Page 78 of The English Bookstore in Bologna

He looked away.

“Fine, tell me. I’m dying to know.”

“Okay. Well, I like everything Moira’s doing. You have to build a sense of community. The English speakers here need to have a place to convene. And maybe—”

“Did I hear my name?” Moira came under the arch and said hello.

“You did, actually,” George said.

Sandy gripped her throat and pretended to choke herself. He had to give it to her: She was funny without even trying. If he wasn’t reading things wrong, she might even be flirting.

“At the risk of being blackballed from the store,” George said, “I was adding on to your ideas for drawing in more customers.”

“I can’t wait to hear!” Moira looked over at Sandy, seeking approval to eavesdrop.

Sandy set both hands on the counter. “That makes two of us. This is a real meeting of the minds here. Moira the Invincible, and George, the newest greatest bookseller on earth, who has been at it for exactly zero days.”

“Let’s hear him out,” Moira said.

“Please don’t throw anything at me, but what if . . . what if you included a section of American and British items, things people crave from back home? If they’re anything like me, they can’t find pancakes anywhere. Or Cheez-Its.”

“Cheez-Its,” Sandy said with eyes the size of basketballs.

“Yeah. Cheez-Its. I bet even American expats in Venice will come to your store for Cheez-Its. You need more ways to draw them. Slushies would be another good one.”

“How about the American version of Coca-Cola with high-fructose corn syrup?” Sandy offered. “Gotta supersize them, though. And don’t forget ketchup. We’ll need to build extra shelves for all the ketchup.”

“Look at funny lady on a roll! And Twinkies. Root beer.”

Sandy pressed her hands over her ears, a playful look on her face.

And George fell in love with her. Right then and there.

“How about from England, Moira?” George asked. “What do you miss?”

Moira exploded with glee. “He’s got a point, Sandy. There’s nothing I miss more than bangers and mash. You can’t find good English sausages anywhere. And mushy peas, yum! We’d have to create a refrigerated section.”

Sandy pretended to smack her head against the counter. “Please make it stop.”

Much more grinning and George’s jaw would ache. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t coming by to push American food products on you, though come to think of it . . . Goldfish, ranch dressing, Kraft Mac & Cheese. I haven’t seen any of these yet. And what about peanut butter cups? Do they have them here?” He looked from Sandy to Moira.

Moira appeared to be having the time of her life. Sandy’s smile had died.

“Kidding,” he said. “I’m kidding. What I did want to offer is my handyman services. I’m happy to stay in my lane.” He picked up the pink toolbox. “Besides, you have to let me put these new tools to work. Is there anything I can help with?”

It took a moment for Sandy to gather herself. Apparently, when she’d cut ties with her homeland, she’d said goodbye to the best of America too.

“Actually,” she finally said, “I do have some things that need fixing. If you’re not busy.”

“I’m running out of things to do at Bianca’s. Next up, I’ll be organizing her shoes, and nobody wants that.”

Moira shook her head playfully. “Nope.” Even Sandy let loose some. He was having way too much fun with these women. It was nice to find some confidence again. Believe it or not, he’d been accused of being charming over the years.

“I guess I do have a list, if you’re really interested.”

God, he loved a woman who kept lists. Thankfully, he was able to curb his tongue before he said that out loud. “Let’s see it.”

“Suit yourself. I’ll, of course, pay you. Let me run upstairs and grab it off my computer.” He didn’t plan on charging her, but he didn’t say that either. She returned with some tasks scribbled on a sticky note. “Here you go, my list of broken things.”