Page 127 of The English Bookstore in Bologna

“Yes!” someone shouted.

“Hear, hear,” said another.

What she’d said took his breath away. Maybe it was that easy.

Bianca stood and went to him. When she got close, she reached out a hand and pulled him up, then hugged him. Everyone else rose and started clapping, and when Bianca let him go, the next person was there to hug him and then the next, then the next.

For the first time in his life, Harold felt truly whole.

After everyone had dispersed, George found Sandy ringing up a last customer. “What an event,” he said.

“Yeah, not what I expected.” She gave the customer their change, then faced him. “You must be proud of her. That was special.”

He looked through the window at his daughter, standing outside chatting with some of the other guests. “I’m endlessly proud of her.” Back to Sandy, he said, “I wanted to see if you might be interested in joining us for dinner tomorrow night. It’s my last night.” He told her the details of Corrado’s restaurant, then drew a line through the air. “Just as friends.”

“I see. Who else is joining?”

“It was going to be a couple of Bianca’s friends, but they had to cancel. So the three of us, if that’s okay.”

“Could you make it five?” She looked over at Moira stacking chairs. “I’d love to invite Moira and Harold. I have some making up I have to do with them. I’ll pay for—”

“Sure, they can come,” George blurted out. Anything to spend one last night with her. Even if it was just as friends.

As he waited for Bianca to finish up with her new fans, George wandered around his mind, putting together the pieces of what Bianca had said today. And how Harold had experienced such a breakthrough by simply being honest with himself and everyone else.

George concluded that he had to tell Bianca what he’d said to Corrado.

But how, and when?

Harold found Moira putting away chairs. Most of the guests had left. “May I help?”

“Yeah, sure.”

He picked one up and folded it, searching for what he should say. Then it seemed obvious. “I’m sorry. For lying to you. For leading you on. For not seeing how you felt.”

“We don’t choose who we like, Harold. You have nothing to apologize for.”

He helped her for a few minutes, unsure of what else he could do. It felt like a stupid move to tell her that he did like her, now that his blinders were off. He didn’t want to make her feel like second place.

Not that she was.

“What are you doing later?” he finally asked.

She shook her head.

“Wanna hang out?”

“Harold, I don’t need pity.”

“This isn’t pity. What if I told you you’re the only friend I have?”

She laughed. “I’d tell you that you’re the second person who’s told me that today.”

“Okay, wasn’t expecting that. Maybe that’s what you do to people, make them feel like they matter.” He took her hand and pulled her toward him. “I’d like to get to know you. You’re the only friend I have and maybe more.”

“Maybe more.” She pulled back her hand. “Don’t do this.”

“I’m asking if you want to hang out tonight. I have to go home in the next few days, and I refuse to leave until we’re back to normal.”