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In what felt like the blink of an eye, he was on the plane, waiting for take-off. Tapping his pocket, he made sure the letter Annie had given him to give to Jess was there. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of anxiety wash over him, knowing he was leaving everything behind in Silverton Shores on a wing and a prayer. He’d never been one for impulsive decisions that involved other people, but when it came to Jess he was willing to take the risk. His heart raced as the plane taxied then, wheels up, reached for the sky with the roar of the engines echoing in his ears. Looking out the window, he watched as Cairns fell away beneath him.
When the plane reached cruising altitude, he took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. It was too late to turn back now; not that he wanted to. Although he couldn’t shake the feeling that he might be making a mistake, might be chasing after something that had already slipped through his fingers. God, he hoped not. As the hours passed, he drifted in and out of sleep, his mind filled with thoughts of Jess and the future they could have. He tried to imagine what she was doing, where she was, but it was like trying to grasp smoke.
With a changeover in Singapore to a bigger plane, finally, after what felt like an eternity, the aircraft slowly began its descent towards the Florence airport. Leaning against his window, he could just make out the Italian coastline, and he couldn’t help but feel a sense of wonder at the beauty of it all. It was now early morning, and despite his jet lag he was feeling exhilarated about seeing Jess in a matter of hours. After passing through passport control, he raced to the baggage claim, found his duffle bag, and made his way through customs and out into the arrivals hall. He took a deep breath and, with his heart racing, he strode out of the airport and into the bright sunshine. Grabbing his phone from his back pocket, he tried to turn it on, but it was completely flat. He must have forgotten to turn it off when he’d left Australia.
Damn it!
Rifling through his bag, he found Jess’s handwritten address. Thank goodness he’d followed old school ways, instead of only saving it in his phone. He hailed a taxi, buckled himself in and endured the crazy ride that Jess had told him about, and by god, she hadn’t been wrong. His driver was manoeuvring the streets like he was on a racetrack. Out the window, the Renaissance city was jaw-droppingly stunning – the architecture, the narrow thoroughfares, the colourful buildings. His focus was held for a little longer, but as the driver veered through the roads that seemed almost too thin to even walk down, his nerves began getting the better of him. He breathed against the rush of adrenaline.
He could do this.
Hewasdoing this.
Finally, and mercifully in one piece, they pulled to a skidding stop outside Jess’s apartment block. He stepped out of the taxi and paid the driver, who spoke as fast as he drove, and with his duffle bag now over his shoulder, scanned the surroundings. He took a moment to take it all in before he centred himself and walked up the steps to the entrance of the building. He strode inside and climbed the stairs, his footsteps echoing. Arriving at her door, he breathed in nice and deep, and then knocked. And waited. And knocked again. There was no noise, no Jess, nothing. In his flurry, he hadn’t even considered the fact that she might not be home.
Deciding he’d have to come back a bit later, he retraced his steps, disappointment weighing heavily on his chest. He’d travelled thousands of miles to see her, and she wasn’t even there. Go bloody well figure! Back out in the glorious sunshine, he hailed another taxi and gave the driver the address of the hotel he’d prebooked – he hadn’t arrived under the assumption that he’d be making himself at home with Jess. That wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of him, not in the slightest. As he was driven across the Arno river and back through the city, he couldn’t help but feel defeated. He’d come all this way, but what if it was all for nothing? What if she didn’t want to see him? What if she’d just ignored his knocking?
Stop it, Savage, stop it right now!
After arriving at the hotel, he checked in and headed up to his room. He dropped his bag to the floor and collapsed onto his bed, suddenly feeling drained and exhausted. Closing his eyes, he tried to shake off the defeated feeling, but it lingered like a heavy weight on his chest. He needed to do something other than lying here torturing himself. Grabbing his phone and travel adapter, he got his charger and plugged it in. A minute later, it came back to life. Hallelujah! He scrolled through his contacts until he found Jess’s Italian number. Hesitating for a brief moment, he stabbed the call button. The phone rang for what felt like an eternity before it went to voicemail. Deflated, he took a deep breath and left a message.
‘Hey, Jess, it’s me, Morgan. I’m in Florence!’ He tried to steady his voice. ‘I just landed and I’m at my hotel. I stopped by your place, but you weren’t there. I really hope you’re okay and that we can talk. Please call me back when you get this message. I miss you.’ He went to hang up, but then added, ‘A lot.’
As he hung up he sighed, feeling a mix of disappointment and fear. With a heavy heart, he decided to explore a bit of the historic centre of Florence to try and take his mind off things. So, one foot in front of the other, he wandered aimlessly, becoming totally enthralled by the majestic beauty of what Jess had described perfectly. The cathedrals, the bridges and the piazzas were all stunning. Walking down the little laneways and cobblestone streets that seemed to go on forever, he breathed in the vibrant atmosphere. After a couple of hours, he stumbled upon a welcoming café and decided to take a break. The space was quaint, with wooden tables and chairs, potted plants and a warm, inviting atmosphere accentuated by some jazz music. He ordered an espresso and sat down to savour the rich aroma. As he sipped the most divine coffee he’d ever tasted, he watched the people bustling by on the street outside. There were couples walking hand in hand, tourists taking pictures, and locals going about their daily business. He couldn’t help but feel a little envious of their carefree lives. He wished he could be like them, living in the moment, not worrying about the past or the future.
But he couldn’t shake off the feeling of longing he had for Jess. She was the one thing missing from his life, the one thing he needed to be truly happy. He took out his phone and checked for any missed calls or messages. There was nothing. He tried to push the thought of her to the back of his mind, for now, just until she rang him back, but it was impossible. After finishing his coffee, he paid the bill and stepped back out and onto the bustling street, feeling a sense of loneliness wash over him. But he told himself he wasn’t going to sit around and wait for her call. He was going to head back to the woman who owned every inch of his beating heart and hope to god she was there this time.
* * *
Cycling over cobblestones, past the galleries, leather shops and clothing stores, was a feat in itself, let alone avoiding the crazy traffic flying down laneways only big enough for one car. Jess kept her eyes peeled in every direction, where the many restaurants were overflowing with people enjoying their front-row seats at the outside tables. Reaching her destination – a small café tucked away in a quiet backstreet – she leant her bike against the wall and stepped inside, the smell of fresh coffee and pastries making her mouth water. The sound of smooth jazz filled the room, creating a calming atmosphere. The café was small, and almost all the tables were occupied by people talking and enjoying their drinks. Which was how she liked it.
Weaving through tables and potted plants, she approached the counter and ordered a cappuccino and a chocolate croissant. While she waited for her order, she took a seat at a nearby table and pulled out her notebook and pen. She’d come here, away from the distractions of her busy life, to sit and write what she was going to say to Morgan when she called him. Here, she always found the peace and quiet she needed to breathe and think logically. As soon as her order arrived, she put her pen down, took a sip of her cappuccino and let out a contented sigh. The frothy milk and espresso were the perfect balance of bitter and sweet, and the chocolate croissant was flaky and buttery, melting in her mouth. She closed her eyes and savoured the moment, feeling like she could stay in this café forever.
If only. She had so much to do, and tonight she would be calling Morgan.
Speaking of the devil …
She leant forward, staring through the windows.
The man across the road looked a hell of a lot like him. Could it be? She held her breath and blinked into the slant of sunshine. But then, just like that, the man was gone. She sat back and sighed. Her mind was playing cruel tricks on her, and she couldn’t blame it in the slightest. They’d left so much unsaid, so much unresolved. And she had so much to tell him now that she knew for certain. A sense of homesickness washed over her as she took tentative sips from her coffee. Tears stung behind her eyes, but she blinked faster, warding them off. She wasn’t about to cry, not again. Just a few streets away, Piazza Santa Maria Novella would now be packed with people enjoying their day as the city stirred to life. She, on the other hand, was trying to regather after a long sleepless night spent missing Morgan, and Silverton Shores. But she needed to pull herself together, because this afternoon was all about preparing for Chiara’s birthday.
An hour later, after breaking three eggs into the bowl, she went to grab the melted chocolate from the microwave when a knock had her turning in the opposite direction. She hesitated for a moment, wondering who it could be. Walking towards the door, she quickly wiped her hands on a tea towel, leaving smudges of chocolate on the fabric.
‘Nonno!’ She smiled warmly. ‘You’re early.’
‘Always,’ he said, with his usual warm smile.
Chiara raced in beside her, reaching for her beloved great-nonno.
Nonno took Chiara into his arms, his wrinkled face breaking into a smile. ‘I couldn’t wait to see my favourite girl,’ he said, his Italian accent thick. ‘And smell what’s cooking in the kitchen, of course.’
Chiara giggled, burying her face in Nonno’s neck. Then, grabbing his hand as he placed her back to the floor, Chiara led him over to the kitchen counter, where the bowl of eggs sat beside a pot of melted chocolate. ‘Me and Mum are making some brownies,’ she said, beaming up at him. ‘Want to help me mix everything together?’
Nonno’s eyes twinkled with delight. ‘Of course, bambina.’
As Nonno took over the mixing, Jess leant against the counter, watching him and Chiara work together in harmony. She had always loved spending time with him, hearing stories about his life and learning new recipes from him, and now Chiara was doing the same. Ever since she was a little girl, he’d always been a big part of her life, even from afar, and she couldn’t imagine living without him.
Nonno spooned the mixture into a baking dish and placed it in the oven. ‘There we are,’ he said, wiping his hands on his apron. ‘What shall we do while we wait for the brownies to bake?’
