Stella was done with men; every one she’d picked was a dud. Except for Gino. A physical pain shot through her at the thought of her first love. Despite the bad blood between their families, loving him had been so simple. No guessing games, no keeping of scores. She should have reached out to him once the wound of Papà’s death was less raw but the months ticked past until she’d convinced herself he wouldn’t love her any more.
Now Joe was gone, she could admit to herself that one of the reasons she’d been scared to come to the village was fearing that her relationship with him would flounder if she chanced upon her old love.
For the first time in years, she let herself imagine what Gino would look like now, his dark hair turning to grey, his green eyes framed by folds and lines. His jeans would no longer fall off his slim hips, they’d be belted into the groove beneath a well-fed Italian papà’s tum. She pictured him in an orange shirt, a colour he loved to wear, tackling his favouritequattro stagionipizza surrounded by a big, loving family – a beautiful wife and grownup children drinking wine, laughing and joking.
The bell tinkled; Stella snapped out of her reverie. A man of around her age, carrying a reusable carrier bag, had entered the shop. He looked so much like the Gino of her imaginings she had to stifle a laugh.
‘Buongiorno,’ she greeted him, pushing aside Domenico’s accounts book.
The man did not respond in the expected fashion, just stood and stared. Something in Stella’s world shifted. She gripped the countertop. Was she hallucinating or was it really her old love standing there?
‘Stella,’ Gino said. ‘Stella, I can’t believe it! What are you doing here?’
25
Amy held her short-sleeved yellow blouse to her nose; miraculously, the mothball smell of Fernanda’s wardrobe hadn’t transferred to her top. It was a little try-hard for a walk in the hills but she’d dress it down with denim cutoffs and trainers and tie back her hair.
It was still early. Fernanda had woken her up clattering around, clearing up last night’s meal before heading off to her daily mass. Amy had offered to help after supper but the old lady had insisted she do it all herself before promptly falling asleep in her chair. Amy had rinsed off the plates and put the pans to soak in the sink but she strongly suspected that she’d face Fernanda’s wrath if she did any more chores before bed.
She drank a glass of water and headed for the bar, not fancying a walk up to the Old Chapel on an empty stomach. As she approached the scattering of outside chairs, Leo raised his hand. She took in his half-drunk espresso, the golden pastry crumbs scattered across his plate.
‘Great minds think alike,’ she said.
‘Want to join me?’ He shifted a discarded menu and sugar bowl out of the way. ‘Oh, watch out for the bucket!’
‘Thanks, I would have fallen over that.’ She used her foot to nudge a pail full of bleach, polish and cloths out of the way. ‘Do you think the cleaner meant to leave this here?’
‘He did.’ Leo grinned.
‘They’re yours?’
‘Now you’ve spoilt the surprise!’ he joked, smiling at the waitress and ordering himself anothergobeletto. Amy quickly chipped in to ask for a caffè latte and the same.
‘I thought we were going for a walk to the Old Chapel this morning. Are we stopping off on the way?’
‘I’ve got a few jobs to do when we get there. Do not worry, I will not ask you to scrub the floor! You can sit and admire the views before we walk back.’
‘I don’t mind helping.’ It wasn’t what she’d imagined they’d be doing but she didn’t have anything else planned.
‘I hoped you might say that.’ He plucked a pair of discoloured rubber gloves from the bucket and waggled the empty fingers. ‘I think these would suit you.’
‘Cheeky! At least I’ll work off some of these calories.’ She bit into the delicious little tart that had just appeared.
‘You will use up all those calories walking there.’
‘Sounds like a challenge.’ She took a sip of her coffee, closing her eyes for a second. Sunshine, warmth, just milky enough coffee, a jam-filled pastry: a perfect start to the day. She opened them again to find him smiling at her. Her face heated. There was something about him. She didn’t know what it was but it made even a morning scrubbing an old church sound appealing.
‘Shall we go? Or do you need to go back to Nonna’s first?’ he asked.
‘No. I’m all set. Looks like you’ve got everything I’ll need.’ She looked meaningfully at the bucket.
They left some cash under the saucer and headed off. She walked by his side, the bucket swinging between them. The church bells were ringing. Nine o’clock: Fernanda would be emerging from Sant’ Agata. The three men she’d spotted yesterday morning were standing by the old water trough on the other side of the street, talking with their hands as much as their voices as she and Leo walked past.
‘We need to head to the end of the village, through the big stone arch, up some steps, past a couple of old vineyards…’ he said.
‘Then up more steps?’
‘You’ve got it!’
