Chapter Nineteen
MILES
PRESENT
Me
Since when are there eagles in Italy?
Isla
Since always? Do you know nothing about wildlife? We even have some that come to the edge of Ruby Cove, apparently.
Me
Oh yeah, I know, they’re fucking huge.
Isla
What? What do you mean you know?
Are you in Ruby Cove????
Me
You did tell me to take a vacation, remember? When are you back?
Isla
Yeah, but since when do you take my advice? We get back this weekend, will you still be around?
Me
Yeah, I’ll be around.
Isla
Wait, so you saw the eagles?
The sea breeze whips across my face as I walk along Main Street. Spring is in full bloom here in Ruby Cove. The days are brighter and feel longer, like the sun is fighting to stay in the sky every night, as if it wants to spend just a little bit longer with us.
A group of teenagers run from the other side of the road and catapult themselves into the ocean, the splash sending salt water up over the rock wall and onto the side of my jean shorts. I can’t help the smile that tugs at my mouth as I hear their cheers and chatter as they all breach the surface.
I stop to look out over the ocean, to watch the boats sail out into the bay.
Ruby Cove is like heaven for ocean adventurers.
Anyone who loves the sea would love it here.
It’s the perfect balance of peaceful quiet and a hive of activity, somehow it works.
But as I stand here, I can’t ignore the grumble of my stomach.
I spin around, looking for somewhere that can dull that grumble as it rolls through my abdomen once again. I see Isla’s art studio, a watch shop, a jeweler, and a place called The Sugared Plum.
I see someone walk out the door with a takeaway coffee cup and a paper bag.
I watch her as she pulls something out of the bag, I can’t see exactly what it is from this side of the street, but the way her eyes nearly roll back in her head as she takes a bite has me taking a step to cross the road in the direction of the door she just closed behind her.
As soon as I open the glass door, I’m met with the smell of pure heaven.
I find myself stuck in the doorway, taking in everything in front of me.
The soft maroon color of the walls, the number of people seated around round wooden tables, the plush cushion of the window seat looking out over Main Street, and the gorgeous bouquet of flowers on the counter right next to a glass cabinet filled with the most beautiful pastries I think I’ve ever seen.
There are croissants, fruit tarts, apple turnovers, generous sized cinnamon scrolls, and donuts that look like they’re about to explode with whatever filling is squeezed inside them. I fear drool is creeping out of the corner of my mouth as I take it all in.
“Buongiorno, signore.” A middle-aged woman says from behind the counter. Her dark, frizzy hair is held back by a gingerbread-printed headband tied at the top. It’s dusted in flour and what looks like cocoa, and I immediately know that this is the woman who’s created the treasures in front of me.
“ Ciao ,” I say mindlessly, my gaze still stuck on the food. “What do you recommend?” I ask, my attention fighting between the pastries and the woman in front of me.
She smiles brightly as her eyes light up.
“Oh, that’s a hard question,” she laughs.
“Depends what you’re in the mood for.” Her smile is warm and inviting.
As if she’s beckoning people into her store with her smile alone.
She feels familiar, like everyone would find a little sliver of someone that they love in her.
“Anything.” I laugh, not able to choose as I look at everything in the cabinet once more.
“How about this?” she says, leaning over the counter as if she’s about to share a secret with me. “How about I make you up a plate with a little bit of everything?”
I can feel my eyes widening. “That would be…wonderful.”
She throws a wink my way. “Take a seat, Tesoro, I’ll bring it over to you.”
Before I can thank her, she’s gone in a whirl, disappearing into the kitchen. I turn around, looking for an empty table amongst everyone else who decided this would be a good place to get breakfast.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bakery so busy in my life.
I’m lucky there is an abundance of tables in here, otherwise I’d be sitting on the street side with whatever treasures the woman is going to bring me.
Not that that sounds like the worst idea, in fact, part of me thinks it might be nice to dangle my legs over the rock wall and eat in the fresh air. But then I spy a table.
I take quick strides to claim it before someone else does. It’s just by the window, positioned in the perfect place to get a view of the world going by on Main.
I run a hand across my jaw, feeling the way my stubble has grown in the last few days since I’ve been here. I’ll have to trim it before I get back to work.
Work .
All of a sudden, part of me dreads going back to the daily routine. Something about this place makes you want to forget jobs even exist, and just stay here indefinitely, soaking in the sun, fixing up your old truck, and eating pastries. But most people need to work to pay for said pastries.
I could do it though. I don’t have to work, at least for a little bit. I could do this every day. Sun, truck, pastries. What would happen? If I just took a break?
The thought feels dangerous. It feels eerily close to thoughts I was having four years ago, thoughts about leaving my career behind, leaving years of work behind to live out a fantasy with a beautiful woman in Italy.
“Here you go, darling.” The woman appears out of nowhere, placing a board down on the table in front of me, with what must be a piece of every single thing that was in that cabinet.
“Oh my god,” I mutter. “This looks delicious.”
She just smiles down at me, and as I take her in once more, I wonder if she was at Isla and Caio’s wedding, if that’s why I recognize her. But I don’t ask, in case she just has one of those faces—or is a movie star in hiding.
“Thank you…”
“Vanessa,” she says with another one of her bright smiles.
I hold my hand out to her. “I’m Miles.”
“Are you new to town, Miles?” she says, sitting down on the other chair at my table, but I have no complaints.
“Yeah,” I nod. “Just visiting some family.” Even if said family isn’t actually here at the moment. As if they’re not on the other side of the world, spotting kookaburras and petting kangaroos.
“Hmm,” she nods, “how long are you staying for?”
“Only another week or so,” I say. “It kind of depends.”
Her brows pull together and she rests her chin in the palm of her hand. “On what?”
I mindlessly pick up something from the board, my eyes widening as soon as the taste of lemon hits my taste buds. It’s the perfect balance of sour and sweet. I look over to Vanessa and she’s just got this knowing smile on her face. I swallow it down, immediately craving more of whatever that was.
Something about her warm gaze makes me feel like I can tell her exactly what’s going on. Maybe telling a stranger, someone who knows nothing about me, Marina, or our situation, will help. “I’m kind of…trying to win someone back,” I say.
Vanessa leans forward in her seat. “Tell me more. I love a good love story.”
I chuckle. “Look, I don’t want to jinx it, and I honestly don’t think I have a chance. I think I messed it up too bad last time.”
“Did you cheat?” Her eyebrows raise to where her headband sits across her forehead.
My head rears back. “No. No, I—I just… I left. I left without saying goodbye.”
She frowns, her eyebrows pulling together as she looks at me in an assessing sort of way. “Well,” she readjusts herself in her seat. “You came back, didn’t you?”
“I think it’s too little, too late.” Every smile that is hidden and every frown directed toward me makes me feel less and less like I have any chance at getting Marina back.
I don’t know what it would look like to have her back in my life, but I know I want it.
I grab another piece from the board, distracting myself. Vanessa grabs my spare hand in hers. “Everyone deserves a second chance, bambino.” She pinches my cheek lightly with her fingers. “Don’t give up.”
The afternoon sun beats down on my bare legs from where they stick out from underneath my truck.
I went and picked up my blue beauty from the port this morning after my breakfast platter at The Sugared Plum, and after looking at it from the window in my room on the second floor for more than an hour, I decided today is as good a day as any to get working on her.
I’ve been tinkering around with this car since I got it as a little side project in college.
I bought it off an old guy—Bert—in Florida.
He loved her like she was his child, and made me promise to love her just the same, and I do.
I have since that very first day my foot hit the gas pedal.
But she’s old, which just means she needs some extra loving.
So that’s what I’m out here doing in the heat of the afternoon, replacing the worn-out shock absorbers with the new ones that have been sitting in the back of the truck for nearly six months. Until now, I couldn’t find the time. I didn’t make the time.
But I can hear mumbling and what might be giggling, making me slide out from my spot beneath the car. When I sit up, wiping the sweat from my forehead with the T-shirt I ditched half an hour ago, I see Donna sitting with a few of the other ladies I’ve seen around the B&B the last few days.
“Uh, hi ladies,” I say, giving them a wave.
“Oh, carry on, sweetheart!” Donna yells from their spot on the deck chairs that I never noticed earlier. “We are just catching some of the afternoon rays.”
“And reminiscing on when our dear husbands used to look as handsome as you,” one of her friends says, resulting in a snort from Donna.
“Speak for yourself,” the other one says with a sideways glare. “Alessio never quite looked like that .”
A flush crawls up my cheeks. I’m being accosted by three women over seventy .
“Are you doing crunches when you’re up in the sky, are you?”
“Cynthia!” Donna gives a weak smack to her friend's arm. “Leave the poor boy alone.”
“No,” I shake my head with a chuckle. It’s flattering more than anything. “I spend a lot of my spare time in a boxing ring.”
“Oh, have you met Boulder?” The third friend asks. Both Donna and Cynthia start muttering and nodding their heads.
“No…who’s Boulder?” I ask.
“He’s our local Hulk,” Cynthia chimes in.
“He’s a boxer too,” Donna adds. “He holds tournaments here every now and again. Very entertaining really, if you can get over the whole spitting blood thing.”
A decent fight, then, if there’s blood involved. “Where can I find this Boulder?” I ask.
I’ve been itching to get my hands in a pair of gloves for the last few weeks. Running didn’t hit the mark of distraction the way boxing does. Especially considering I ran straight into the thing I’m supposed to be distracting myself from.
“Luna’s gym,” Donna says. “It’s two streets back from Main, you’ll find it.”
“Doesn’t he have a tournament coming up in Sorrento next week?” Cynthia says.
The women begin muttering among themselves again, but the wheels are spinning in my head.
I need to get into that tournament.