Chapter 15

I awaken tothe early morning chatter of birds through my open bedroom window and a soft morning breeze kissing my skin. I open my eyes and smile. I could wake up like this every day for the rest of my life. Checking my phone, I yawn and rub my eyes. It's seven thirty. I was hoping to sleep in a little on my first day off, but I'm too excited to go back to sleep. Throwing off the covers, I quickly do my morning skincare routine and get dressed. The sky is the limit on what I might do and where I might travel. I pull up the train schedule and head into the kitchen. A note on my kitchen table under a wooden bowl has me stopping in my tracks. That wasn't there last night.

Amica mia, come outside when you wake up.—Ren

I grab my purse and run to the front door, throwing it open. Ren is leaning against his car reading something on his phone, looking hotter than ever in a t-shirt, shorts, a baseball hat turned backwards, and a pair of black Wayfarers. He looks adorably American.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, sounding breathless.

"Buongiorno, Summer. It's Friday. You have the day off, sí?"

"Yes…but shouldn't you be at work?"

"I want to show you something." He shrugs, like it's no big deal he's playing hooky.

"Oh, um, okay. Actually, I was going to head to the train station and go somewhere." I look wistfully over my shoulder at the road that leads into town.

"Where?"

I toe the gravel with my shoe. "I haven't decided."

"Nah, this will be better. Come on." He opens the passenger door. I hesitantly walk over to him and climb in, leaning back against the buttery leather. He slides in next to me and I inhale the scent of woods mixed with mint and leather. It's heavenly. I could bottle it and sniff it obsessively.

"Where are we going?"

"Fiore asked me to run to San Miniato for some truffles and then I thought perhaps you'd like to come along and we can drive to Pisa and then up to a little hideaway called Isola Santa. It's a day trip though. Is that okay?"

"Yes, that would be amazing!"

"Va Bene." He smiles before revving the engine, his tires spinning on the gravel as we speed away from the house. "I brought you a coffee." He points to the paper cup in the holder and I groan gratefully, making him smile. "So tell me, how are you able to take off so much time from work for the summer?"

"Um, I'm not." I take a sip of the espresso and stare out the window. "I'm waiting to hear from my employer to see if I can work remotely after my vacation days are up. But don't worry, it won't interfere with working at the farm. I can do it at night, which actually works better with the time difference."

"Ah, I see. What will you do if they say no?"

"Well…" I take a deep breath, remembering I'm sitting next to my other employer, who probably is wondering if I'm going to leave them high and dry.

He glances over at me before returning his eyes to the road. "Surely you've thought about what might happen if they say you can't work remotely."

"To be honest, I've been stuck in that job for years. It's a means to an end for me, not a passion. If they say no, then I've thought about freelancing."

"Hmm, that can't be easy…freelancing, especially while living in Italy."

"I have some contacts I could call on." I bite my lip, hoping like hell this will all work out. "Working in a job you no longer love isn't easy either."

"True. What are you appassionato about?"

"Passionate? Oh gosh, I don't think anyone has ever asked me that before."

"Would you still be a graphic designer if you could change your job?"

"Yes, but I love print-ad design. I kind of fell into the job at Granite right out of college and stayed with it because it was a steady paycheck and I knew what to expect. At the time, my grandmother was sick, and I needed something practical. There was never the excitement of having to think out of the box." I scrunch my brows together. Perhaps that's why I've outgrown it there. "I've always wanted to be a creative director in advertising."

"Hm…" Lorenzo scrubs his jaw. "Would you like to run some ideas by me for Rossi Olive Oil?"

"What…are you serious?"

He flashes me a sexy grin. "I never joke about business, bella. I'll pay you for your time."

I can barely keep myself from throwing my arms around him. "But don't you have an advertising team already on payroll?"

"Yes, but I'm the boss." He shrugs like it's no big deal running a multi-million-dollar business. "If I want to see some new creative work from someone else, I can."

"I bet you always get what you want, Lorenzo Rossi." Watching the countryside zoom by, excitement zips through my veins.

"Not always, tesoro." He shifts in his seat, tapping the steering wheel with his thumb, and glances at me as I glance at him.

"I'll come up with some ideas as soon as we get home."

"Good. I look forward to it. Ah, I'm sorry, never a day off I'm afraid." He picks up a call coming through and speaks rapidly in Italian. I sink into the leather and my thoughts get lost in the passing scenery.

An hour and fifty minutes later, he maneuvers the Maserati on to a long dirt road surrounded by woods. A small, weathered cabin with smoke curling out of the stone chimney stack stands at the end of the lane like a dreamy Thomas Kinkade painting. An older gentleman with a white beard, dressed in linen pants and a matching vest, waves at us from the front step. A King Charles spaniel bounces around him, barking.

"Where are we?"

"You'll see." Ren releases my seatbelt and quickly hops out, waving to the man. "Ciao, Zio Gino!"

I gingerly open my door as the dog bounds toward the car. Gino shouts a command, which stops the dog in its tracks. Lorenzo walks around and helps me out of the car. "Summer, this is my great Uncle Gino Ferraro. He is Nonna Rossi's brother. He lives out here in the beautiful countryside of San Miniato and runs truffle tours with his sweet pup, Biscotti."

I shake hands with Uncle Gino. "Buongiorno, Gino." Biscotti circles around me and sits on her haunches, her tongue lolling to the side. "Buongiorno, Biscotti, sei bellissima." I run my fingers over her silky ears.

Uncle Gino gives a gap-tooth grin. "Pronti a scovare qualche tartufo?"

"Oh, um…" I turn to Ren for help.

"He asked if you're ready to hunt for some truffles."

"What exactly do you mean by hunt?" I survey our surroundings. "We're going into the woods to find them?"

"Sí, only the best for Fiore." Ren rolls his eyes and smiles. "Come on, tesoro, it will be fun. No guns or hurting animals involved. Tourists pay lots of money to have Uncle Gino help them find their treasured truffles."

I nod and smile at Uncle Gino. He claps Ren on the back and we start off into the woods, Biscotti zipping ahead. "If you're here in November, there's a huge truffle festival and a hunt for the rare white truffle only grown in these parts. It's a lot of fun and the food is out of this world—all made with truffles, of course."

"Ho sempre i tartufo bianchi," Uncle Gino mutters. "It was my father who had the largest truffle in nineteen fifty-four, not that stronzo, Rizzotti." He spits on to the ground.

I stumble over a small log and Ren quickly grabs my hand to steady me. "Uncle Gino said he always has white truffles in his woods. The largest truffle in the world was found back in nineteen fifty-four. Nonno Ferraro claimed it was found in these woods, but word got back to his competitor and neighbor, Fabrizio Rizzotti. Fabrizio stole it from him in the middle of the night and presented it to the Truffle Society as his the next day. Nonno Ferrari couldn't prove it, but both families knew the truth. Our families have been feuding since."

"Very Capulets and Montagues…without the star-crossed lovers." I laugh.

"Rizzotti può mangiare le sue stesse palle," Uncle Gino shouts, lifting his fist in the air.

"Uncle Gino wishes fervently for the Rizzottis to die a painful death."

"Wait, doesn't mangiare mean to eat? What does he want him to eat?"

Ren sighs, removing his hat, and runs his fingers through his hair. "Mamma mia, tesoro, don't make me say it."

I grin as his cheeks flush adorably. "What does Uncle Gino want Rizzotti to eat, Ren? I can always ask Nonna—"

"His own balls, Summer. Uncle Gino said Rizzotti can eat his own balls."

I laugh and swing our clasped hands back and forth while we walk. "That's a filthy mouth you've got there, Signor Rossi."

He side-eyes me and grunts.

"But I promise, lips sealed. I won't ever mention the name Rizzotti or the great white truffle controversy."

"Sí, especially don't mention it around Nonna." Lorenzo squeezes my hand and chuckles. "It makes her…lose her mind."

"This is so fun. I never dreamed I'd be going truffle hunting." I smile up at him. "So, what are we looking for exactly?"

"Cacca fossilizzata," Uncle Gino says, trudging ahead of us.

"Cacca…uh, is that what I think it is?" I look over at Ren's profile. The sun filtering through the leaves dapples his rich brown hair. He looks like he's in a photoshoot titled, truffle hunting by Ralph Lauren.

He shakes his head and grins. "Sí, he said fossilized poop. It will look more like a light brown ginger root or a rock. We are looking for a black truffle called Tartufo Nero Scorzone. Biscotti will help find them. Uncle Gino used to use pigs to hunt for the truffles, but they kept eating them when they'd find them, so he switched to training dogs like Biscotti."

"Biscotti, good girl." Uncle Gino pats her side.

Sure enough, five minutes later, Biscotti barks at a spot in the woods. Leaning down, Uncle Gino picks up a black rock and sniffs it, his wrinkly face breaking into a smile. "Tartufo Nero Scorzone."

He hands it to Ren, who also sniffs it then holds it out to me. I arch an eyebrow.

"Smell it, tesoro." His eyes twinkle.

"It matches Uncle Gino's description accurately." I wrinkle my nose, causing him to laugh.

"Credimi." His long black eyelashes frame the most beautiful greenish-gray irises, his soulful gaze holding mine. "Trust me."

I nod and clasp his wrist, leaning forward to smell the truffle. It's earthy scent transports me back to when I was little and helped my Grams in her garden, picking out the wild onion. "It reminds me of summer evenings."

"Sí. Black summer truffles are more mild than the winter ones. Black truffles have to be cooked, but white truffles can be eaten raw. Fiore will be thrilled."

Uncle Gino unearths a few more and Ren puts the truffles into a bag before we head back down the trail. We thank Uncle Gino and Biscotti and head back to the car.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"I know how busy you are. Why are you out in the middle of the woods on a Friday morning gathering truffles for your sister? Your uncle could have brought them to her or she could have asked Fredo to do it."

"True, I could have sent someone to bring them to us, but then you would have missed out on a century-old tradition of truffle hunting…and I wouldn't have had the chance to spend the day with you."

I wonder if he can hear how loud my heart is pounding against my rib cage. "I—"

"Besides, everyone who comes to this region needs a Leaning Tower of Pisa picture." He opens the car door for me.

I settle back into my seat. "You mean a picture of me holding it in my hand?" I smirk.

"Sì, esatto. Friends don't let friends leave Italy without visiting the famous tower."

"Okay, friend." I shake my head, my feelings for him growing more confused than ever. Or maybe just…growing.

He looks overat the position of my hands, and nods. "Push the throttle gently. Your right hand." He shows me what to do on his Vespa.

"Oh God, I'm so nervous." I take a deep breath. "Just move my hand forward?"

"It's just like riding a bike."

"Look how well that turned out for me," I gripe, moving my hands over the black handlebars.

"Concentrate, tesoro. You can do this. Your grip should be relaxed, but firm."

"Relaxed, but firm. I can do this. Just like riding a bike," I repeat under my breath, pushing forward, but the handle doesn't turn. "Nothing's happening!"

"Your other right hand." Ren's lips twitch, while he patiently waits for me to figure out my left and right.

"This is insane." I wipe my sweaty palms on my shorts.

We rented the scooters to zip around Pisa. Ren said I needed the whole Italian experience. I think his plan is to try to kill me by Vespa so he can take back the house. Sweat breaks out on my brow as I push the right throttle forward. The Vespa lurches and I scream, my feet dragging across the pavement. The Vespa swerves back and forth. People on the sidewalk blur past me as I increase the speed. A horn blares from a man on a scooter charging right for me at full throttle.

"Summer, turn!" Ren shouts from behind me.

"Watch out," I shriek at the man. He honks his horn, gesturing wildly at me, yelling not-so-nice words in Italian while swerving around me.

"Oh God, I don't want to die today. Not on a Vespa." That was close…too close. I make a sharp right turn and head straight for a parked car.

"Brakes! Pull the brakes!" Lorenzo yells. My fingers wrap around the left handlebar brake and I jerk it back. The Vespa jolts and shakes. "Use both at the same time!"

My right hand moves to the brake lever instead of the throttle and I pull both brakes back. The Vespa comes to a stop, but not before bumping into a parked car. Lorenzo pulls up beside me and turns off his scooter.

"Oh God, oh my God, I hit someone's car. Did you see that guy screaming at me? We have to leave a note. We have to wait for them to get back and tell them what happened. Will my insurance pay for this? That jerk literally almost ran me over!"

"Summer, calm down." Lorenzo's voice soothes my frazzled nerves. He reaches around and turns off my Vespa. "The car is fine, not even a scratch. If you own a car in Italy, you expect someone to dent it. Don't worry about it." He helps me down and removes my helmet. "You're shaking. Are you okay?"

"I'm…" Tears threaten to spill over. Without asking, he wraps me in a hug, my face pressing into his chest. He murmurs something calming in Italian and I melt against him. My arms wrap around his waist and I cling to him, waiting for my pulse to resume to its normal beat.

"I almost died. I should come with a warning label. I'm terrible at driving Vespas. I shouldn't try to experience Italy," I say against his chest.

"I noticed." I can hear the smile in his voice. "Perhaps we'll just park this one and you can ride with me. Are you okay?" He moves me away from his t-shirt and rubs his thumb across my cheek. I'm already missing the warmth of being wrapped in his arms.

"I'm okay."

"Let me just roll this off the bumper," he teases, releasing me. He pulls the Vespa back and parks it against the curb. He climbs on his scooter and holds out my helmet, motioning for me to get on behind him. I slide onto the seat and gingerly place my hands on his waist. He takes my hands and wraps them around his middle so my chest is pressed flush to him.

"Hang on, tesoro."

I drop my forehead to his back and tighten my grip as he pulls out into traffic.

"I'll show you Tower of Pisa and the best pizza in the city and then we'll have gelato in Isola Santa, sí? But first you're going to have to loosen your grip. You're about to rip my shirt off." He pats my hand.

"Sorry." I loosen my hold on him a fraction. His body heat blocks the chill of the mid-morning breeze as we zip in and out of traffic. "Which city do you like better? Pisa or Florence?" I ask him.

"Definitely Florence, but it's opposite of where we were going today. If you'd like to go, I can take you and show you around another day."

I smile into his shirt. "I'd like that."

"Perfetto. Me too."

We spent anamazing afternoon in Pisa and Isola Santa, a tiny medieval town next to the most brilliant emerald-green lake tucked between two mountains reflecting the surrounding hills and blue sky. We walked across the dam and up the mountainside to an old, deserted town. The views were worth the hike that left me out of breath. Ren looked like he could have walked it in his sleep.

We sat at a little restaurant in the nearly deserted village looking out over the lake and chatted over cappuccinos about everything and nothing under the fading afternoon light, savoring our time together. It was magnifico.

He pulls into the crushed gravel courtyard in front of Casa Rossi and turns off the car, dusk clinging to the night sky.

"Would you like to come in?" I ask.

"Another time." He smiles. "I need to swing by the office to check on some things and give Fiore her truffles."

"Ah, yes. Truffle hunting seems like a lifetime ago." I unhook my seatbelt and turn toward him. "Thank you for today, Ren. I had an amazing day."

"Except for the Vespa."

"Except for that. I'm glad the company didn't charge you for the scuff mark." Heat blossoms on my cheeks as I give him a wobbly grin. "Well, I should go inside."

His beautiful, smoky hazel eyes lock on to mine. He brushes his thumb across my cheek, and the air between us stills. My lips part, unspoken words bouncing between us. He cups my jaw like he's going to pull me forward to his lips, but just as quickly, he drops his hand.

"Summer…"

"Yeah, Ren?"

"I had fun today, too. Buona sera, tesoro."

"Buona sera, Ren."

I scramble out of the car and practically run inside the house before I do something ridiculous and beg him to kiss me. Keep your head on straight. He just wants to be friends.

I lean back against the front door and sigh, hearing his tires crunch over the gravel. There's definitely an attraction there. I know he feels it too, but he's holding back. I pull out my phone and look up the word tesoro; it means ‘treasure' in Italian.

O Dio mio, I'm in trouble.