Toni groaned inwardly. She wouldn’t have been surprised if Cristina had punctuated her statement with a wink, but she thankfully left it there.
‘Lovely to meet you, Mrs… Toni’s mother, but I have to get back to my many, many flowers. Have a wonderful time on the island.’
‘Well,’ Daphne began as her gaze followed Cristina’s progress back in the direction of the car park. ‘I didn’t imagine she’d be so stylish. What did you…?’ She wisely didn’t finish that sentence, although it was too late for Toni to miss the hint that she must have little in common with a stylish Italian woman. ‘Who is Raoul Bova?’
Toni had no idea, but now she’d have to spend twenty minutes reading the Wikipedia summaries of some Italian romcoms, which was time she didn’t have. ‘Look him up,’ she managed in reply. ‘I have to go to the other side of the island for some errands. Are you two okay here with your new beach?’
‘The other side of the island?’ Cillian repeated eagerly. ‘What’s it like?’
She thought of the smooth rocks on the coast at Sant’Andrea and even though she was ready to pull out her hair from all the balls she was juggling, and she now had even more reason to keep Cilli and her mum as far away from Gabri as possible, there was only one thing she could say to her son: ‘It’s beautiful. Do you want to come see?’
23
Deliveries were the most stressful part of the job for Gabri.
The pressure of a wedding wasn’t his favourite, but he’d discovered he could tolerate it because the task was literally in his hands. He had a lot of work to do? Just picking up the satin ribbon and binding a delicate bouquet for a bridesmaid would drive away the stress. Submerging his thoughts in the colours and textures of his work was part of the solution.
But the deliveries – occasionally unpredictable on the island – were out of his control and it wouldn’t be the first time he’d lost hair over missing ranunculus or wilted lilies, and dealing with suppliers was worse than cleaning the toilet or doing his tax return.
This time around, he was missing a dozen heads of hydrangea – unfortunately necessary for the table centrepieces – and two boxes of filler flowers. To make matters worse, the air conditioner in his cool room had switched off at some point during the night and the hydrangeas he did have might look worse for wear by the time he got them to Innamorata.
He was up a ladder with the air conditioner in pieces when the bell over the door jangled – in tune with his nerves.
‘Arrivo, un attimo,’ he called out as he climbed down the ladder. Walk-in customers were rare and?—
He came to a stop when he saw who was standing at the counter. He should have known it wasn’t a customer.
She had her hair pulled back today and instead of the linen dress, she wore black cropped trousers and a patterned shirt. She had a swipe of pink lipstick on her mouth and he longed to take her on a date – somewhere nice. By the water. He could soak up the way she stared out to sea, luminous evening light on her skin.
Christ, he’d missed her.
She was clutching the leather-bound tablet to her chest protectively, her brow pinched. She opened her mouth to say something, but he cut her off.
‘I’m sorry I spoke to Cillian,’ he blurted out.
Her mouth snapped closed again.
‘It wasn’t on purpose. I know you didn’t want me to meet him. At first I didn’t realise who he was. The nest… I just wanted to ask him to stop digging there and then…’
She prompted him with a lift of her eyebrows. ‘This is the part I didn’t understand when he was telling me about it.’
Gabri wished he could have been there while the boy explained what had happened. He could still see echoes of Cillian’s features in his memory, was lining them up alongside Toni’s familiar face. What were they liketogether?Part of him was afraid of knowing how it would feel to see that.
‘He looked so much like you.’ It wasn’t an explanation, but it was the only one he could give.
Her breath escaped her lips slowly. ‘He doesn’t. He looks like Miro.’
‘I can see that too.’
‘You told him your name. My mother could have—’ She sighed in frustration. ‘We talked about this.’
‘I’m sorry. I thought about lying, but that seemed worse. I was hoping your mother wouldn’t work it out.’
‘She didn’t, thankfully.’ She just stared at him for a moment, her lips pressed tightly together. ‘Why did you tell him the story about the pirates? The woman flinging herself into the sea? He’s nine years old!’
‘I’m not used to speaking to children,’ was all he could say in his defence. Coming around the workbench to face her properly, he continued, ‘I realised part way through that it wasn’t the best story for him, but it was too late. I didn’t go against what you asked on purpose. I’m happy to stay away from all of you?—’
That didn’t come out right.
