Page 108 of The English Bookstore in Bologna

“Oh, hell, come here.” Sandy pulled him in and wrapped her arms around him, and he broke into a full-on cry on her shoulder.

She, who assumed she didn’t have a heart anymore, felt it pump, and her own tears crept up and threatened to spill. “I warned you, didn’t I? Love isn’t something you mess with. It’ll get you every time.”

He cried harder.

Not caring that they’d caused a scene, Sandy held him tighter and closed her eyes, feeling his pain. “I’ve been there, baby. Lord knows I’ve been there.”

His shoulders heaved, and it brought back all the pain she’d known when transfixed by love. And then she thought of Jack. It’d been so long since she’d seen him, and it hurt more than ever, but something about holding this scrawny kid made her feel like a mom again.

He eventually let her go, and she was surprised to find that she didn’t want him to. “Tell me what happened,” she said. “Wanna take a walk?”

He wiped his eyes, then joined her as she started down Via Giulia away from the bookstore. He told her of his absolutely ludicrous plan to get Alice back, reenacting the Say Anything scene with Spina, the opera singer.

Sandy couldn’t ignore the humor of it. “Harold, I have to give you this. That’s a big gesture. A beautiful one. You are amazing. I would have never guessed it, but you’re full of surprises.” She rubbed his head. “You know what, Alice is an idiot. That’s all there is to it. Time to let her go. There’s someone else out there waiting to break your heart, trust me.”

“Thank you for the bleak input,” he said in a tepid whisper as he slumped over.

“What? You want me to lie to you now? The one thing you get from me is the truth. Trust me, I thought I’d escaped after my two marriages and a bunch of flings with Italian men, but then comes this George character, wedging his way in.”

“Bianca’s dad?”

“That’s right. The guy with the awful white tennis shoes.”

“You like him?”

Not having him in the bookstore checking off tasks on her to-do list hurt as much today as it had yesterday and the day before. Where was he, anyway? She hadn’t even seen him out on the street in a week.

“I’m not answering that,” she finally said. “I don’t even want to say it out loud. What I know is that I’ve had one too many heartaches to ever give a relationship another try. You, my little wiry and clever friend, probably have more in you. Takes more than one hard lesson to learn. Who knows, maybe you’ll get it right down the road. What is it, one in fifty relationships works out?”

“Is it that bad?”

“I was being optimistic. But what I can say is that this thing you were trying to do, becoming Aroldo, you don’t need to do that. Sure, you should dress well and get your act together. Shave and get that mangy hair in order. But you still need to be yourself. Because I’ve seen you, truly seen who you are, the one and only Harold Gibler, and there’s a woman out there who will fall desperately for you, young man. You’re one of a kind, and you love harder than any man I’ve ever met. You hear me?”

He inclined his shoulders a hair, then let them fall.

She stopped and made him face her. “Do you hear me, Harold? You’re a good man, and there’s someone out there who’s lonely and sad and about to give up, too, and one day, you’re going to walk into her life, and the whole world will light on fire. Got me?”

“Yeah.”

She pulled him in for one more hug, and she felt so grateful to have him in her life.

Deciding to stay in Rome a couple of nights, Bianca and George found an Airbnb in the Trastevere neighborhood and were able to grab a last-minute table at Rimessa Roscioli for one of the best meals of their life, including a cacio e pepe pasta that came close to giving Bianca a new religion. Such a simple pasta—black pepper, pecorino Romano, maybe some Parmigiano-Reggiano, butter, olive oil, and noodles—but a dish that took generations to master. What better captured Italy?

Cones of gelato now in hand, still high off their meal, they strolled to the Colosseum to see it lit up at night. To be here with her dad meant everything to her. She even wished that Faith were here, too, not to bring her parents back together in a romantic sense, but just for old times’ sake.

The good times really had been good.

The next morning, they both woke complaining about the firmness of the beds. Bianca had made the giant mistake of not reading the reviews beforehand. Unfortunately, the day they’d planned was not the best to tackle on limited sleep.

They went at it hard, starting with a hefty walk to the other side of the city to experience the National Gallery of Modern and Contemporary Art. Some of the exhibits were a bit much for George, but he found a few that apparently captured him. Mistiming the day, they had to skip lunch to connect with a group for a walking tour that an ambitious Bianca, who hadn’t yet known how bad the beds would be, had committed to.

All was well until it wasn’t.

By the time they wrapped up near the Spanish Steps, George was complaining about the new shoes she’d talked him into buying (they didn’t have the cushy soles), and Bianca was hangry. Maybe the tour wouldn’t have lasted so long if George hadn’t asked so many questions. What type of stone is this? Where exactly did they source it? How did they transport it? Apparently, walking tours were his jam—and he didn’t even know it till now.

It was after three when they started looking for a restaurant for lunch, but with it being the last few days of June, the city was overly crowded, making for limited dining options. George’s meat-and-potatoes mindset made it even more so.

Deciding they might have better luck in Trastevere, they flagged down a cab, both sighing as they climbed in. It went without saying that they’d both be happy never walking again.