Page 115 of The English Bookstore in Bologna

“I hope so. You’re a good man, and I enjoyed spending time with you. I hope you can figure out retirement.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“And I’m sorry I hit you. That was uncalled for.”

He touched his cheek, then waited, wanting her to say more.

She shook her head for a while. “I’ve left a wake of bad relationships behind me. Ones that have hurt too much. Even the idea of another is too much to stomach.”

“I get it. I’m not happy about it, but I get it.” She glanced at the door, his signal to leave.

How extraordinary that this woman could break his heart when they hadn’t even been together.

“Okay, well, glad we got this far,” he said, starting to go.

“I would like to be friends, though,” Sandy called out.

“Okay, then friends it is. Maybe I’ll see you before I take off.” He left before she could see how much her rejection had cost him. He’d be okay with friends, but the whole thing felt a bit one-sided.

Chapter 27

From Hot Mess to High Voltage

On the day of the book club, Bianca woke determined to reach out to Corrado, but an email from New York derailed her morning. The gist was that her agent was letting Bianca go.

After all the work it had taken to land an agent, the countless query letters, the rejection. The celebration when something like the eightieth letter had drawn interest from a hard hitter at the Mark Russell Agency in Manhattan, who’d been impressed with both the concept of From Meh to Megawatt and Bianca’s established platform.

Pop!

Bianca could still hear the cork bursting from the champagne bottle that night, when her friends had taken her out to Hestia in Austin to celebrate.

She’d never been fired for anything in her life, and the swell of rejection was enough to drown her. What a wonderful day to have her book be the focus of today’s book club. All she wanted to do was lie in bed and cry, but instead, she had to wax poetic about her piece of literary dung to a few disinterested expats whom Moira had likely convinced by force to attend.

The only good that came out of her agent throwing her to the sharks was that she was running out of fucks to give, rejection being her new currency, so after a few necessary tears, she fired off a text to Corrado, the man who kept ambushing her thoughts.

I know you’re busy, but could I see you for a few minutes?

Mess or not, she had to explore whatever feelings there were between them. And yes, George’s stance against the relationship made her want it even more.

She knew she was acting five years old. George was acting four, though. How could they have such a great time and make such headway but end up right back where they started? You’re goddamned right she’d crossed a line by saying what she’d said, but he’d backed her into a corner. There was no question she wished that conversation hadn’t happened, that she’d kept her composure and not ruined any positive momentum they’d built together, but she wasn’t the only one to blame. George had crossed lines too. Her love life was exactly none of his business.

She breathed a sigh of relief when Corrado texted right back. Sono a casa mia. Vieni. I’m at my house. Come over.

Corrado lived near Piazza Santo Stefano on the third floor of a building that faced the square. She’d caught him with bedhead. He wore athletic shorts and a sleeveless white shirt, showing off the butcher knife tattoo.

“Ciao,” he said, kissing her cheeks and letting her in. His breath smelled of mint. “I thought I might never see you again.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I know I’m sending mixed signals.”

He laughed. “That’s a good way to put it. Can I offer you coffee? I’m just waking. Late night at the restaurant.”

An L-shaped couch and a chair faced a large television. A stocked wet bar rested against a wall. The kitchen was chef worthy, an oversize island with various gadgets crammed in the shelves underneath. A single candle burned on the counter, giving off a citrusy scent.

He invited her to take a seat at the kitchen table while he ground beans and made two cappuccinos. “Kenyan beans,” he said, sliding a short mug her way. “An organic farm. Very intense flavors. So what’s going on?”

She took a sip. “That’s . . . incredible.”

He smiled into his own mug as he took a sip. “It is nice, isn’t it?”