Italian Summer with the Single Dad

by Ella Hayes

  The first time, he’d been holding her. She could see how physical proximity might have fuelled...but the second time they’d been standing on a narrow street, and she’d taken a step...and he’d taken a step...and she’d been feeling...but what about him? What did Zach feel? She sighed.

  On the surface everything was normal, but she could tell he was preoccupied and it was bothering her. Perhaps he was reflecting on what she’d said about doing something with his music. Reaching back into the past, trying to pull old dreams into the present—that kind of thinking could fill your whole head, especially when you had a business to run, a daughter to think about... There would be other pressures too. Casa Isabella was a solid business—stepping away from it wouldn’t go down well with his father, she supposed. Perhaps she should have kept her thoughts to herself, but watching him play, seeing the way he poured his heart into the music, realising how talented he was... It had moved her deeply and he had asked her what she thought. She’d had to tell him.

  She wandered through the trees, little clouds of dust whirling around her feet. Parched earth, silence, mysterious light. She dropped to her knees, lifted the camera. Chinks of sunlight, bright rays piercing the gloom—light on dark—an interesting composition. She fired the shutter, listened to the sound of it reverberating.

  She lowered the camera. At least the plans for her photoshoot on Capri had fallen into place. She’d made the arrangements with Milo, and Zach had secured the use of a tripod. He’d been seeing to his boat, getting it seaworthy, he said, but when he smiled at her there was no twinkle in his eyes. She’d tried to lighten his mood by offering to scrub the decks, but he’d said there was no need. He wasn’t exactly shutting her out, but it felt as if he was stepping away. She remembered how she’d needed time to work through the stuff about her dad and it wasn’t over yet—she was still trying to sort out her feelings. If Zach was preoccupied with his thoughts, there was nothing she could do except offer him a shoulder if he wanted it. He’d been there for her after all.

  She got to her feet and brushed the dust off her knees. The next day he was taking her to Capri. Being alone with him on a boat might be the perfect opportunity for a heart-to-heart.

  * * *

  Zach checked the mooring rope then walked slowly down the jetty. He hadn’t been onto the boat since Izzy died—hadn’t been able to face it. They’d had such good times on Django—on their own, with family and with friends. Coming onto the boat again—checking things over—was something he’d needed to do for a long time. It had felt like his final frontier and it had drained him emotionally. The next day there’d be a new passenger, a new voyage to make.

  His car was parked close by but he walked past it and onwards into the narrow streets of Minori. He needed a coffee, some time to think things through. Since that night in Ravello with Olivia, his emotions had been all over the place and he had to get a grip.

  At a small café he took a seat outside and ordered an espresso. He gazed along the street, but it was Olivia’s face he could see—her eyes... Twice, he’d come close to kissing her, which was confusing enough, but it wasn’t only physical attraction he was feeling and that was confusing him even more. He liked that she was so fond of Alessia. He liked how much she’d been moved by his playing. He liked her warmth, her sense of humour, the way she was so easy to be with...

  He sipped the strong bitter coffee, felt his mood darkening.

  He wished he’d never told Milo what a great photographer Olivia was, that night in the bar. It had been hard enough watching them chatting together, but he’d never expected Milo to suggest a photo shoot! This Capri caper was his fault, and the whole thing was messing with his head.

  He felt the sun on his face and closed his eyes.

  Olivia!

  He had no claim on her so whatever it was that was churning him up about this trip, he’d have to get it under control. Maybe it was a protective thing...

  That’s it!

  He’d taken his boat out of dry dock because he wanted to make sure she’d be safe. It was only natural, he told himself. She’d come to Ravello to work for him after all, and therefore she was his responsibility. He pictured Milo—that handsome face, that white smile, that irrepressible charm. He opened his eyes and reached for his cup. Milo seemed like a nice guy, but at the end of the day he knew nothing about him, and for that reason there was no way on earth he was letting Olivia go to Capri alone.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SHE WAS WEARING jeans and a white sleeveless shirt, sneakers and sunglasses. He couldn’t detect any make-up, not that she needed any. Her hair was drawn into a ponytail, loose strands flying in the breeze. Her face was a picture—all smiles. He turned his gaze back to the sea, felt the power and thrust of the engine, the thrill of speeding through water. He’d missed this!

  He looked at her again, felt a smile tugging at his lips. It was idiotic, he knew, to be analysing the nuances of her appearance, but the fact that she looked so...unadorned, pleased him. It meant she wasn’t trying to attract Milo’s attention, and for some reason that made him ridiculously happy. He leaned towards her, shouting over the engine noise. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Fantastic!’ she yelled back. ‘I don’t want it to end!’

  ‘Want to drive?’

  She widened her eyes, excited. ‘Can I?’

  ‘Sure!’ He slowed right down and slipped out of the helmsman’s seat.

  She glanced at him, then gingerly took his place and put her hands on the wheel.

  ‘What do I do?’

  Her face and arms looked tanned against her white shirt. He noticed a sprinkle of tiny freckles on her nose, caught the scent of her perfume as he stepped in again to steady the wheel.

  ‘It’s easy.’ He pointed to a distant buoy bobbing on the water. ‘See the marker up there?’

  She turned to look at him, her face so close that he couldn’t stop himself glancing at her mouth, that soft little pout, the briefest dart of her tongue as she concentrated on what he was saying.

  ‘Just aim for that, keeping left.’ He smiled. ‘Ready?’

  ‘I guess!’

  He dropped the throttle and she gave a little shriek as the boat ploughed forward. She was sitting bolt upright, eyes fixed on the buoy, arms flexing as she handled the wheel. It was hard not to laugh. ‘You’re a natural!’

  She grinned, not taking her eyes off the water. ‘You think so?’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ Suddenly, he had an idea, leaned in. ‘Will you be okay for a moment?’

  Head rigidly pointing forward. ‘Don’t leave me...’

  ‘I’m not leaving you... I’m just going onto the foredeck.’

  ‘Why?’

  He laughed. ‘Never mind why—just keep steering!’ He moved away, found a position on the bows and took out his phone.

  When she saw what he was doing she started to laugh, yelling, ‘No! Don’t you dare!’

  ‘Keep your eyes on the road!’

  She looked so great, so happy steering the boat, that he had to take a picture...and he could tell she didn’t really mind. She started pulling faces, striking poses—looking for land, doing Jack Sparrow—then she took her hands off the wheel and stretched out her arms—Titanic!

  He was laughing so hard that he only noticed the buoy when they were twenty metres away. ‘Olivia! Go left!’

  He leapt to the helm, throttled back then seized the wheel, steering clear of the marker with metres to spare.

  ‘Did we nearly hit—?’

  ‘No! Yes! Possibly—but it wasn’t your fault.’ He grinned. ‘I was distracting you and, to be fair, I told you to aim for the marker!’

  She grimaced. ‘I almost crashed.’

  ‘Just like Titanic!’ He laughed and nudged her shoulder. ‘Forget about it.’ He dropped the throttle and the boat took off again. As the wind whipped at her hair he saw her
cheeks lifting into a smile. He leaned in. ‘Want to go faster?’

  Wide eyes. ‘It goes faster?’

  He put his hand on the throttle, smiling. ‘Hold on!’ He pushed the lever and the boat surged forward, ripped across the water, bouncing hard then flying, bouncing, flying—and she was squealing with laughter, gripping the rail so tightly that he couldn’t help laughing too. It was the best he’d felt for days...this joy of being on the water, the speed, the sunshine, her laughter... It felt like freedom.

  He followed the coast so she could see the towns—pastel houses crammed onto impossible slopes—then he turned west. As they approached Capri, he slowed down. Milo was meeting them at the property, a secluded place with a private mooring on the eastern side of the island. Olivia had pushed her sunglasses onto her head and was gazing at the craggy slopes of bleached rock, marvelling at the tufts of trees and shrubs which grew on the inhospitable cliffs.

  She caught his eye. ‘Don’t you find this amazing?’

  ‘Every time!’ He took off his sunglasses and slipped them into his shirt pocket. ‘There are some underground caves on Capri that you really should see. You’d love the light! Emerald, turquoise. It’s stunning.’

  She turned, studied his face for a moment then shot him a little smile. ‘You seem happier today...’

  ‘Happier?’

  She nodded. ‘You’ve seemed preoccupied recently. I’ve been worrying that it’s got something to do with what I said...about your music. I didn’t mean to upset—’

  ‘You didn’t upset me.’ He looked along the shoreline, trying to spot the mooring. ‘You were very enthusiastic. I was pleased that you enjoyed my playing, flattered that you think I could do something with it...’

  She was still looking at him, a little frown on her face. ‘So—if it’s not anything I said, what is it then—what’s wrong?’ She nudged his shoulder. ‘I mean, fair’s fair! I cried all over your shirt—the least I can do is listen if you want to talk...’ She tucked some loose strands back into her ponytail and smiled, eyes wide and gentle, drawing him in again. He looked away, scouring the shoreline. Perhaps the mooring was on the other side of the outcrop. Her eyes on him, searching his face, wanting an answer. He couldn’t tell her that he was a ball of confusion and that she was rolled up in it. Maybe he could tell her about the boat, about the sadness it had stirred up inside him. If he told her, maybe she’d be satisfied and wouldn’t dig any deeper. He dropped the throttle a little more so that the boat was barely moving.

  ‘It’s the boat.’

  Her forehead creased. ‘The boat?’

  He nodded. ‘I haven’t been on it since Izzy died. We both loved this boat, had great fun with it, but after she passed I couldn’t bring myself to... Besides, I had other priorities. Getting Django out of dry dock has been hard—’

  Her face fell. ‘I feel bad now—for putting you through that. Milo could have picked me up—’

  ‘No!’ He checked himself. ‘What I mean is, I couldn’t let him do that when I have a perfectly good boat. I wanted to get it back out on the water, and you needing a ride was just the push I needed. I knew I’d have to face it some time and now I have, thanks to you!’ He smiled. ‘If I look happy it’s because I am.’

  ‘So you’re okay, really?’

  ‘Yes! Really!’ The throaty burble of the engine, the sloshing of waves against the hull filled a long, silent moment. She looked as if she was about to say something but suddenly, up ahead, he caught sight of Milo’s boat moored at the end of a long jetty, the man himself waving.

  * * *

  ‘Wow, Milo! This place is amazing.’

  ‘You like it? That’s good. If you like it, it will make your photographs splendide.’

  Olivia couldn’t help liking Milo. His accent was charming, he was charming. Warm brown eyes, thick dark hair. He was tall, his body well-honed under his expensive shirt and designer jeans.

  As he showed them around, he explained that the property had been designed as a deluxe holiday let for couples. ‘So... I started with a traditional structure then incorporated modern elements, like steel for the canopy and lots of glass—to make the most of the view.’

  Zach ran his hand down a steel column. ‘I like this—it’s unexpected.’

  Milo smiled. ‘Thank you, Zach. Architects enjoy playing with expectation.’

  The interior was modern and minimalist—pale marble floors, white walls. There was a magnificent master bedroom with luxury en-suite bathroom, a sleek white kitchen with brushed steel appliances and slate worktops. The spacious sitting room, furnished with white leather sofas and a black marble coffee table, opened to an al fresco dining area which overlooked the sea.

  ‘It’s romantic—’ Olivia conjured an image of Zach walking across the room towards her—faded jeans, shirt unbuttoned one notch lower than decent, those eyes. ‘But it’s also got a calm, timeless vibe, like a sanctuary.’

  ‘Exactly!’ Milo smiled. White teeth. ‘Calm, romantic, secluded—that’s what the client wanted, so if that’s what you are feeling then I have succeeded!’ He had such a sunny smile...delightful.

  She spun around slowly, assessing the ambient light, thinking about shooting angles, when she caught Zach staring at her. He looked preoccupied again. She wondered if he was thinking about the boat, memories of Isabella...

  Milo was extracting a silver ice bucket from a length of bubble wrap. ‘So, we’ll begin shooting outside while we have the morning light, then we’ll come inside, okay?’

  ‘Sounds good to me.’ She knelt to open her camera bag, taking out the things she needed. When she looked up, Zach was leaning against the wall, examining a painting.

  Zach!

  This shoot was going to be so dull for him. She glanced outside. Milo was polishing two glasses with a cloth, carefully arranging them on the table next to the ice bucket. She stood up, kept her voice low. ‘Listen, Zach...you’re going to get so bored. Seriously! Watching this kind of shoot is like watching paint dry. You don’t have to stay. I’ll be fine with Milo, really!’

  He came towards her. ‘I don’t mind staying.’ He looked at her evenly then shifted his gaze to the man outside. ‘I mean, how long will it take?’

  Why was he so distracted? She cleared her throat to get his attention. ‘Two or three angles per room, exteriors from all sides, I guess, maybe some shots of the view—’ She gave a little shrug. ‘A couple of hours, probably.’

  ‘You don’t want me to help with anything?’ He turned to look at Milo again, and Olivia followed his gaze. Milo had moved on to wiping the chair backs with a cloth, his movements deft, his face tense with concentration.

  She couldn’t help smiling. ‘I think Milo’s got it covered.’

  ‘Okay.’ Zach’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. He slipped his sunglasses from his shirt pocket and put them on. ‘If you think you’ll be okay, then I’ll take the boat for a blast.’

  She pulled a cross-eyed face. ‘I’m only trying to save your sanity.’

  ‘It’s probably too late for that.’ He smiled softly. ‘You’ve got my number, yeah, just in case?’

  She nodded. ‘Are you worried about me?’

  He seemed to falter. ‘No—not worried. I’ll see you in a while.’ He turned away, walked towards the terrace.

  ‘Have fun!’

  He threw up his hand in a backward wave.

  She watched him pause to speak to Milo, and then he was striding towards the cliff steps. Moments later he was gone.

  Distractedly, she opened up the tripod and attached the camera. Zach had been through a great sadness in his life but he was sociable, likeable, an easy-going person. Yet, minutes after they’d arrived, he’d become withdrawn. Something was eating him up and she couldn’t figure it out. She looked up, saw Milo beckoning from the terrace. She waved back and picked up the tripod. She’d have to forget abo
ut Zach for a while. She needed to concentrate on the shoot.

  * * *

  Milo was easy to work with. He positioned things without her having to ask, styled the shots with an expert eye. The props he’d brought were tasteful: cashmere throws, pillar candles, crystal glasses. As they worked, he chatted about architecture, art and music...

  ‘Zach is very talented with the guitar...’ He smoothed a throw across the bed, turning back an edge to show the fringe. ‘Sometimes when he plays, I feel a sadness in his heart...’ He stood back. ‘How’s that—do you need me to pull it back a little more?’

  She looked through the viewfinder. ‘No! That’s perfect.’ She took three shots, different exposures. She thought about the boat, the sadness Zach had talked about just hours ago. ‘I suppose, on some level, playing gives him an outlet...’ She detached the camera from the tripod, gave it to Milo so he could check the last few shots.

  ‘Olivia, these are perfect! It’s a wrap!’ He flashed his white smile. ‘We’re a good team! How about a glass of wine?’

  It was a relief that Milo was pleased with her work. She smiled. ‘A glass of wine sounds like a very good idea.’

  He handed her the camera. ‘Can I help you pack up?’

  ‘No, thanks.’ She gave him a little shrug. ‘I count it out and count it in again—force of habit, so I know I’ve got everything.’

  ‘Okay. I will go and open the wine!’ He left the room and she smiled to herself. The wine he’d brought as a prop had been chilling in an ice bucket on the dining table for over an hour. It would be perfect by now, and didn’t she deserve a little celebration? Her first overseas commercial shoot! Milo was happy, and she had more classy photos for her portfolio. She folded the tripod and packed away her kit. When she went through to the sitting room Milo handed her a glass, then raised his own.

  ‘Thank you, Olivia, for a successful shoot. Here’s to many more in the future!’

  She touched her glass to his and took a long sip. It would be great to shoot more Italian interiors. Milo would be a good contact. She suddenly realised he was watching her, a smile in his eyes.