Lora gazed up, clasping her hands together. “I would be really, really grateful if you would please let me know where I can find the mayor.”
He paused to look down at them again.
“Now,” whispered Vilmari behind her.
“Now would be great,” said Lora, her face upturned and smiling.
He sighed, his shoulders rising and falling with the weight of it. He then lowered himself to sitting on the platform, grabbed the crossbar next to him, and, in one smooth movement, twisted and lowered himself to hanging a couple of feet above the sidewalk. The insufficient T-shirt lifted, revealing a swath of toned torso, and Lora heard Vilmari gasp. He let go of the bar, dropping gracefully onto the stones in front of them. “Follow me,” he said.
Lora turned back to Vilmari as they gaped at each other.
“What was that?” mouthed Vilmari silently.
Lora’s eyes went wide as she shook her head. They grabbed their suitcases, composing themselves enough to follow him silently as he walked toward the piazza. He passed the main entrance of city hall and took a left down a sidestreet, pausing in front of a normal-sized door, then pulled from his pants pocket a heavy metal ring that looked like it held keys to every building in town. He was probably a very in-demand contractor. No wonder he knew everyone. Unlocking the door, he stepped aside, gesturing for Lora and Vilmari to go through first.
“You can leave your bags here. No one will take them,” he said. “This way.” He nodded his head, turning left down the hall.
“This is really so generous of you,” said Lora, trailing behind his long strides. “We wouldn’t want to keep you any longer from your work. If you tell us where his office is, we can take it from here.”
“It’s OK. It makes more sense for me to stay at this point.” He turned to the right, pausing in front of another door that was closed, but not completely. Shoving against it with his hip, he gave the handle a quick twist and popped it open. “I’ve got to come back and fix this.”
“You do work for everyone in this town, I guess,” said Lora, following him inside the office. Vilmari pulled up behind her, removing her sunglasses and blinking at the room. It was bigger than Lora would have guessed and crammed with furniture from every decade, it seemed. A ’60s-ish metal-and-Formica desk stood in the middle of the room, one ’70s-looking chair behind it and a couple of ’90s-looking chairs in front of it. A giant wooden armoire from some undetermined epoch stood against one wall, its doors having lost their ability to close ages ago. It was packed with reams of paper and booklets. A large oil painting of a seaside landscape hung on the wall behind the desk.
“You might say that,” he said. “You can have a seat.” He gestured toward the two chairs in front of the desk, pulled an eyeglass case from the cargo pocket of his pants, and slid on the black frames. “What did you say your name was again?” he asked as they scooted over to sit on the dark plum upholstered chairs.
“I’m Lora Brooks. And this is my friend Vilmari Colón,” she said, her eyes flicking up to the hard hat he was still wearing inside the office. His eyes drifted up as he seemed to realize it at the same moment and quickly removed it.
“It’s very nice to meet you,” he said. Walking around to the opposite side of the desk, he extended his hand to Lora. “Andrea Garibaldi. How can I be of service?”
Chapter 2
Andrea knew he should have told them that he was the mayor right from the beginning. He’d figured that they were just two tourists looking to get a photo of the Carlo Giuseppe Ratti painting hanging in the foyer of city hall. And he’d been trying to finish repairing the outside wall of the town house for the last three weeks, but something always came up. Maybe he could encourage these two women to come back later—there was no harm in that. But once the friend mentioned that they were from New York, it was clear that free time was over. He knew what it meant to be from New York.
He used to be from there too.
“Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you—” began Lora, a pinch between her brows. She took his outstretched hand, shaking it. Her hand was hot in his, the handshake an American kind of firm. Gray-blue eyes stared at him from under a sandy-colored fringe of bangs, and a smattering of freckles splashed across her nose and cheeks. He suddenly became aware thathe probably had a nasty case of hat head and ran his hand up through his slightly damp hair again.
“Well, he didn’t actually say that he was— Did you?” Vilmari turned to Andrea and cocked her head.
“I should have mentioned, you’re right,” he said. “It’s that I’ve been trying to work on that house and I don’t get much time to focus on it. I suppose I understand being overly determined.”
“Overlydetermined?” Vilmari cocked her head to the other side.
“No problem, really,” Lora said, eyeing Vilmari and smiling widely. “I will get right to it. I was accepted to a postdoctoral program at the University of Zurich and hope to start a long-term research project, which will require grant money. This is an important career goal for me and I am very excited about finally being able to make it happen. I can apply for a grant to do my research through the Swiss Scientific Foundation, which is generous, but unfortunately they will only award it to European citizens.”
“And you are not a European citizen,” he said.
“Not yet,” said Lora. “But that’s where you come in.”
“Don’t worry, she’s not going to ask you to marry her for the citizenship,” said Vilmari, laughing. Andrea blanched. “Although you’re cute. I mean, it’s not that she wouldn’t—”
“My father is from this town,” Lora pressed on. “His name was Ivo Giordano, and he died in 2000. From what I understand, that means I have rights to Italian citizenship.”
“Jure sanguinis.” Andrea sat back in his chair. “Yes. You are a citizen by blood. Your mother was not Italian, I am guessing.”
“No. She is—well, she was a mutt really. A mix of things, but all American.”
“And how far along are you in the process? Have you filed any paperwork yet? Alerted the immigration office here?”
