Page 91 of The English Bookstore in Bologna

“What do you mean? I was simply out for a walk, a long walk, and thought I’d take an espresso and read.” He gestured toward the book.

“Ferrante?” she asked, stepping forward. “That’s one of my favorite books.”

“It’s delightful, isn’t it?”

He glanced at her backpack. “On your way to class, yeah?”

She nodded, her hair doing a bounce.

“And how is your Renzo? Are you back with him?”

She slumped some. “Yeah, we’re back together, I guess.”

I guess. The two sweetest words Aroldo could have ever heard. Finally, a crack.

“As long as you’re happy, then I am. But he better be treating you right, love. You deserve only the best.”

She lit up at that. “That’s kind of you. He’s a good guy. A little hot tempered, but nobody’s perfect.”

Harold might have said that she was the definition of perfect, but Aroldo held his cool. “Anyway, I best get back to it. I wanted to get a few chapters in before a hike up to the Portico di San Luca to soak up the view.”

She tilted her head. “Really? I didn’t think you were much of a walker.”

He touched his chest, insulted. “Me? I get in my fifteen to twenty thousand steps a day. No big deal.”

She pressed her lips together and widened her eyes. “Who are you, Harold?”

Harold is dead, he said to himself.

“Let’s just say that Bologna has been good for me.”

“I can see that.”

He almost invited her to sit, but that was a Harold move. He simply held her gaze, taking the position of power. Sandy would have been proud. Then: “Enjoy your day, dear.”

She adjusted the strap of her backpack. “It’s good seeing you, really. Maybe we could have coffee sometime. I enjoyed hanging out with you. Thanks for being there for me, talking me down.”

He wanted to say the man she’d encountered that night had been Harold the Weak; he’d been the one to hold her in his arms all night. Had it been Aroldo, she would still be blushing.

“Make sure he’s treating you the way you deserve, you understand?”

A quick, insecure nod.

“Alice. I’m serious.”

“Thanks, Harold.”

Aroldo pushed up from his seat, set a hand on her waist, kissed both her cheeks, then locked eyes with her. “Ci vediamo, cara.”

“Listen to you,” she chirped.

Aroldo didn’t respond. He simply turned and found his seat again, never once looking back.

Once he was sure that she was gone, a smile filled his face as he said to himself, “Well, that was nice. Bravo, Aroldo.”

Chapter 22

Running from Yourself