In the distance, the wooded hills that covered most of the island rose soothingly. Up there, he was more at home, with the scent of lavender and rosemary and the maturing fruit on the strawberry trees.
Toni had always been more interested in the plants than most people he knew – and he’d never made a single comment about Gabri’s current profession, as though he didn’t see anything strange about a male florist. Even his own mother couldn’t hold in the occasional jibe about his flower arrangements. But Toni seemed… different to his other male friends. It put Gabri at ease.
He noticed a ferry making its way past the harbour to the pier, but it hadn’t docked yet. Unloading would take a while longer.
Time for a quick espresso at the bar.
He was pleased with his decision ten minutes later when a line of cars had disembarked safely and the small crowd of foot passengers had thinned and there was still no one who looked like a man called Toni Goschl – although Gabri was kicking himself for not asking for a photo, as awkward as that would have felt.
Five minutes after that, there was only Gabri leaning on the bar table, his long-empty espresso thimble before him, and a woman wearing a summer dress with a floral pattern, hovering near the bar and looking lost as her short bob caught the wind.
He checked his phone. Toni must have been delayed. The next boat was due in an hour or so and it wouldn’t be worth returning home. He eyed the woman, appreciating for a momentthe lines of her shoulders as she turned to take in the view of the fortress presiding over the port in the north.
She looked as though she’d been light-footed and smiled a lot at one time in her life, but that time was not today. The sigh she gave was not from enjoyment of the view.
‘Signorina?’ She didn’t turn, so he raised his voice a notch. ‘Signorina? C’è qualcosa che non va?’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t speak Italian.’ Her eyes scanned the area again – fruitlessly, apparently.
‘You are looking for someone?’ He caught the waiter’s eye and held up a finger for another espresso.
‘Yes.’ She tugged her phone from a rather tatty rucksack and frowned at it.
‘You want an espresso while you wait?’ He raised his hand to summon the waiter again before she answered.
She appeared to see him for the first time, her gaze settling on his several days of beard, the moustache he always forgot to trim. He ran a hand through his too-long hair self-consciously, continuing to his rumpled shirt while her eyes followed the movement. She had pretty eyes, warm and brown, like summer grass after a dry season. He guessed she was around his age – meaning not young any more, but nowhere near old.
‘I’m also waiting for someone,’ he said.
The waiter was about to leave again, so he stretched out farther, holding him there with the power of an Italian hand gesture.
‘Okay,’ she finally answered. ‘An espresso seems like the best course of action.’ Her smile couldn’t be described as anything other thancomplicated.
He had a weakness for complicated women – or he had in his past life. He was supposed to be beyond that, but he enjoyed the way that smile grew wry as she dragged her suitcase to his table and plonked her elbows onto the top.
She said nothing at first, her gaze out to sea. Her skin was pale, with a few freckles – the kind of skin that required sunblock. It was the same on her shoulders.
When the waiter brought their two cups, he swiped his as soon as it landed on the table in an attempt to stop himself from studying her skin. A pretty woman was not on his list for today.
‘So, is the person you’re waiting for female? Young and pretty?’
His eyebrows shot up at her question. Was that a teasing tone? ‘No, in fact. A friend. What made you think that?’ His thumb brushed of its own accord against the base of his ring finger – his bare ring finger.
‘Oh, if this were a film,’ she began with a little shrug of those lovely shoulders, ‘that would be the storyline, right? Handsome guy waiting for his lover who never shows.’
The dismissive flick of her hand softened the impact of her words, but warmth stuck in his throat as he tried to ignore the word ‘handsome’. A quick glance confirmed her ring finger was bare as well.
‘If this were a movie, the main character might instead fall for the woman he meets by chance at a bar at the port.’
Holding his breath for her response, he was rewarded with a low chuckle. They were flirting. He couldn’t pretend otherwise. But her teasing and that guarded smile made him certain it was harmless. Besides, she’d started it.
‘I’m not really a main character type,’ she said, leaning farther over the table. Wow, she was pretty. Not Hollywood knock-your-socks-off perfection, but the kind of beauty that crept up on you the more you looked. It was the single dimple, on the left, the amusement in her expression.
‘What type are you, if not a main character?’
Another laugh. ‘I’m the “Mum” character. Always that.’
His stomach sank. ‘Ah.’ He forced his gaze back to his coffee. He hadn’t been looking to further this acquaintance anyway.
