She giggled at the image of a sleep-rumpled Matteo bolting out of bed. She’d much rather see him waking gently beside her, his warm, sleepy-soft body spooned against hers…
She cleared her throat and forced her attention back to the present moment. “Have you lived here long?”
“Since November. Sal needed help when Zia Giulia got sick.” He stared into the distance, his gaze misty. “Breast cancer. Took her so damn fast. I lost my job in Seattle, and Sal offered me this place. Kind of a lifesaver for me.”
“I’ll bet you’re a big help to him too.”
He shrugged. “I try to be useful. He could barely manage the shop without Giulia’s help. What they had was really special.” He smiled and clasped her hand, his thumb tracing arcs over her knuckles. “Anyway, I picked up the slack at the gelato shop. I’m happy here.” He rolled up an extension cord snaking across the floor. “Sal and me, we’re simpatico, you know? Refugees from the rat race. He sings his opera, I make my furniture, and we both sling gelato.” He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “So, you hungry? Sal’s fixing dinner for us.”
She chuckled. “Seems you’re always feeding me, Matteo. You should let me cook for you.”
He waved away her protest with a flick of his fingers. “You’re on vacation. You don’t have to be the mom all the time.”
That reminder poked like a rusty pin. Olivia and Noah had sent dozens of photos throughout the day—on midway rides, eating great piles of junk food, and mugging with the girlfriend’s sons. Years of working with kids had sharpened her radar, and those boys beamed an up-to-no-good vibe. Not much she could do about it, though.
She cleared her throat. “I like to cook. Besides, I have that big kitchen to myself.”
He pulled her to her feet, slid his hands around her hips, and nuzzled the sensitive crook of her neck. “It’s a date, then, as soon as I finish this project. You cook, and I’ll do the dishes.” The way he nibbled her earlobe, “doing the dishes” must be code for something dirty and delicious.
Sal banged on the rear window with his fist and called, “Mangiamo.”
Matteo tugged her toward the door. “You mind sharing dinner with Sal?”
“Of course not. He’s my second-favorite Italian.”
Matteo switched off the music and lights, then led her to a patio of flagstones interspersed with colorful bits of broken tile. Fairy lights twinkled overhead, suspended from posts at the corners. Against the garden wall, a lopsided Venus poured water into a giant cement clamshell. The merry trickle complemented the chatter of swallows swooping low over the grass.
Dapper in a white dress shirt, slacks, and striped suspenders, Sal unloaded dishes from a tray. He glanced up and flashed a broad grin. “Buona sera, Danielle. So glad you could join us.”
Her mouth watered as Sal arranged a cold supper of marinated grilled vegetables, crusty bread, salad, and a platter of thin-sliced meat covered with a pale, creamy sauce. She pointed. “Is that—”
“Vitello tonnato,” he replied with a flourish, then winked. “Actually, it’s roast turkey. Wasn’t sure if you eat veal. Lots of people don’t, these days.”
Matteo whistled. “Sal, you said you were just making sandwiches and salad.”
“Bah.” Sal waved dismissively. “Fran owed me a favor, since I sang at her granddaughter’s wedding.” He pulled out a seat for Danielle. “You know Casa Francesca? Best pasta alle vongole on the Washington coast. Next time, we’ll go with your kids. They’ll love Fran’s lasagna.” He kissed his fingertips.
The mention of her kids zinged her with guilt, which was ridiculous. They were having a blast in SoCal. She wasn’t harming them by having dinner with her new friends. And unlike Jason, she had no intention of introducing them to Matteo. Unless… The fortuneteller’s voice echoed:Combining different elements to make something better.
She unfurled her linen napkin and waved away those nagging thoughts.
Sal shooed Matteo. “Go clean up, boy. You dishonor Fran’s fine cooking.”
Matteo gave a staccato bow and dashed up the stairs to his apartment. Sal uncorked the wine.
“Pinot Grigio. From the Willamette Valley, not Italy, but it’s pretty good.” He poured a generous glassful and slid it toward her.
She sipped tart, bright sunshine. “Delicious.”
Sal filled his own glass and sat beside her. “So, bella, have you found what you’re looking for?”She blinked rapidly. “Sorry?”
His warm, calloused hand covered hers. “You could have spent your vacation with friends, but you came here. Alone. When a person does that, she is searching for something. Maybe out in the world, maybe in here.” He tapped his sternum.
She dropped her gaze to their joined hands. Here was a man who’d lost his great love but seemed happy. She’d lost her—well, perhaps it had never been more than a mediocre love. Her drive to be the perfect mom and speech therapist left her with too little time, too little focus to nourish their marriage. Not that she blamed herself for Jason’s cheating ways. She’d been unfulfilled too, but she’d never broken her marriage vows. Still, there was something he needed that he didn’t get from her.
Sal squeezed her hand. “I’m glad to see Matteo keeping company with someone like you. A lady of substance.”
She glanced down at her wide lap.
