Chapter Thirty-Eight Lucky
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Lucky
We spent the entire day with the Mascarellis. I felt a little guilty, thinking that maybe we should have left sooner so that they could focus on their daily routine, but they’d insisted that they show me the correct way to make every pastry and bread that their bakery sold.
Hours later, it was finally time to go. We couldn’t keep imposing on this poor family. I promised Maria that we’d return in the morning to work on the sfogliatelle and said goodbye to everyone else.
When we got outside Hunter took me by the hand. “Dinner?”
“With you or what do I think about it in general?” I teased, and he smiled.
“I had the chance to chat with Maria and she told me about this local restaurant that I think you’ll love.”
“Why do you think I’ll love it?”
“I’ll tell you when we get there.”
There hadn’t been a lot of nice surprises in my life and I loved that Hunter kept finding a way to give them to me.
The restaurant was small but cozy-looking. Definitely a locals type of place, not at all touristy. The smell of bread, garlic, and tomato hit me when we walked inside, making me feel nostalgic for my nonna’s kitchen.
The walls were exposed brick, and strands of white lights had been hung along the ceiling. The tables were covered in white linens and had dark, wooden chairs. We were shown to a quiet spot in the back of the room, drawing the attention of almost everyone as we walked by.
And I wasn’t sure if it was because we were so easily identifiable as Americans or if it was because of how insanely handsome Hunter was.
I completely understood the urge to stare at him all the time.
We sat and were handed menus. I opened mine and asked, “So what’s the surprise?”
“Maria said they have unlimited pasta here,” he said.
I let out a tiny shriek of delight. “Are you serious? All the pasta I can eat?”
He chuckled. “I knew you’d love that. But I’m not sure why you’re so excited about it. Olive Garden has the same deal.”
“Hush,” I said. “Every time you say the words ‘Olive Garden’ in this country, a real Italian restaurant dies.”
That earned me another small laugh.
“They also have pizza, and nothing compares to Italian pizza,” he said. “If you want to try some of their other stuff, maybe you shouldn’t load up on pasta. That’s how they get you.”
“That might be how they get you, but not me. I will bankrupt this restaurant,” I said, going through the menu and picking out what I would eat first.
He grabbed my hand, grinning at me. “Have I ever told you how much I like hanging out with you?”
I heard the wistfulness in his voice. I knew he wanted more, but I didn’t think I was capable of that right now. We were in this limbo state where I was scared of being more serious, we couldn’t be together because of the rules, but we also didn’t want to stay away from each other.
“I like hanging out with you, too,” I said, squeezing his hand in return. It was all I could give him right now.
He started rubbing small circles on the back of my hand with his thumb and returned to reading the menu. “Enjoy your food, but don’t get upset with me when your stomach explodes.”
“Today Giovanna told me that I can eat all the pasta I want while I’m in Italy and the calories don’t count, and I’m not looking for any further nutritional advice at this time.”
A waiter approached and spoke English to us, welcoming us. “Do you have any questions?”
“Besides the unlimited pasta, do you have any other specials? Like, for your pizzas?” Hunter asked.
The waiter blinked at us slowly and looked annoyed. “Sì. You buy two pizzas and you pay for both of them.”
Hunter shot me an amused glance and placed an order for a large margherita pizza. I said I would have the unlimited pasta, asking the waiter to bring out the fettuccine carbonara first.
When he left, Hunter leaned across the table. “I wanted to ask for pepperoni and mushrooms but I was too afraid he’d get mad.”
“He does seem like the type.”
I adored this man so much. It felt like it was flowing out of me and I wouldn’t be able to contain it.
“Penne for your thoughts,” he said. “And that’s the pasta kind of ‘penne,’ not the coin.”
“I might tell you my innermost thoughts for a good bowl of penne,” I said. “And I was thinking about how much fun I’ve had today. Thank you for all of it.”
“It’s about to get a lot better,” he said, leaning back as our waiter approached with my dish, setting it down in front of me.
After he left I asked Hunter, “Am I supposed to wait until you get yours to start eating?”
“No, dive in.”
I picked up my fork and waited a moment, wanting to take a mental snapshot of my pasta. “You know, I’ve never believed in love at first sight before, but I’m kind of believing in it now.”
He shook his head, amused. “It’s good to know where I’m at in the rankings. Somewhere behind pasta and baked goods.”
I wanted to tell him that wasn’t true, but I had made the mistake of putting the first bite into my mouth. I let out an embarrassing moan. This was amazing.
“Good?” he asked, that fiery intensity there as he watched me take each bite.
And if I’d been eating anything else, I would have stopped immediately and attacked his face, but I was far too distracted by the tiny bites of bliss. “I’m trying to figure out how to convert this into blood and inject it into my veins because I want to feel this good all the time.”
“I like a woman who knows what she wants.” The timbre of his voice sent tingles and shudders along my limbs.
“I do know what I want. And tonight I want you ... to pay for dinner.”
He laughed. “I’m just glad they brought you out the real thing and not some veggie impasta.”
“We’re not going to add pasta puns to the repertoire, are we?” Not that I really cared. Just so long as the waiter kept putting dishes like this in front of me.
“Remember that this is just a phase and it, too, shall pasta. And I’m alfredo I can’t stop because I know I mac you smile. Personally, I think we should be exploring the pasta-bilities because the pesto’s yet to come.”
“You are pre-pasta-rous,” I said.
“I’m so glad you spaghet-me.”
The rest of the dinner continued in the same vein—the waiter bringing me the best pasta I’d ever eaten while Hunter kept up a steady stream of jokes, stories, and puns to entertain me.
If someone had asked me whether things could get better after our day spent at the bakery, I would have said no, but leave it to him to find a way to make that untrue.
Despite eating my body weight in pasta, I still had room for dessert. While I probably should have picked something Italian, I opted for the chocolate soufflé, and it was like a kiss from a chocolate angel. Profoundly delicious.
After we finished eating, he grabbed the bill and paid it. I should have protested and offered to split it but it was part of this perfect day—not having to dip into my savings.
Another gift from him.
He took my hand and we walked along the darkened streets of Salerno. It was like so many other port cities that we had been in—older buildings painted in bright colors, trees, green vines climbing up walls, clean laundry hanging overhead on clotheslines, filling the air with the smell of detergent, which combined with the salt from the sea.
“Did you have a good day?” he asked.
“The best. Thank you so much. I can’t even tell you how much I appreciate all of it.”
He brought my hand up to his mouth and briefly kissed it. “You don’t know how nervous I was today.”
“Nervous? Why?”
“I wanted everything to be amazing for you. Your own personal movie montage.”
I couldn’t believe he remembered that. He was the absolute sweetest. “It was amazing because you were with me. I’m so happy that I got to share all of this with you,” I said, leaning against his arm.
He kissed the top of my head. “I don’t want it to end. Do you want to go back to the yacht or stay here in town tonight?”
“Stay,” I immediately responded. “Someplace nice.”
“I can do that,” he said, pulling out his phone and searching it. “I found somewhere. Come on.”
And while I’d been expecting some quaint little bed-and-breakfast, he led me to a castle on a cliff, overlooking the ocean.
“Hunter, I was kidding about the ‘someplace nice’ part. I just meant without roaches,” I said, feeling a little bit awed as he led me inside.
“I’m pretty sure there’s no roaches here. They wouldn’t dare.” He gave me a wink as he took me over to the front desk. He asked if they had a room available tonight.
The woman at the computer was older, her silver hair tied back in a severe bun. She peered at us from over her glasses. “Two guests for one room? For one night?”
There seemed to be an underlying implication there that he picked up on and then ran with it in a direction that surprised me. “Yes, it will be for my wife and me.”
Her entire demeanor changed. A smile lit up her face. “Are you on your honeymoon?”
“We are! We’re traveling along the Amalfi Coast and had to stop in your beautiful city. My wife’s grandparents are from here.”
“Let me see what we have.” She typed on her keyboard and then after a few seconds said, “I have the honeymoon suite available, if you would like it.”
“We’ll take it,” Hunter said, handing over a credit card.
A black credit card.
I’d only ever seen charter guests use a card like that before.
Another small reminder of how different our lives were.
But does it matter? that voice inside me asked. Who cares if you grew up differently? The only thing that matters now is how well you get along. And you love being together.
It was true. We never ran out of things to talk about. I never got tired of him, never wanted space. I wanted to see him first thing in the morning and last thing at night. I wanted to share everything with him, tell him all my stories and hear all his. I even loved his puns, although I’d never admit to it.
He was my favorite person in the whole world.
And I was madly, desperately, unequivocally, head over heels in love with him.
“Here you are, young newlyweds. We hope you enjoy your stay with us.” The woman handed us our key cards. We thanked her and then headed to the elevators.
I pushed the up button and we waited.
He said, “You know, I didn’t even ask if you wanted separate rooms. I shouldn’t have just assumed—”
I slipped my hand into his. “You didn’t have to ask. I don’t want to be anywhere except with you.”
The elevator arrived and the doors opened and we stepped inside. He pushed the button for the top floor.
“Your wife, huh?” I asked as the elevator doors closed.
“The desk clerk seemed like the disapproving type.”
“I don’t think I know any men who would pretend to be married. Most of them are trying to avoid the institution at all costs.”
The elevator doors opened. “I’m not like most guys.”
That was the truth.
Our room was at the end of the hallway. Hunter used the key card and opened the door, sticking his foot at the bottom. “Come here.”
I walked over. “What are you—”
Before I could finish my sentence, he had swung me up into his arms. “As your pretend husband, I have to carry you across the threshold.”
That made me laugh as I put my arms around his neck. He carried me inside and then set me down near the king-size bed. The room was gorgeous and modern. It was mostly white with bright blue accents to mimic the ocean visible from the massive windows.
The same blue as Hunter’s eyes.
I went over to the balcony and opened the doors. The night air smelled of the sea, the breeze was warm, and the stars twinkled overhead.
Including Hunter’s lucky star.
He came out and joined me. We stood, staring out at the inky sea.
“I’m grateful that we’ve had this time together,” I said. “Although I don’t know how you can prove that you’re doing a good job on the boat if your parents give you two days off.”
“This wasn’t my idea. It was theirs. I told them how hard everyone works all the time and that we don’t get a lot of breaks. You especially needed the time off.”
“Me especially?” I echoed.
He turned his head to look at me. “You’re the one that concerns me the most. I see how hard you work and how you take on the responsibility of two or three people because Emilie won’t do her job and I worry about you getting burned out.”
I knew that he cared. And everything he did and said showed me how much.
A moment passed between us, charged and electric. He cleared his throat and then went back into the room. I watched him as he went over to look at some papers on the desk. A lock of his blond hair flopped over his forehead as he studied them.
I thought of everything that had happened, all that he had done for me. He had given me back a piece of my nonna, and I didn’t know how to thank him for that. My stomach fluttered in anticipation.
Words were inadequate.
I’d told him I didn’t want more. That we couldn’t date. I didn’t want to risk my heart.
But my heart already belonged to him.
I came back into the room and closed the french doors behind me. I walked over to him, mind made up, pulse racing.
“They have some movies we could watch, but they’re in Italian,” he said. “Do you want—”
I wanted.
I threw my arms around him and kissed him with all the wildness and desire and love that I felt for him.