Italian Summer with the Single Dad

by Ella Hayes

  He took a swig from his bottle. ‘Now I’m nervous.’

  ‘Why?’

  He smiled, lowered his voice. ‘Because I want you to like it.’

  Those eyes...that smile... Impossible... ‘I’m going to love it. Now, go on... Break a leg!’

  She watched him walk away, watched him tuning his guitar, that same look of concentration on his face which she could see on Alessia’s face sometimes. He was born to this, she could tell. Such fluidity in his shoulders and arms as he moved his hand along the fret, plucking strings, listening to the sound of the notes, little adjustments, listening again. He looked as if he was in another world; he looked at home there.

  Someone behind the bar made an announcement she didn’t understand, but there was a ripple of applause followed by a gradual hush. Zach caught her eye briefly, then bent his head and began to play.

  She hadn’t known what to expect, but from the first note he had her. Zach could really play. The agility of his fingers on the strings was hypnotising: fast, slow, teasing, spirited. And the way he cradled the guitar, moved his shoulder in and out as he played, it seemed as if he was physically connected to the melody. The combination of the music and the way he looked in his tee shirt and jeans, the way his hair touched his neck, the little contortions of his face as his fingers slid up and down the fret, took her breath away. She was unravelling, spiralling into a blissful kind of ache. More than anything she wanted to touch him, to feel his fingers on her skin, his body against hers. When he got to the end of his final piece and the bar filled with applause, she was a mess of hot tears and burning desire.

  ‘Isn’t he just brilliant?’ A voice in her ear took her by surprise and she turned to see the good-looking man in the pale linen jacket, who’d been talking to Zach earlier. She hadn’t noticed him sitting down beside her. He was clapping enthusiastically, smiling, leaning in so she could hear him above the noise. ‘He is so talented. I love to hear him play.’

  ‘That was my first time actually.’ She pressed her fingers to her eyes and laughed, slightly embarrassed. ‘I’m feeling a bit emotional...’

  ‘Me too.’ He smiled. ‘I’m Milo, by the way. Milo Beneventi.’

  ‘It’s nice to meet you. I’m Olivia.’ She smiled and sipped her beer, then she looked over at Zach. He was surrounded by friends and fans, but he must have sensed her somehow because suddenly he looked up, straight at her. He mouthed an invitation for her to go over, but she couldn’t. She didn’t trust herself not to throw her arms around him and press her lips to his. She needed to keep her distance, so instead she smiled at him then went to splash her face.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ZACH PUT HIS guitar case on the back seat, toyed with the key fob in his hand. He wondered what was going on with Olivia. She seemed quiet, preoccupied somehow. ‘Do you want to go for a walk?’

  She glanced at her watch. ‘It’s late.’

  ‘That’s a statement, not an answer.’

  Her mouth quirked. ‘I’ll rephrase. Don’t you think it’s a little late for a walk?’

  ‘No—not for me.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Would you mind, Liv—please? It’s just that I always feel restless afterwards...’

  She held his gaze for a long moment then smiled. ‘Okay. It’s a lovely night.’

  Yes! He pressed a button on the dash, watched the hood lifting up and over, then he locked the car. He threw her a smile. ‘So...we’ll begin our nocturnal wanderings in the very heart of Ravello. Are you ready?’

  She lifted an eyebrow, looked as if she was stifling a giggle. ‘I think so.’

  He slid the key into his back pocket and led the way along a narrow street which opened into Piazza Centrale. The bars were closed, awnings pulled up, chairs and tables stacked. He spun round, walked backwards so he could see her face. ‘This is the main square. It’s heaving with tourists during the day. The cafés do a roaring trade.’

  She turned a slow circle, looking at everything. ‘That’s a big church.’

  ‘Duomo di Ravello! Strictly speaking, it’s a cathedral.’ He wondered if she’d say anything about his set. He’d felt her watching him while he was playing, had glanced up a couple of times, seen a depth of emotion in her eyes that had taken him by surprise, but she hadn’t said anything yet and it seemed out of character somehow, especially when she’d been so excited about the gig. Maybe she was thinking about her parents again...or—he felt a knot tightening in his stomach—maybe she was thinking about Milo Beneventi.

  After the show he’d been pulled into his usual crowd. He’d caught her eye, beckoned her over, but she’d held back. The next time he looked he’d seen her talking to Milo. Milo had fluent English so he supposed it made sense, but for some reason it bothered him, the way they seemed to be getting on so well. Suddenly, he’d wanted to be away from the crowds and the noise. He’d wanted to be with Olivia on her own, wanted to hear her thoughts about the music and about his playing, but ever since they left the bar she’d been quiet, a little distant, and he didn’t understand why. Now he was wondering if she’d wanted to stay—because of Milo...

  He watched her as she walked up the cathedral steps, noticed her slender calves in her white cropped jeans. He remembered the way she’d looked in the paddling pool, bare-legged, water drops glistening on her skin. He looked at his feet and swallowed hard. He couldn’t let himself think about her like that, and he couldn’t ask her what she thought about his playing either because that would seem needy. He sighed, followed her up the steps and turned to look across the square. The lights glowing from the houses on the opposite side of the valley looked like strings of fairy lights. He’d never noticed that before.

  ‘I love those trees.’ She was looking into the branches of the umbrella trees. Her hair was loose, falling at the side of her neck in gentle waves. When she pushed it away her perfume reached him on the air.

  ‘They’re called umbrella trees... Did you like my set?’

  Damn!

  She seemed to hesitate, then turned to look at him. ‘Very much.’ She smiled softly. ‘You blew me away, Zach.’

  He dropped his gaze, felt a tiny, powerful rush of joy. ‘And you were going to mention this, when?’

  Ouch!

  ‘I mean, I’m glad you liked it—but you’ve been so quiet... I thought you might have been all over it—you know, giving me a full crit.’ He flashed a smile. Perhaps he could claw back a shred of dignity by being light-hearted.

  She started down the steps, then stopped to look back at him. ‘You want a full crit?’ Her smile was mischievous. ‘Let’s walk and I’ll tell you my thoughts.’

  ‘Okay.’ He dived down the steps after her, then led her onto the Via del Episcopio. He felt like a cat on a hot tin roof. He had no idea why her opinion mattered so much, but it did.

  ‘I don’t know anything about music in a technical sense...’ She threw him a little hopeless look. ‘But honestly, I was mesmerised from the start, and that last piece you played...’

  ‘Fauré’s Pavane.’

  ‘It made me cry.’

  ‘I’m sorry—’

  She nudged his shoulder playfully. ‘Happy tears! I found it moving...haunting. Just lovely. Listening to you play, seeing the feeling you put into it and how good you are, I just kept wondering...’

  ‘Wondering...?’

  She stopped and gazed up at him. ‘I just kept wondering why you’re in the wedding business when you have such talent, such an obvious passion for music.’

  As he held her gaze he remembered his father’s words on the phone the day he’d broken the news that the band had split. ‘So you’ll come home now...apply yourself to something more worthwhile?’

  He shrugged. ‘Music’s a tough business. I gave it my best shot, but I had to move on—I had to “come to my senses” as my father used to say.’

  ‘Give up, you mean?’


  ‘Whoa! I haven’t given up! I still play.’

  ‘Once a week—in a bar.’

  ‘It’s enough.’

  ‘Is it?’

  He stared at his feet. Somehow the conversation had taken a serious turn. He couldn’t see why it mattered to her anyway. She was a swallow, passing through for the summer. Why would she even care about his music and what he did with it? When he looked up again she was gazing at him, her eyes all softness and warm light. A small breeze lifted her hair and he couldn’t help noticing her pale skin, the swell of her breasts in the low V-neck she was wearing.

  She took a little step towards him. ‘I’m sorry. It’s not my place, but you said you wanted a full critique.’ She seemed to be taking in every detail of his face, reading every line and all the lines in between. ‘I think you have an amazing talent, Zach. I’m not qualified to know if you’re up to playing Carnegie Hall, but I can see how much you love music and I think that’s why you feel restless after a gig... I think you should do more with it, chase the thing you love...’

  Her words were making his head spin. He’d buried his ambitions a long time ago and now she was stirring the old dreams around, looking at him with such belief in her eyes and something else too which was drawing him like a magnet. He caught himself looking at her mouth, the soft fullness of her lips, and he felt himself drifting towards her, moving in triple slow motion, losing himself in her eyes and the shape of her mouth, the curve of her cheek, and there was heat rising through his body, his hand reaching towards her face—

  ‘Excuse me! Is this the way to Piazza Centrale?’

  He snapped back to the moment, dropped his hand. An elderly man was looking at him. He took in the pale blue eyes, the checked shirt, the smiling grey-haired woman standing at the man’s side. ‘Er...yes! You’re on the right road; just keep going down there and you’ll come to it.’

  ‘Thank you so much. Goodnight.’

  As they strolled away, he became aware of his heart bumping against his ribs. What was happening to him? If the old couple hadn’t interrupted him, he might have kissed Olivia. He probably, definitely would have kissed her, and then what? He felt a wash of relief. She’d taken him by surprise, caught him off-guard with her flattery, her enthusiasm for his playing and he’d felt young and free and he’d been about to...

  Disaster!

  He raked a hand through his hair and looked around. She’d walked a little distance away, seemed to be scrutinising something on the wall of a house. He wondered what she was thinking, hoped it wasn’t going to be awkward between them now. She turned to look at him, smiled her usual warm smile.

  ‘What does this say...? Something about André Gide and E M Forster—?’

  He went over. ‘It says they were guests here once.’

  ‘Oh!’ She walked on. ‘Like me.’

  * * *

  Olivia poured herself a glass of water, added a chunk of lemon then went back to the computer. She studied the thumbnails on the screen. Saturday’s bride had been beautiful. The groom had been handsome. Everything had looked perfect. And yet, as she scrolled through the pictures, she knew there was something missing. She’d had to work a bit harder with this couple, coaxing them into romantic poses. Perhaps they’d been camera shy, or perhaps they weren’t naturally demonstrative, or perhaps it was just that they weren’t really in love...

  She lifted the glass to her lips and took a long sip, contemplated the gap between seeming and being... What was perfection anyway? She’d spent that day making perfect pictures of something that hadn’t been perfect at all. She pushed her chair back and walked to the window. Her thoughts were tangling again...

  She couldn’t stop thinking about Zach and that night in Ravello. The way his fingers had caressed the strings, the way he’d looked in his tee shirt and jeans... She’d tried to hold her feelings in, but without realising it she must have been sending out signals because he had definitely been going to kiss her. His eyes had gone all hazy and he’d been leaning in, stretching his hand towards her face, and her heart had been going nineteen to the dozen and she’d wanted it so badly, that kiss...and then the tourists had arrived.

  Since that night she’d been telling herself that not kissing him had been for the best. She’d repeated all the usual mantras. He might be attracted to her, but he was still in love with his wife. He was her boss and there was Alessia, and this whole life he’d built here. Everything about Zach was complicated and she didn’t want complications. She wanted a new beginning, a perfect man, a perfect wedding...to prove...what? A kaleidoscope of memories shattered into shifting circles—her dad, campfires and hiking, loading his belongings into the car, and the kids at school teasing and taunting. She squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t think straight any more.

  A knock on the door startled her and then she smiled when she remembered her last visitors—Alessia and Lucia—Lucia dressed to the nines, blushing about the ‘thing’ she was going to in town.

  Boyfriend!

  Maybe Lucia was bringing Alessia to say hello again—that would be nice—but when she opened the door, it wasn’t Lucia.

  ‘Zach!’

  ‘Hi! I hope I’m not disturbing you...’

  Jeans, white shirt, tiniest delicious waft of cologne.

  ‘No! Come in. I’m only editing—’

  ‘Good pictures?’

  ‘No—they’re rubbish.’ He lifted an eyebrow and she laughed. ‘Of course they’re good. Can I get you something—a glass of lemon water?’

  ‘No, I’m okay, thanks.’

  She sat down on the sofa, hoping he couldn’t tell that her heart was racing. ‘So—?’ She saw him noticing her legs in her denim cut-offs, golden-brown now instead of milky-white. He didn’t sit down.

  ‘I’ve just had a call from Milo Beneventi.’

  He was studying her face as if he was looking for something, expecting a reaction. She didn’t recognise the name. ‘Okay...’

  ‘From the bar—you were talking to him.’

  ‘Erm...’ Her mind was blank. The night at the bar, her head had been full of Zach and his playing. Music and longing. She could feel herself blushing, tingling at the memory...and then an image came to her: handsome face, pale linen jacket. He’d been sweet, could speak English. ‘Ah—that Milo. Yes, I remember now.’ She smiled but for some reason Zach didn’t.

  ‘He’s an architect. Did he mention that?’

  She tried to remember, drew another blank. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘He’s been involved with a property on Capri. It’s nearing completion and he needs someone to take pictures. He wondered if you’d be interested.’

  ‘Yes!’ She parked her glass and stood up. ‘I would be... Absolutely! I love architectural work, especially interiors. Before I started working for Ralph, I used to do bits and pieces for an arts magazine—galleries, places like that...’

  She suddenly noticed the wariness in Zach’s eyes and toned down her enthusiasm. Maybe he was worried she’d leave him in the lurch. He should know she would never do that; she’d committed herself to him for six weeks. She tried to warm him with a smile. ‘What do you think? I mean... I’m here to work for you—I wouldn’t want you to think—’

  ‘I’m not thinking anything... It’s absolutely fine, if you want to do it—’

  ‘I do! It’s a good opportunity! When I go back to London, I’m setting up on my own, shooting weddings, but I might have to be flexible at the beginning. A varied portfolio is currency. It’ll help me to get other work while I’m building up my weddings.’ She smiled. ‘I’m grateful to you, Zach—you do know that?’

  His eyes softened. ‘I’ll give you Milo’s number. Have you got a pen?’ Suddenly he broke into a smile and it was the old smile.

  She laughed. ‘I’ve heard that line somewhere before!’ She picked up a pen and notepad from her de
sk and handed them over. ‘Did he mention a timescale?’

  Zach was mouthing the numbers as he wrote, little movements of his lips, the same lips that had come so close to kissing...

  ‘As soon as possible, I think.’ He placed the notepad and pen back into her hands.

  ‘I’ll need a decent tripod.’

  ‘Michele will lend you one—he said if there was anything you needed—’

  ‘I remember.’

  ‘I’ll speak to him, sort it out.’ He took a step towards the door, then stopped. ‘Milo said he’d pick you up in his boat—’ She felt her eyes widening. This was getting better by the second. ‘But I’ll take you—’

  ‘You have a boat?’

  He nodded slowly. ‘Yes. It’s been laid up for a while.’ His eyes were clouding over again. She wished she knew what he was thinking. ‘I’ve been meaning to take it out for ages, but you know how it is—work gets in the way.’ He seemed to drift for a moment, then he collected himself. ‘Anyway, I’ll take you.’

  ‘Only if you’ve got time—I know how busy you are, Zach, and I don’t want to put you to any trouble.’

  ‘It’s no trouble.’ He shifted on his feet, fixed her with an even gaze. ‘Like I said, the boat needs a run anyway.’

  * * *

  There was something bewitching about the light under the olive trees. The canopy was dense, the groundcover sparse. She thought that the trees must have gone feral a long time ago. She liked sitting here, wrapped in the mysterious blue-green light. She liked the emptiness, the silence that was barely threatened by the breeze whispering through the branches. It was a good place to think about things.

  She lifted the camera to her eye, then put it down again. She wished she could see inside Zach’s head. Ever since that night in Ravello he’d been acting differently. She’d done her utmost not to let the almost-kiss spoil their friendship, had tried to act as if nothing had happened, which it hadn’t. Just like the other time nothing had happened.

  So confusing.