In the next booth, a balding, heavy-set man sang out in an operatic tenor voice, selling flowers. “Senorina!” The vendor removed his cap. “How about a bouquet of flowers for a beautiful woman like yourself?” He placed a bouquet of pink and red flowers into her hand.
“Sorry. I don’t have any money.” Heat rushed to her cheeks. “But they are beautiful.” She sniffed them. The smooth, waxy petals tickled her nose.
The man raised an eyebrow. “For you, a special price. Only five euros.”
Sabrina hesitated. Shedidwant to support the vendors, but at the same time, this was exactly why her budget was out of control. Unaccounted expenses. She bit her tongue.
I have to draw the line at some point.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
The owner of the flower stall narrowed his eyes. He ripped the bouquet from her hand, muttering under his breath. She kept her head down and picked up her pace toward the opposite end of the piazza.
Suddenly, two dogs barking and chasing one another ran right through her legs. The coarse fur of the larger dog brushed against her bare skin. Her center of gravity shifted. Dropping the remainder of her gelato to the ground, she instinctively reached out to steady herself and, consequently, knocked into a stack of wooden crates.
In slow motion, Sabrina watched in horror as they wobbled unsteadily, then toppled over. With a spectacular crash, she heard the sound of wood splintering and glass shattering. A strong, slightly fruity, buttery scent wafted out from crates.
She covered her hands with her face and shook her head. “This is all a terrible dream. I’ll wake up, and everything will be as it should.”
A low masculine voice interjected, “I hate to break this to you, senorina, but this is, in fact,nota dream. You’ve just broken nearly all the bottles of my family winery’s special reserve.”
Sabrina wanted to melt into the ground. Her breath left her body. The man spoke with one of the most beautiful Italian accents she had ever heard. The way he rolled his Rs sent shivers down her spine.
As she removed her shaking hands from her face, she kept her vision trained on the giant mess she had created. There were pieces of broken glass and crates askew. She couldn’t bring herself to look up. A puddle of liquid pooled out slowly to the left.
“I’m so, so sorry. I promise none of this was intentional.”
“Of course it wasn’t. Everyone saw the dogs run past.” The man sighed. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice sincere.
The man moved closer to her. She could feel heat coming off his body and smelled hints of an oud-based cologne. She looked up. Her man of mystery stood about six foot one, with wide shoulders, in a fitted white polo and light-wash jeans. He had thick, wavy, caramel-brown locks and a small amount of scruff covering his jaw. His dark eyes reminded her of gingerbread.
Of course the man looks as gorgeous as his voice sounds.
“I’m fine. And I’m more than happy to pay for the wine. Just let me know what the total is.”
In the background, she saw that several other stall vendors had rushed over to assist.
“No. If anyone owes me any money, it would be the Grossi boys.” The man gestured to the flower vendor holding the dogs by their collars, telling off a pair of wide-eyed, swim-trunk-clad teenage boys in rapid Italian.
Her attention returned to the man. “But I knocked them over. Part of the blame lies with me. I should at least pay for a part of the broken bottles. How much were they?” she repeated.
“They each cost fifty euros, and I think you broke thirty-six bottles? But it doesn’t matter. Your well-being is more important.” He reached for her hand and turned it over. The calluses on his fingertips gave off a rough sandpaper texture. “I hope you didn’t cut your hands on the glass.” He released her. “I think you’re unscathed.”
Sabrina did the mental math. She splayed her hand on her chest. “Eighteen hundred euros? I don’t even want to think about converting that to dollars.” Her lips quivered. The corners of her eyes grew moist.
“Please don’t cry. At this point, there isn’t much you can do about the spilled wine.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Let me get this cleaned up and then we’ll talk.” The man reached for one of the wooden crates and carefully inspected it for any broken bits. Satisfied, he set it down. “This is the best seating I can offer you right now. Wait here, I’ll be right back.” Sabrina, still in a state of semi-shock, was only able to nod as she brushed away a stray tear.
Two middle-aged women, one with platinum-blonde, shoulder-length hair and a second with strawberry-blonde pixie hair, exchanged words with the man. From their jewelry stall, he borrowed a broom and dustpan.
The platinum blonde walked over to Sabrina. “This is much more excitement than we normally have on a market day.” The woman frowned. “Those dogs have been allowed to run free too many times. This isn’t the first time they’ve caused chaos, and it certainly won’t be the last.” She clucked her tongue. “The Grossi boys know better.”
“I can’t believe I knocked over all that wine.” Sabrina pinched her nose.
“It was the fault of the dogs, dear. Not you,” the woman reassured her. “You’re in good hands with Lorenzo. That man is as calm, cool, and collected as they come.”
Sabrina blinked a few times. “If you’ll pardon my asking, who is Lorenzo?”
The woman nodded toward the form of the wine vendor. “That fine,singleman is Lorenzo.” The two women watched him bend over and pick up the dustpan. His jeans contoured to his legs, revealing trim, taut muscles underneath, and a tight bum.
