Chapter 9

I drag myone suitcase into the kitchen and sit down on the bench, looking around at the old house. Harrison and I went back to the hotel, packed up my things and immediately came back before Nonna's cranky grandson returned and locked us out. I can't believe I'm really here and doing this. "I'm living in Italy! Woo-hoo!" I yell at the top of my lungs.

"Che cavolo?"

I whirl around and see Nonna struggling with a large paper bag outside the kitchen screen door. I rush toward her, embarrassed she heard me shout. "Signora Rossi, here, let me help you." I take the paper bag from her and set it on the counter. "What does che cavolo mean?"

"What cabbage," Nonna grumbles. "It also means what the hell. You scared me, shouting like that."

"I'm so sorry, I was excited," I say, chagrined. I peek into the bag and almost melt to the floor as I inhale the aroma of freshly baked bread and tomato sauce. My stomach growls obnoxiously. I slap a hand over it and glance at Nonna. "Is this for me?"

"Sí, a little welcome dinner from the Rossi famiglia. My granddaughter, Fiore, is a chef."

"Grazie, Signora Rossi, this smells wonderful. I haven't eaten since this morning."

"Call me Nonna, per favore. Where is your friend? I packed enough for him, too."

"Oh, that's so kind. He went out to get a few things for me. He'll appreciate coming back to a home-cooked dinner."

"Is he, uh…staying here too?"

"Oh no, Harrison is heading back to the States tomorrow. He's just a friend helping me out."

"Sí, sí. It's nice to have good friends. Molto bene. I had fresh linens and towels put in the first bedroom at the top of the stairs."

"Grazie, Nonna."

Nonna sits down at the long trestle table. "I want to uh…scusarsmi for my grandson, Lorenzo. He was under the impression I was signing the house over to him today."

"Oh…oh." Realization washes over me as I sit down across from her. "This is his house?"

"No…sí. è complicato."

"So, I am living in Lorenzo's house? This isn't good." The memory of his fuming, smoky, hazel eyes flash in my mind. "Is he mad that I'm here?"

Nonna gets up and unpacks the bag, humming a jaunty little tune. I know she heard me.

"Nonna, is Lorenzo upset I'm living here?"

"Chi se ne frega."

I arch an eyebrow. "I don't know what that means, but I don't want to make him upset and I certainly don't want—"

"I simply said, I don't care what Renzo thinks and you shouldn't either. This is still my house and I can do what I want with it and let whoever I want to stay in it. Sí?" She looks up and pins me with a no-nonsense glare.

My teeth grab my bottom lip and I drop my gaze. "Okay."

Nonna's expression softens. She walks over to me and gently pats my back. "Sh, sh, figlia mia. Do not worry yourself. I'll handle Lorenzo. You are here now and that is that."

She reminds me so much of Grams, the memories sting the corners of my eyes. "Grazie, Nonna, for taking a chance on me."

"You will find what it is you're looking for, Summer. Sí? Ho fiducia in te." She slaps the table with her palm. "Now then, I must go. This old woman goes to bed early. You let me know if you need anything, sí?" She winks at me. "Buona sera, Summer."

"Buona sera, Nonna." I stand and kiss her soft, papery cheek and help her to the door. "Thank you for everything."

I pull out my phone and translate Ho fiducia in te. I swallow past the lump in my throat, reading the words. I have faith in you.

Harrison steps intothe kitchen after I leave another message for Barbara. I've left her four since I arrived in Italy, asking her to check in with me. It's so typical and frustrating of her not to text or call to acknowledge my messages while I'm thousands of miles away.

"Is there a cat who lives here?" Harrison asks.

"I don't think so…Nonna didn't mention a cat."

"Hmm, there's one on the front doorstep. Probably the neighbor's cat."

"I hope so. Cats and I are non-simpatico. My Grams had a cat growing up named Fancy. A big fluffy white cat that always swished her tail and flattened her ears. She used to attack my hair in my sleep and pee on my shoes. God, I hated Fancy."

Harrison smirks. "And that's why I'm ‘allergic'." He air-quotes. "I picked up a few things to get you by until you can go. The grocery store isn't too far into town."

"Thanks H, that was really sweet of you. Nonna stopped by and dropped off some food not too long ago. I've been salivating over it, waiting for you to get back. She said her granddaughter is a chef."

"Sweet! I'm starving."

"How's your head wound?" I ask while I pull some plates from a cabinet.

Harrison touches the bandage on his forehead. "It's okay. I'll probably have a small scar from it."

"You could make up a good story, like you were driving a Ferrari through Italy and ran off a cliff or something."

"Then I'd be dead," Harrison chuffs, opening the bag Nonna brought. He takes out some plastic utensils and napkins. "Besides, I think it sounds kind of cool if I just nod my head and say, bike accident, and that's it. Leave them wondering."

I smother my laugh and nod my head. "Mysterious. I like it."

"How's your thumb?"

"It's not too bad. Tylenol helps with the pain."

"I'm sorry about the accident," Harrison says quietly.

"Hey, it wasn't your fault. Accidents happen. Besides, if we hadn't wrecked, we'd be listening to Blake quote Lance Armstrong while Ginny drools on herself right about now."

Harrison laughs. "Man, I will not miss those two. If I had to listen to one of Blake's Ironman stories one more time…"

"Or listen to Michael laugh at his own stupid jokes…" I cringe.

"Or watch Gary take selfies of his hair in the Tuscan sunlight."

"See? We dodged a bullet." I laugh.

We sit down at the table and dig into the spaghetti with marinara. We both groan in appreciation before settling into small talk about the tour.

"That was amazing." Harrison tosses his napkin onto his empty plate and sits back in his chair. He takes a sip of his Coke, looking around the kitchen. "Are you sure you don't want me to stay the night? This place looks old. Like a fire could start if you turn on a light switch, kind of old."

"Thanks for putting the image of the house burning down in my sleep tonight in my head," I deadpan, walking my plate over to the sink. I turn on the taps and the pipes make a horrible screeching sound followed by a few thumps and moans, like a gallon of water is trying to squeeze through a toothpick-size pipe. I twist around, my eyes widening. Harrison looks like he's about to be attacked by a dozen birds.

"What the hell is that noise?"

Before I can answer him, the water jets out of the faucet in spurts before trickling out.

"The pipes probably haven't been turned on in a while." Brown water flows and I hold my breath, hoping it turns clear, which it does after a few seconds.

"Summer, I strongly advise you not to drink the water."

"It will be fine." I wrinkle my nose. I hope they have bottled water at the store.

"Yeah, I've changed my mind on my offer. Are you sure you don't want to sleep at the hotel tonight?"

I rinse my plate with dish soap and set it on the drying rack. "I'll be fine. It's charming."

"Ooo-kay, if that's what we're calling it." He brings his plate over and washes it. "What are you going to do tomorrow? When do you start your job?"

"Tomorrow I'll go to the store to get the rest of the things I need and check out the town. I don't have to start work until Monday, so at least I have a couple days to get settled."

A horn blasts from outside. "Crap, that's my taxi. I told him to return after an hour. I can tell him to come back if you need me to stay longer, or if you want to come with me." He raises an eyebrow.

I shake my head, tears threatening to spill. I stand up on my tiptoes and wrap Harrison in a bone-crushing hug. "I'll be okay. Thanks for being my friend, H. I wouldn't have survived the bike tour without you."

"Actually, you probably would have. I'm the reason you dislocated your thumb, ending the tour early."

I laugh against his soft cotton hoodie. "Well, you know what I mean."

"Summer?"

"Yeah?"

"Hugs make me uncomfortable."

"Of course they do." I chuckle and release him. "Keepin' it real, dude."

"Keepin' it real." He grins at Blake's stupid saying. He holds his fist out for a bump. I tap my knuckles to his and walk him to the door.

"Stay in touch, 'kay?"

"Ha, I'll be back. I now have a friend in Italy, and a free place to stay. Find out if smokin'-hot Daniella is single." He waggles his eyebrows.

I roll my eyes and laugh. "Bye, H. Keep in touch."

I close the door and the quiet suddenly crashes into me. I grab my cell and call Cara.

"Two calls back-to-back? To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I need to tell you something, but first, have you been able to go over to my place to check on Barbara? She's not returning my calls."

"I stopped by yesterday after we got off the phone. I let myself in, but she wasn't there. Are you sure you two are related?"

"Regrettably, why?"

"She is not the neatest individual."

"I'm aware. Ugh, I hope she tries to clean up after herself. Thanks for checking." I pause, wondering how to bring this up. "Um, so I might stay here a little longer than expected."

"I thought you said last night you were coming home in a couple of days?"

"Well, last night, yes, that was the plan." I take a deep breath and pull off the proverbial Band-Aid. "I woke up this morning, found a rental place and a job at an olive farm, and now I'm living here for the summer."

"You what?" I hold the phone away from my ear while Cara lectures about responsibilities, jobs, Barbara, finding love, and cursing Under the Tuscan Sun.

"Are you done?"

"Look, you're a grown woman and can do what you want, but this is so not like you. What about your job?"

"I emailed my boss and asked if I could work remotely after my vacation time is up. I mean, it's all done on computers, anyway. Besides, I think I might want to try something different… I don't know, this has all happened so fast. I haven't wrapped my head around it yet."

"I just hope you know what you're doing." Cara clucks her tongue. "I'm not going to pretend I understand this Italian midlife crisis you're going through, but I'm here for you."

"I'm fine, Cara, I promise. By August I'll be ready to come back refreshed and ready to roll."

"What do you know about olives, anyway?" She chuckles.

I sit down at the kitchen table and sigh. "Not much."

"Does this have anything to do with the hunky doctor, by chance?"

Hazel eyes and dark, rich hair flash before my eyes. I haven't even told Cara about the dark thundercloud known as Lorenzo Rossi yet, but I'm too tired to explain it all right now. Meeting Dr. Bianchi yesterday afternoon seems like a lifetime ago.

"No, it has nothing to do with the doctor, I promise."

"Well, damn. I was kind of hoping you'd have some passionate love affair with a handsome Italian," she teases. "I miss you already. Send me pictures of the house."

"I will. It's old, but beautiful. How's Damien?"

"Damien is Damien. He's been watching Food Network obsessively since he's been working from home. I think he's following your lead. He wants to quit his job and become the next Bobby Flay. I tried to tell him he needs to take a cooking class before he makes any rash decisions. He accidentally lit our dinner on fire last night, so we had takeout for the third night in a row."

"Oh, man." I giggle. "How do you accidentally light dinner on fire?"

"He said he was trying a flambé technique. I walked into the kitchen, and the pan was fully engulfed. Maybe I can convince him to whisk me off to Italy this summer after I wrap up the Asher divorce, and he can take some cooking lessons there."

"That would be amazing. I miss you."

"I miss you, too. I've got a work call coming in. Be careful. I'll have Babs call you. Ciao!"

"It's actually arriveder—" I look down at my phone, the call disconnected. "—ci," I mumble to myself.

I grab my suitcase and heft it up the stairs, turning into the first bedroom on the left, across from the bathroom. A soft breeze stirs the curtains from the window on the far side of the room. The walls are plaster and painted white. A vase of wildflowers sits on a small wooden bedside table. There's a pale green armoire in the corner painted with roses.

I sit down on the bed with the light pink quilt and bounce a little. It's small, but cozy. This is going to work out okay, I tell myself. It has to.