by Fiona Grace
But she hadn’t really wanted him here today. She was sure she’d told him she had someplace else to be.
“Well, I think if you can just help me install these shelves, I can mark the kitchen as done,” she said, pointing to some floating shelves she wanted to put over the bistro table. “Then I only have five million other things on my to-do-list.”
“No problem,” he said, reaching into his tool belt. “I’ll get that done in a jiffy. How are you at getting things under code?”
“Code?” It was a deer-in-the-headlights moment. She knew that code was important, but she’d been ignoring it as much as possible. “Well, I haven’t really looked into that lately. Probably not very good.”
“You might want to look into it. The new inspector in town is a real hard nut to crack. He’s giving everyone the runaround.”
“He is?”
“Yeah. He came over yesterday. Gave me a whole bunch of crap about my new porch railing not being regulation.”
Great. They’d recently had to deal with a tough-as-nails councilwoman before, who’d made life for all ex-pats difficult, until her untimely demise. The town of Mussomeli, as much as it wanted to fill these empty buildings and revitalize itself, hadn’t been all that easy to get along with.
“What’s wrong with your porch railing?”
“It extended an inch too far into the street, or something. Not even an inch. Like, a millimeter too far.” He held up his fingers to demonstrate.
Audrey winced. If they were that strict, they’d likely find a million things wrong with Audrey’s place.
Mason turned to the wall, and on cue, Audrey’s stomach rumbled. She hadn’t had anything to eat since a banana at breakfast.
“Well … in the meantime … did you eat dinner?” she asked, peering in the empty refrigerator, hoping he’d say he had.
“No. Is that an invitation, Boston?” He stood there with his drill, smirking.
“Actually, it’s a cry for help. I don’t exactly have…” She opened up her pantry to show him how pathetic it was. It was actually even worse than she remembered. All she saw was a half-package of spaghetti and a jar of pimento olives she’d meant to use for a recipe, but never got around to it.
He tilted his head. “What are you talking about? You have plenty of stuff.”
She squinted into the cabinet. Of course, Mason wasn’t a world-class chef or anything, but he could look at a collection of the most unappetizing ingredients on earth and come up with something delicious. Everything he touched turned to gold, which was sometimes hard to stomach, because unfortunately, he knew it. If he’d been a girl, Audrey would’ve been insanely jealous. “Um. For what?”
He plugged in the bit on the drill and gave it a couple of good whirrs. “You’ve got tomatoes. You’ve got pasta. Make spaghetti. You can handle that?”
She frowned, hating to admit that most of her pasta prior to coming to Sicily was consumed with a nice helping of jarred Prego atop it. She’d never even made pasta from cans of crushed tomatoes. And using fresh tomatoes seemed like a massive undertaking for someone who’d just been working ten hours at her job. Plus, she did have that important date to get ready for in … she checked her phone. An hour.
She yawned at the thought of it and rummaged through a drawer for a take-out menu. “How about if I order us some maccu di fave from the Mercado del Pepe? It’s delish.”
The Mercado del Pepe was the nearest supermarket. Audrey was probably their best customer of late, not for groceries, but for their maccu di fave and fresh bread.
He shrugged. “No clue what that is.”
“It’s soup! With fava beans. It’s so good.”
He made a face. “Beans? Pass.”
“Have you ever eaten a vegetable in your life?”
“Beans aren’t vegetables.”
“Uh. Yes, they are.”
“Whatever. I’m surprised you don’t want to go to that café of yours.”
Mason meant La Mela Verde. That was the nearest café, where she’d been eating most of her meals ever since she arrived in town. But she knew for a fact that Mason steered clear of it, not because he didn’t like the food, but because of the owner, G. Audrey and G had been sharing a bit of a flirtation, and though Mason would never say as much, Audrey got the feeling he was a little jealous.
She hated to admit that the reason she didn’t want to go there now was because she’d accepted an invitation from G for eight that night, to come over and sample his new dessert menu.
G had called it a date. But it wasn’t, really. At least, she didn’t think so. G was a friendly guy who had a long list of social engagements. She was just doing him a favor, like Mason was doing for her.
Or maybe …
“Well, I—” She checked the time on her phone again. Fifty-eight minutes to go.
When she looked up, he was holding the shelf up to the wall, but staring at her curiously. “You got somewhere to be, Boston?”
“Um … well, yes. I did promise G I’d taste-test some of his new desserts.”
“Ah.” He turned to the wall so that she couldn’t see his face and started drilling. Did he do that deliberately?
“You know me, I never could say no to free tiramisu!” she said lightly, opening the Mercado del Pepe takeout menu.
He didn’t respond. Instead, she watched him install the shelving effortlessly, not taking a break, almost as if he was the one who was in a rush. When he was done, he shoved his tools in his toolbox and patted his side for Polpetto. “You know what? Forget the soup. I’m not really hungry, and I can tell your mind is somewhere else,” he said, heading for the door. “Besides, my momma’s at my place. She probably made something for me.”
Right. His mother had been visiting for the past few weeks, from Charleston. “But—”
“See you tomorrow,” he said, slipping out the door before she even had a chance to pet Polpetto goodbye.
She sighed, feeling cold, wondering if she should apologize. But she didn’t have time to worry about it. Maybe it was better that he left, anyway. She had to get ready for her date. Non-date. Whatever.
She rushed up the stairs, wondering what she should wear, a flutter of excitement in her chest.
CHAPTER TWO
As Audrey walked toward La Mela Verde, she quickly jabbed in a text to Brina, who with the time difference, was probably making breakfast. Going to see G now. Nervous.
Her older sister, Brina, who was back home in Boston, had pretty much been married to her husband forever, and they had three adorable rugrats to show for it. Brina was the sister who always had a date on Saturday night.
Audrey was the one who usually stayed home on weekends, nose buried in a book.
No, her love life never had been much to write home about. In Boston, it’d been one long string of losers. Here in Sicily, things seemed to be turning around. She had Mason, who gave her heart a little flutter every time she looked at him.
And then there was G, the owner of the café, who was good-looking, charming, kind, and probably the best chef she’d ever met.
Definite possibilities.
But though she’d been bouncing around between the two of them, she’d be the first to admit she was too naïve with men to know for sure if either of them was worth writing home about. Mason was so beautiful as to be virtually unattainable, probably more of a Hollywood-level crush than anything else. And G was just so friendly to everyone, she wasn’t sure if he was treating her specially because he liked her, or because he was just being G.
Even so, she’d built this up into a big turning point in their relationship. Before now, it’d just been hugs. Hearty cheek-kisses. He’d held her hand once. But here, with the two of them alone, was a chance for him to finally lay down his cards and show her his true intentions. And as exciting as it was, it also made her nervous. There was a little voice in the back of her head that said, So how are you going to screw this up now?
A second later, Brina’s response ca
me back: Go get him! Remember, you are a beautiful, confident woman, and he is lucky to be with you.
She sucked in a breath and let it out, feeling absolutely none of that confidence. I’ll try.
Good luck. I want details later.
She shivered, but was forced out of the thought when she rounded a bend and found G outside, in his typical white apron and skull cap. No, he hadn’t dressed for the occasion, but what did she expect? He’d been working all day. It didn’t make him look any less handsome. He looked so cool there, smoking a cigarette, with his shirt sleeves rolled up to expose his tattooed, well-formed biceps. He snuffed it out as she arrived and gave a big, friendly wave.
“Ah, Principessa! I was missing you!” he said, rushing to meet her. He grasped her shoulders firmly and gave a double-cheek kiss, gazing down at her adoringly. “You are so beautiful in that little dress. My heart is melting right out of my chest, into a puddle.”
Now she was glad she’d worn her sexy, pink, off-the-shoulder number. At first, she’d thought it showed too much skin, or was too youthful for a woman of thirty-two, but G’s gaze of appreciation told her otherwise.
Of course, this is big. Of course, this is special, she thought as he took her hand and gently kissed her knuckles. Then he guided her inside the candlelit room.
She walked into the darkened café, a little shocked by how large it looked when it was empty. Usually, it was packed with people coming from all over Mussomeli to enjoy G’s specialties. The man was kind of a fixture in Mussomeli, known by just about everyone in town. Now, she could really see the décor, the beige stucco walls, the casks of wine lining the small dining area, the small bistro tables lined up along one end of the room, with the tiny tile bar in the corner.
“Oh, there’s no one else here?” she asked, feigning surprise, though he’d told her before it would be just the two of them.
“Of course! I want your opinion, my dear, and I need you to have no distractions. After all, who better to taste test the sweets than the sweet?” he said with a charming wink.
She went up to the counter and found that he’d already placed the food in a line in front of her, ready to be sampled. The presentation was absolutely gorgeous—these were no everyday cannoli and tiramisu. They looked like works of art, every one of them, on dainty doilies, drizzled with powdered sugar and dark chocolate ganache. The man knew how to make masterpieces from his food. Her mouth instantly began to water.
“Gorgeous. But you will need a truck to move me if I eat all of these.”
He chuckled and went back behind the counter as she pulled herself onto a stool. He poured her a cup of tea with lemon, and she smiled at his knowing her favorite drink. “Who knows? They may be absolutely terrible.”
Now it was her turn to laugh. Never had G made anything to eat that was short of incredible. He was a true artist when it came to this stuff. Sometimes she’d imagine being his wife, and him bringing her breakfast in bed every morning. She’d definitely start to tip the scales, probably before she put on her wedding dress.
“I doubt that. They look amazing.” She picked up a fork. “Which one should I try first?”
He reached over, cut off a piece of a thick, chocolate-covered cookie with pistachios on top, and slid it onto a plate. He said, “This one. Rame di Napoli.”
She eagerly took a bite of it. The chocolate combined with hints of honey, orange, and cinnamon in an altogether delicious taste sensation. She instinctively let out an Mmmmm. “Anyone ever tell you that you are an absolute Picasso of the kitchen?”
He smiled and went down the line, cutting off a piece of a little green marzipan cake with a cherry on top and passing it over to her. “Cassata,” he said, though she was still eyeing the cookies, wanting to finish them off. That banana she’d put in her stomach for breakfast clearly wasn’t doing it.
She tasted, getting flavors of ricotta and liquor, possibly brandy. It wasn’t her favorite, but it was still delicious. “Wow.”
“You approve?”
“Yes, I do. These two should definitely be on your menu.”
“All right. You said it, it will be done!” he said, gesticulating in his wild, larger-than-life way that made her giggle.
He moved to the next, which was the miniature cannoli. She’d never liked cannoli, but she sampled that, too, and as expected, it did not disappoint. She nodded, mouth full, as he waited for her verdict. She gave a thumbs-up. “Delicious.”
He laughed. “You look so gorgeous, Principessa, with your mouth full of my food!” he said, leaning closer. He had a napkin in his hand, which he used to gently wipe the powdered sugar from her lips.
Her breath hitched as he stared into her eyes. Was this really … was he finally going to… .?
Suddenly, the bell over the door jingled, and they broke apart like two magnets of the opposite charge. Before Audrey could crane her neck to peer around the dessert case, G erupted with, “Luigi! Buonasera!”
Those were the only two words Audrey understood as G launched into a long Italian monologue to his new arrivals. It was an older couple, consisting of a rather thick, goateed man in a polo shirt that hugged his body in a way that reminded Audrey of a sausage leaking from its casing, and an older woman in a black dress dotted with daisies and Keds-like sneakers. Audrey couldn’t be sure, but she thought she’d seen that couple somewhere before, somewhere in Mussomeli …
She hoped he’d wave them goodbye and send them on their way. But whatever G was saying, it didn’t seem like he wanted them to leave anytime soon. Indeed, when they came in and looked like they were about to sit down on the stools on either side of Audrey, she quickly got up and moved so they could sit together. They settled in, as if they were prepared to stay there for the duration.
G finished whatever he was saying to them and smiled at Audrey. “Principessa. Do you know Carmen and Luigi Marino? They are from il Mercado del Pepe, the little place down the street?”
“Oh! That’s where I recognize you two from,” Audrey said, shaking their hands. “I love your maccu di fave.”
The woman stared at her blankly, until G translated. Her eyes widened.
“Ah. Grazie!” the woman said, smiling.
“Hey. Are you cheating on me?” G said, giving Audrey a sly wink. He nodded at the couple. “They don’t speak English so very well. But I must tell you, they are the best of cooks themselves, so I thought, who better to sample my food, eh? I’m glad they took me up on the invitation.”
“Right,” Audrey murmured, confused. He’d invited them? What happened to: Who better to taste test the sweets than the sweet? She sighed as he gave them some of the cookie she’d wanted more of. He was just buttering you up, silly. Using his Sicilian charm.
He’d been so close to … to … well, she wasn’t sure what he would’ve done. A romantic kiss? Maybe it finally would’ve moved them beyond flirting into something … real. That was all she wanted.
Her spirits nose-dived and her shoulders slumped. She crossed her arms over her dress as they conversed animatedly in Italian. Now, she just felt foolish. Overdressed. When he’d invited her, she’d texted Brina, telling her how nervous and excited she was to have some real alone-time with him. Apparently, G hadn’t been thinking of alone-time with her, at all. And now, she dreaded her next text to Brina. Just another let-down in a long line of disappointments.
Instinctively, she yawned, picked up her purse, and slipped off her stool.
G finally took that moment to turn to her. “Where are you going? You have not yet tried my granita. Pistachio, mandorla e cioccolato? Come. You pick.”
She shook her head. “Sounds great, but I’m actually really tired. And I have a big day at work tomorrow. Lots of appointments. So I’ll take a raincheck. I’m sorry! But thank you so much! It was really great!”
He shrugged without the slightest hint of disappointment, though he did come around the counter to escort her to the door as she said goodbye to the other couple. He walked her outside and o
nce again put his hands on her shoulders. This time, he gave her a kiss on the forehead. “Sogni d’oro. Dormi bene,” he said. Sweet dreams. Sleep well.
“Thank you. And thank you for inviting me over to sample your menu. I am sure you’ll have a hit on your hands, as usual,” she said, as she turned to walk away.
Part of her hoped he’d call her back, give her that kiss that would knock her socks off, but he didn’t. It was a sad-trumpets ending, for sure.
On the way home, she tried to keep her spirits light. Nick walked by her side, faithful and as cute as could be. It was a beautiful night, and the sun was just setting, painting orange and pink streaks through the sky, just beyond the old buildings and olive trees on the western edge of town. In the distance, Mussomeli Castle rose up on the neighboring mountainside, a single, stalwart guardian of the walled city. The sky beyond it was breathtaking and bracing.
But she couldn’t help feeling, after everything with G, a little sad. Truthfully, she wasn’t really sure she liked him in that way at all. Maybe she was just feeling the ticking of her biological clock and latching onto the closest thing that made sense. She wanted everything Brina had, and part of her had wanted to escape Boston because it seemed like a dead end when it came to men. But maybe everywhere in the world would be the same. Maybe it was just her destiny to be alone forever.
*
Before she got home, she realized she already had another text from Brina. One word: Details.
Not wanting to go into it anymore, she typed in one word of her own: Fizzled.
At that, a tear threatened to make its way out of her eye. She quickly swiped it away before she could turn this into a full-on pity party.
Her sister replied with probably the only thing that would’ve made her feel better at that moment: Sorry honey. Oh, well. His loss. So … what about Abs?