by Lula Woods
Taste of Italy
Traveling to Europe
(Book 1)
By
LULA WOODS
Taste of Italy © 2020 by Lula Woods.
All Rights Reserved. No parts of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author.
Cover designed by Lula Woods.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
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Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
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Chapter One
Gail
“It’s over, Gail.” At last.
I’d been waiting for Brian to finally find the courage to break up with me. I had known he’d wanted to end things for months, but he’d been hesitating, probably hoping I’d be the one to do it, which had been typical of our relationship. I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction—not this time. I’d wanted him to find the spine he’d sorely lacked throughout our time together.
Things had been tolerable in the beginning. I’d found Brian to be easy-going and undemanding, but that had translated into an uninspired six months, though that was better than the asshole I’d dated before him. But I was still glad it was over. Now, I just needed to walk away.
“It’s okay, Brian. No hard feelings.” Inside, however, I was jumping up and down and doing a fist pump. I got up from the table where we’d been having dinner at a fancier restaurant than was his usual—a big clue for me—and grabbed my purse. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
“I’m glad you understand,” he replied with a relieved smile. He stood and leaned in to give me a kiss on the cheek. “I hope we’ll see each other around sometime.” Not if I can help it, buddy.
“Bye, Brian.” I left the restaurant, thankful to close that lackluster chapter in my life.
When I arrived at my apartment, I changed into leggings and a T-shirt and poured a glass of red wine. Sitting on the couch with one leg tucked beneath me, I turned on the TV and logged into Netflix, hoping to find something funny to take my mind off the sad state of my life. Seven relationships in three years, all with men who just didn’t really make my heart flutter. I knew better, yet here I was.
At least the reasons my boyfriends had given for breaking up with me had never been about being plus-sized. I would never have dated a guy who had a problem with not being a size two. But perhaps my choices lately had been colored by the man who’d broken off our engagement five years ago on the night before our wedding. He’d called me from Las Vegas and announced he’d gotten married to my sister Edie—my five-foot-two, size zero sister Edie—who would have been my maid of honor. Yeah, that had sucked. And no, I hadn’t spoken to my sister since. I assumed they were happy somewhere on the North American continent, and I didn’t answer any of her emails. I blocked her number. And since my parents thought I was unreasonable, I didn’t speak to them, either. Edie had always been the favorite, anyway.
I hadn’t been able to laugh at the time, but eventually, I could. In fact, it became my motto that humor could heal all ills. Hell, if I couldn’t laugh, my heart would break, and that would never do. Maybe the end of this particular relationship was a sign that I shouldn’t worry about commitment with a guy. Instead, I should just have fun and live my life free of attachments, at least for now.
As I searched for something to take my mind off things, I came across a documentary about traveling through Europe, which reminded me of my dreams growing up, dreams I had set aside for one reason or another. While watching people at sidewalk cafés and seeing the smiling faces of people on vacation, I remembered my friend Rena from my neighborhood as a kid. We’d lived next door to each other and had playdates often, two chubby little girls—one black, one white—who bonded together and protected each other from the bullies on our block.
We had both loved spinning the globe on Rena’s mother’s living room table and making up stories about places we’d like to visit when we grew up. Sadly, she’d moved away in middle school, and we’d lost track of each other. It was strange that I should think of her now.
The longer I watched the documentary, the stronger the feeling grew that I needed to getaway. My freelance work as an editor could be placed on hold, and I had enough savings to last me for a year since I never went anywhere and was frugal in my spending. Maybe I needed an adventure to see the world and broaden my perspective.
Excited now, I decided to do some research to see just what it would cost to travel through Europe for a year, and where I would go. In between editing projects and my usual morning runs, I planned my trip and finally decided to start in Italy. I couldn’t wait to see the Colosseum and experience a sidewalk café for myself. I could almost feel a weight lifting off my shoulders.
I made sure to set up automatic payments for my apartment and necessary utilities and worked with an agency to book my itinerary. It took a few weeks, but I was finally ready to take charge of my life and take a leap into the unknown.
****
I was exhausted after the flight and a train ride from the airport, and it was dark when I arrived at my hotel in Rome. The beauty of Italy was lost on me since it was nighttime, and all I could think about was the bed. I was greeted by the friendly older man at the front desk who checked me in. I hoped I thanked him as I took the keycard and dragged myself and my suitcases to my room. I quickly stripped down to my underwear, brushed my teeth, and faceplanted on the bed, which I fleetingly thought was very comfortable. I was soon lost in the world.
By the time I woke the next morning, sunlight was streaming through the windows. I sat up and stretched before standing and walking over to the window. I could see the busy streets below, tourists mingling with locals and people having cheerful and loud conversations. Though I was still tired, I felt better and couldn’t wait to get my day started.
I showered and dressed in jeans and a floral print blouse and grabbed my handbag, eager to enjoy breakfast, and make a start on my vacation. I couldn’t believe it. I had done it! I was in Europe! According to the time on my cellphone, I still had an hour left for breakfast, so I quickly made my way to the lobby.
I practiced a little of the Italian I had tried to learn from my travel dictionary to say “good morning” to the same gentleman who was behind the desk at the moment. “Buongiorno, Signore…” I said, with an inflection, hoping he’d give me his last name since I’d been too tired to ask for it the night before.
“Conti,” he supplied. “Abramo Conti.” He smiled. “I hope you are better rested this morning?”
“Sì, Grazie,” I replied with a smile, thanking him.
“Excellent! Please, enjoy your breakfast and then stroll through the town. There is a lot to see. Let me know if you need a map to take with you.”
“I will, Signore. Grazie.”
I walked into the eating area and was greeted by a handsome young man who held out a chair for me. “Buongiorno,” I said.
“Buongiorno, Signorina,” he replied with a smile. He looked like a relative of the man who had checked me in
last night. Maybe he was a grandson or something. “Anything you need, I can help,” he added with a wink and a sly grin. Oh, I just bet he’d be willing. His English was heavily accented but easy enough to understand.
I thanked him with a flirty smile. “Grazie.” The light meal was delicious, and I was introduced to the apparently numerous children, grandchildren, nephews, and nieces of Signore Conti as I enjoyed a caffè latte with Fette biscotti, and a fruit salad. They were all very friendly and welcoming and made me feel like a family member in a very short time.
After numerous offers to share meals with the family during my stay, I thanked everyone and made my escape to the street to explore the city. I slowly strolled along, taking in the cafés, the friendly vibe, the men who called me “Bella” and followed me down the street. It was fun and sweet, if a bit much.
I took in the Colosseum, and I was happy I had prepaid for my ticket because the line was horrendously long. I spent a few hours imagining what it would have been like to be a spectator here among tens of thousands of people, watching gladiators and mock battles. The stone seats did not look comfortable. Eventually, I grew hungry and searched for a place to have lunch.
Heavenly pizza smells came from a small restaurant nearby, so I walked inside and took a seat at a small table, looking around at a few of the other customers who seemed to be really enjoying their food, if their moans were anything to go by. Immediately, a man came forward from behind the counter, took my hand in his and kissed the back of it.
“Welcome to my ristorante, Signorina. I promise you the best pizza you’ve ever eaten.” Before I could even respond, he left and brought me a cappuccino to drink while I waited.
I shrugged and went with it, watching him work as I sipped my drink. His muscular, hairy arms were exposed since his white shirtsleeves were rolled up. He was classically handsome, with slightly graying black hair and brown eyes. He had a friendly argument with some of the other workers in the restaurant as he prepared the dough, throwing it in the air occasionally, and they all kept looking over at me and smiling.
He placed the pizza in the oven to cook, and he took care of a few other customers before bringing my meal. There were chunks of tomato and cheese with a few basil leaves for decoration on a thick crust. Mm. He sat next to me gave me another cappuccino since my first one was finished. He had an espresso for himself.
Take a bite,” he said. “You will think you’ve gone to heaven.”
I smirked and raised an eyebrow as I tested this assertion. My eyes closed of their own volition on the first bite. The taste was out of this world. I moaned along with my fellow customers. “God, this is good.”
“See? I told you.” He grinned, seemingly content to sit and watch as I enjoyed every last morsel as he drank his coffee.
“Where on earth did you learn to cook like this?” I asked as I wiped my mouth with a cloth napkin.
“It’s in my blood. My uncle taught me how to make pizza where I grew up in Napoli, and I carried on the tradition.” He reached out to stroke my cheek. “You are beautiful, Signorina. What is your name?”
I smiled, though I was sure my cheeks were rosy in his forward manner. “Gail Manning.” I sipped my coffee. “Yours?”
“Benedetto Serra, but please, call me Ben.”
“Pleased to meet you, Ben.”
“You are American, yes?” I nodded. “How long are you staying in Italy?”
“Perhaps a month or two, and in Rome for a couple of weeks. Why?”
“I would love to show you my city. Such a beautiful woman as yourself needs special attention that only I can provide.”
I chuckled. “Oh, that’s good.”
He grinned. “I thought so.” He tucked a strand of my black hair behind an ear. “So, will you let me give you a personal tour? Perhaps in the evening or on the weekend? I can even take off a day or two since I have many family members who can work for me, though their pizza is not as good as mine.” He had raised his voice as he said this and turned his head toward the counter with a grin. Someone yelled something at him in Italian, and he responded in kind, complete with hand gestures that needed no interpretation.
I shook my head. “Confident, aren’t you?”
“I am. My restaurant is the most popular in this part of Rome.” He stood and looked toward the counter to see someone waving frantically. “You are staying at which hotel?”
“How about I meet you here in the evening tomorrow, and we’ll go from there.” While I didn’t mind his friendliness, I didn’t want to give everything away until I felt completely comfortable. I was alone in a foreign country, after all.
“Okay.” He leaned in and kissed both cheeks, stroking my hair, which I’d left to hang loose around my shoulders. It appeared that Italian men liked to kiss and touch. “I look forward to it. Perhaps eight in the evening? We can take in the town and have a meal that is almost as good as my cooking.”
I laughed. “Sure, no problem.”
With that, he left to take care of the crisis.
My adventure in Italy had begun.
Chapter Two
Ben
Ah, Gail was stunning. Yes, there were lovely women everywhere, but she seemed to have a light within and a free spirit that was attractive to me, even without how gorgeous she was. As she left my restaurant, I watched as she looked briefly over her shoulder to wink at me and give me a flirty little wave before disappearing down the sidewalk. I blew her a kiss in response. She was curvy and luscious in all the right places, and I loved the way she moved, so unselfconscious and confident. Shoulder-length black hair and gray eyes completed the picture, and her hips were poetry in motion.
As I took care of the remaining customers—mostly tourists—who came into the restaurant before we took a riposo, I thought of where I would take Gail the next time we met. Perhaps, if she agreed, I could drive her to my vineyard near Naples, and show her my hometown. We could have a picnic along the coast. The possibilities were endless, and I was elated that she had some time to spend in my homeland.
She reminded me of myself when I was in my twenties, ready to experience the world. After training with my uncle, I had moved to Rome to study business and culinary arts, continually working to save up for my own restaurant. My dream was fulfilled three years later, and I was happy with the way things had worked out ever since.
My relationships with women had been uncomplicated, for the most part. I had even married once, but Anna and I had both acknowledged it was a mistake born out of too much wine. I was not the marrying kind, but I enjoyed the company of a woman if she was willing.
These thoughts filled my head as I prepared for the evening rush. I hadn’t been so drawn to woman in years, and I was constantly teased by my staff that afternoon, who were all family members of some sort, of my absentmindedness and instant crush. I went to bed that night, dreaming of black hair and gray eyes.
****
By the time the next evening rolled around, I was excited and kept looking at the clock on the wall.
“You can’t hold still, Ben,” my second cousin Antonio commented as he wiped down tables. He would run the counter this evening with two of my nieces in exchange for borrowing my convertible to impress a new lady friend. “You haven’t acted like this in a long time, not since Sheila.”
Ah, Sheila. She had been lovely, too, but things had not ended well because she had wanted more than I could give or ever promise. That had been two years ago. “This is better than Sheila. Gail is a breath of fresh air.”
Antonio smirked. “She is certainly your type.”
I laughed. “All women are my type.”
“Well, I hope it works out,” he replied as the door opened, and Gail walked in. My heart rate sped up, and I willed myself to be calm.
Gail was dressed in a sleeveless, knee-length black dress and had a jacket over one arm. Her purse matched the red wedges she wore. “Bella,” I said as I came forward and kissed her gently on both cheeks.
&
nbsp; She smiled and wished me a good evening. “Buonasera, Ben.” She hooked her arm in mine as I led her onto the sidewalk. “Did you have a good day?” she asked as we began our stroll.
“I did, but it’s even better now,” I replied, and she laughed.
“Flatterer.”
“It’s only the truth.” The perfume she wore was light and smelled like flowers. “Where did you go yesterday after you left the restaurant?”
“Well, I checked out some museums, was chased by a few men, which gave me some exercise, had dinner with the family members who run my hotel, then spent today looking at the Piazza Venezia and Trajan’s Market. There’s so much to see, but I plan to make time to take in as much as possible.”
“Is this new for you, traveling like this, by yourself?” I asked as we navigated the crowded streets.
“It is. As a kid, my friend Rena and I had played games about traveling in Europe, but we lost touch, and I stopped thinking about it until recently. I just…wanted to experience something different, gain a new perspective on the world, you know?”
“I think I understand. I’ve done that, too.”
I pointed out a few of my favorite spots as we walked along until we came to my friend Cecilio’s restaurant. “I thought we could eat here. The food is excellent, and Cecilio is a good friend of mine from college.”
“I’m game,” she replied, and we entered the restaurant together, to be immediately greeted by the man himself.
“Ah, Benedetto. You always get the beautiful women,” he said in greeting as he greeted both of us in Italian fashion. “What is your name, Bella?”
“Gail,” my date replied.
“A beautiful name, signorina. Please, have a seat anywhere you like, and I will bring you wine. Do you have a preference?” he asked Gail since he knew what I liked.