Chapter 7
He wished he’d gone to a lot more trouble to prepare his place for her visit – and not only because she’d turned out to be a woman. Because she’d turned out to be this woman, with her strong jaw and guarded eyes.
He’d been right. She was complicated. And intriguing – and pretty, he added wryly to himself, a reminder of the impossibilities.
But her question threw everything open, not only the unexpected curveball of mistaken identity, but also his personal life that he’d naively assumed a man wouldn’t care to ask about – and her own history that she hadn’t meant to share but had blurted out like a shield against the current between them.
‘Because we are… friends, no?’
‘Gosh, of course. I’m sorry for making a big deal out of this. I just— I’ve been on my own since—’ She seemed to choke on what she’d been about to say. ‘But yes, we’re friends. Once I calm down.’ She mumbled the last part through a frown.
He felt a prick of guilt at her apology. ‘To be honest, Toni,’ he began, glad her name was beginning to feel like hers in his mind, ‘I don’t have many visitors. I was looking forward to you coming, showing you the place that—’ saved me. That sounded melodramatic. ‘This place I love.’
‘You don’t invite every random stranger to stay with you then?’
‘Not at all,’ he responded to her teasing question in kind. ‘You don’t accept every invitation from a random stranger to stay at his house?’ She opened her mouth to say something, but he cut her off. ‘You see, we aren’t strangers.’
Nodding, she gave a thoughtful sigh. ‘I’m getting used to this.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment,’ he replied lightly. ‘Do you want to have a friendly beer and we talk about what you want to do tomorrow?’
A smile touched her lips at his wording as she nodded. ‘Let me just call my son before bed.’
‘I’ll get you the Wi-Fi password. There’s no mobile coverage here, so you’ll need it.’
‘No coverage?’
He gave her a shrug. ‘Sometimes, it’s a blessing.’
With the bedroom door shut, he heard only the murmur of voices as she called home, her tone artificially upbeat.
He imagined she would have spoken that way even if he’d turned out to be Gabriella Orzati and not Gabriele.
She’d said her son was nine. That was probably young enough to miss his mother, not that he knew anything about kids.
Grabbing two beers and some schiacciata, the crunchy flatbread he’d bought fresh from the bakery that morning, he headed out onto the porch, where the evening air had finally cooled as the sun sank low over the water.
Running his fingers over the rosemary and then bringing the tips to his nose, he breathed in.
Snapping off a leaf of sage, he crushed it and stuffed it into the neck of his beer, then he dragged a seat near the crumbling wall so he could prop his feet up on it.
He wasn’t self-conscious – or he tried not to be. The Toni he knew from their chats wouldn’t judge him anyway. But the woman from the port…
Hearing the squeak of a door, he leaned back in the chair to peer through the mosquito curtain into the living room.
There she was, running her fingers over the driftwood on the mantlepiece, her gaze snagging on the shiny metal oloid on the corner, the mathematical shape his ex-colleagues had given him when he left.
Her chin was up, shoulders straight, and he was pleased to see her looking more at ease.
He considered interrupting her curious perusal and calling her outside, but he liked the little furrow between her brows when she concentrated, the way she pressed her lips together.
He liked that she was curious about him.
When she was more obviously searching for him and no longer simply nosying in his living room, he waved at the doorway, calling, ‘Out here.’
He especially enjoyed the way her steps faltered when she gazed at the expansive sea.
Gesturing to the other chair, he pushed the beer bottle in her direction. ‘Everything okay at home?’
She nodded, almost serene now after her phone call. She took a long drag on the beer and sat back in her seat. ‘Wow, you get to do this every day.’
‘It’s a luxury worth a lot more than I paid for this place.’
She nabbed a fragment of schiacciata and took a bite. ‘Mmm, why does everything taste better here?’
‘You’ll find the answer to that question is usually olive oil,’ he answered her with a smile.
‘And you really don’t have many guests?’ she asked. ‘Not even… dates?’
He glanced at her doubtfully. ‘Do you still think I was down at the port waiting for some other woman?’
‘You sound offended.’
‘On the contrary, I was intrigued that you were teasing me.’
Her gaze dropped to her beer as she studied the bottle absently. ‘I’m not sure why I did. Something about being on holiday. The normal rules don’t apply.’
‘Flirting is normally against the rules?’
‘Absolutely,’ she said with a smile as her nail scraped at the label on the beer bottle.
‘But you didn’t answer my question. This is the sort of place that could make someone fall in love with you.
’ She laughed at her own poor joke. ‘If they were interested in falling in love,’ she qualified with a lift of her brow that suggested she wasn’t.
‘I assure you, the few dates I have invited here have not fallen in love with me.’
‘A few, huh?’
‘Yes,’ he confirmed, trying not to ask himself why his cheeks heated at the admission. ‘Usually, I like the peace of being on my own up here.’
She peered at him. ‘You don’t have any kids?’
He couldn’t shake his head quickly enough, although he was amused by the direction of her thoughts after he’d insisted he needed peace. ‘I don’t imagine children are in my destiny,’ he said lightly.
‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to touch a nerve.’
The lump in his throat wouldn’t go down, no matter how much he swallowed, so he took a sip of beer. ‘It’s for the best. I would have made a terrible father.’
‘Why?’
Simple and direct – and lethal in this case to his peace of mind. ‘I’m not built for that life: for family, responsibilities.’ He’d failed all the people close to him without creating more.
‘Nobody is built for these things. People grow.’
She was wrong. Sometimes, people just broke.
‘How old was your son when your husband died?’ He didn’t like putting the wariness back in her gaze, but he wanted to know.
When she answered him matter-of-factly, though, he wished he hadn’t asked. ‘Cillian wasn’t even born. He never met his father.’
Gabri couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t sound trite or melodramatic. ‘What happened to him?’
‘An enormous piece of ice fell on him during an expedition in the Himalayas.’
Porca miseria, how could she say that so steadily? His stomach turned and he’d never met the man.
‘He was a mountaineer,’ she explained. ‘Usually, people say I should have expected it.’
Christ, complicated didn’t begin to describe the edges and hidden planes of this woman.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said when the silence felt disrespectful, but his thoughts were churning too much to say it gently.
‘You don’t need to be. It was a long time ago. I don’t want you to be sorry, in fact. I’m content with my life. I have my job, my son, my friends. And now I have a week to explore paradise. I don’t need pity, do I?’
For a heartbeat, he wondered if her question was more than rhetorical, but she didn’t wait for an answer, looking away and taking another sip of her beer. He wanted to tell her no, she didn’t need pity. She was far stronger than he was.
‘What do you want to explore first?’ he asked her, changing the subject. ‘There is a lot of paradise to cover.’
Toni surprised herself by falling asleep instantly and staying asleep until the sun was pouring through the pale curtains and the air was heavy and sticky with heat, despite the ceiling fan.
She seemed to discover a new scent every time she took a deep, appreciative breath.
This time, it was lemons and a hint of the ocean.
An absent, tone-deaf whistle from the other room revealed she wasn’t the first awake and with a prick of guilt – and embarrassment and a quiver of anticipation she couldn’t quite banish – the revelations of the day before washed over her and she hauled herself upright.
Without the brave face she had to put on every day for the sake of a little person whose well-being relied on her, the cocktail of concern and confusion and lingering attraction was sharper than she was prepared for.
Gabri wasn’t her first male friend – by a long shot.
She’d always been close to Andreas, Miro’s best friend who sometimes took Cillian under his wing.
Laurie, one of the regular guides at Great Heart, was a good friend too – and Rhys, the nature photographer, when he was in Weymouth.
There would be no difference with Gabri.
The picture he’d made last night rose in her mind, feet propped up on the stone wall, hair carelessly tousled, an easy smile on his face.
The sight of Andreas or Rhys had never caused a reaction under her skin before.
Perhaps there was a small difference, but she wouldn’t let that stop her enjoying her week away.
The tiles were cool when she hopped out of bed, a relief against the heat that was already gathering.
Her phone showed it was nine-thirty, a late morning for her even if she considered the one-hour time difference.
Briefly wondering about getting dressed before making her way to the bathroom, she dismissed the idea.
Her cotton shorts and T-shirt were perfectly presentable and getting changed might send a message – exactly what message, she wasn’t sure, but secret messages of all sorts were strictly off limits.
With that resolve, she warily opened the door of the bedroom – and froze.