to the villa to have a talk with your grandmother?”
“I think my phone is dead,” he said as he removed his old cell from his back pocket. Water ran out of it, making a small puddle of Tiber on the table next to his dirty plate.
“Yikes.” I slipped mine out of my vest pocket, the only bit of clothing that didn’t go swimming, and texted Donvino’s cousin. She hit me right back, relieved obviously, to tell me that she had called a family meeting at my aunt’s house for tomorrow at noon. They would discuss things with Giada and Alessio in a calm setting. The cousin whom Donvino had punched was not invited because, in her words, he was a pig-suckling bastard. Donvino chuckled over that and then went inside to ask about some rice. I bent over my phone, tapping madly to inform Bianca that her cousin and I had kissed in a river in front of people and he was pretty much okay with the PDA. Her reply was:
YAAAAAAAYYYYYY! ~ B
I truly did adore that girl. Glancing inside the meat market, I saw Donvino smiling down at Signora Peralta as they filled a storage bag with rice. I prayed his grandmother and grandfather could move past old sways, stigmas, and crusty doctrine to see exactly what a fabulous man they had raised. Lord knows my admiration for him was higher than the Apennine mountains.
“Signor Bonetti the junior,” I heard as I sat there drying in the Mediterranean sun with my eyes roaming over my lover’s lush backside. I turned my head to see Arturo Peralta jogging down the narrow street, his clothes damp and dirty from a day in the orchard. I rose to shake his calloused hand and then waved at the seat vacated by Donvino. He removed his straw hat, shook his head, and held his hat in front of him. “My mother called to tell me you were visiting Valle Sicuro today. Signor Piravino said nothing about you coming. You missed the first shift of work if you were coming to inspect.”
“No, nothing like that. Please sit,” I said as I too now stood.
“I cannot. My wife has dinner waiting for me but grazie. Signor, I just wish for you to know that many on the farm are happy for you and your man.” His dark eyes darted into the meat market where Donvino was laughing over something Signora Peralta had said. “I know it is not what the church tells us is wholesome, but I think if God made you such, then it is his plan and that is good.”
“Thank you. It’s nice to know we have some allies among the workers. How is the bus doing for you?”
“Oh, very good! Many on the outskirts of town are happy not to walk so far to work. Perhaps you could sit with us when we talk to Signor Piravino about the upcoming harvesting schedules?”
“Sure, I would love to do that.” I bit my tongue about me taking over the mill for several reasons, the biggest being that I did not wish for Signor Piravino to find out he was getting the boot via gossip. I’d not yet confirmed I would take the position. I wanted to ensure Donvino had a job. Maybe we could discuss it here while we dried out from our Tiber frolic. At least the man was sober now. “Contact me here.” I held out my hand for his phone, and he placed a battered cell with a cracked screen in my hand. No security entry needed, it seemed. I added my number to his contacts and passed it back. “With a time and date. What are the issues?”
“Nothing yet, but soon it will be harvest time and we have been required to work two twelve-hour shifts to ensure production is met. I am hoping to propose three eight-hour shifts to ease the strain on the workers.” He worked the brim of his hat nervously.
“That sounds quite rational. Twelve hours in this heat must be awful.”
“Yes, sir, very awful. Many times, people faint from dehydrating. Shorter shifts would be better for all, so we ask soon.”
“I’ll be happy to back your request,” I assured him just as his mother and Donvino exited, my man carrying a pie while looking incredibly sheepish.
“Grazie, so much thanks,” Arturo said, grabbing my hand to pump it. He gave his mother a kiss on the cheek and then hurried off, rounding the corner to disappear from view.
“Pie?” I asked when Donvino and I were alone once more.
“She insisted. Can you take it to the villa for me? It is not safe on the bike,” he said, and I accepted.
We walked to our vehicles, me holding a pie—peach by the looks of the filling oozing out of the slits in the top crust—in comfortable silence. When we reached his bike, we paused. I smiled up at him, trying to read what he was thinking or feeling. He seemed rather washed out might be the best descriptor and not just from our dip in the river.
“Before we go, I found an opening at the mill that you might like.” I passed the pie back to him, pulled out my cell, and brought up the inner office job request. “Here. See if this is something that might suit.”
He reluctantly took the phone after handing the pie back to me. As he read, some of the trepidation left his face.
“This is not so bad. I thought you meant to wear a suit. English is a funny language,” he commented, his gaze lifting from the cell to me. “No harm meant.”
“No, you’re right. I wonder how anyone learns it. So would you be willing to apply for this position before it goes out to the general public?” The boys on a bike raced past again, pedaling as fast as they could, a small dog with curly fur giving chase. A rousing wind was picking up, shuffling the hanging vines and climbing flowers dangling from the window boxes above us against the rough stucco sides of the buildings lining the road. “You are quite good with your hands.” He smiled wickedly. “Not that way, silly goose. Mechanically. You did redo your bike, and you work with Bianca all the time. I’m sure you could handle it.”
“Hmm, it sounds very good. Would the men under me be upset for me to come in and order them about?”
I could lie, but instead, I shrugged. “Maybe.” I was wondering the same thing about the staff under Signor Piravino if I was given the job he now had. Would they resent me? There was no way to know how loyal they were to him, or if they even liked him. I had picked up some vibes from the workers indicating that they weren’t overly fond of the current manager, but that was to be expected. “You can’t base your decisions on what other people think, though.”
He sighed. “Yes, this I am learning.” And with that, he kissed me on the mouth right on the main street of bustling—not—Valle Sicuro. Yes, he was learning. And how he shined! “I will apply, but I do not want your nose into the selection.”
“I promise.” I crossed my heart with my free hand. “Oh, and your cousin has set up a sit down with Giada and Alessio tomorrow at noon at the villa,” his face fell, “to talk about things.”
“Talk. She will not listen.” He leaned against an old street light post with various sun-bleached flyers taped to it, many hanging on by a mere wish. “She will tell me that I am deviated.”
