CHAPTER THREE #2
I exhaled deeply and evenly out of my mouth and waited for her to approach me.
The morning sunlight glinted off her wavy, blonde hair until it looked like she wore a bonnet of spun gold.
My body temperature climbed several degrees even though, from where I stood in the shade, it was chilly with that wind off the water.
“Mr. Barone?” she asked, with a slight quaver to her voice.
I held out my hand and nodded. “Si. But call me Tom.”
Blinking a few times, she held onto my hand with her soft one for a few seconds longer than I was sure was normal. But I wasn’t inclined to let go.
Eventually, we had to, and she glanced down at the ground, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Um, I believe Cameron Arendelle mentioned to you yesterday about the … about my daughter, Sam, possibly coming to do the same thing as his daughter Francesca?”
I nodded. “Si. Yes. He did.”
Portia grunted at my feet, her butt and tail still wagging furiously.
The blonde woman’s eyes dropped to my pig, then went wide. “Is she … is she friendly?”
“Si. Almost too friendly. She wants to greet you, but I am holding her back until you say if it is okay.”
Uncertainty flashed in her green gaze for just a moment before she dropped to a crouch and held out her hand like one might do for a dog.
“Avanti,” I said to Portia, who gave a small squeal of glee before almost skipping over to greet our guest. I still didn’t know the woman’s name.
Portia snorted and grunted as she soaked up the scratches and attention like the little ruffiana, or suck up, that she was.
“Sei una piccola ruffiana,” I said to my pig as she grunted more loudly when the woman found the sweet spot on the top of Portia’s rump right by her tail and continued to scratch it.
The woman giggled. “She’s adorable. And very sweet.”
I nodded. “Portia, in casa, bella,” I said to my pig. She grunted, then trotted up the steps and through the dog door.
“She’s very obedient,” the woman marveled, standing up to her full height. “Have you had her since she was a piglet?”
I shook my head. “No. She was the runt of her litter, but someone got her expecting her to be a ‘teacup’ pig that would stay small like a Pomeranian forever. When she got big—as all things do—they said if someone didn’t come take this pig in twenty-four hours she was going to the abattoir.”
The woman’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god.”
I nodded again. “Si.”
“I’m glad you got there in time.”
“Si.”
Her gaze drifted back down to the ground, and she toed at the gravel.
“So, um … about Francesca and my daughter, Sam. Is that something you would be okay with?” A swath of hair fell across her face as she lifted her eyes back up to me, and I had to clasp my hands behind my back to keep myself from leaning forward and tucking it back behind her ear.
What was going on with me? I hadn’t had a reaction to a woman like this since Erin.
Maybe her coming here wasn’t such a good idea.
But before I could say no, she started speaking again.
“My daughter, Sam, is ten. She has severe anxiety. Like, it’s scary.
She was self-harming and talking about killing herself.
She has very low self-esteem, and I don’t know what to do for her.
She sees an online counselor via telehealth, and the new nurse practitioner on the island had prescribed her some anti-anxiety meds, but either they’re not working yet, or it’s a bigger issue than we initially thought.
I don’t …” she swallowed and sucked in a stuttered breath from her mouth, “I don’t know what to do for her.
Then Cameron mentioned you and your animals and how much it’s benefited Cesca.
I’ll pay you whatever you want. I just …
if being with the animals will help Sam, I’d … I’d really appreciate it.”
Merda.
“I am … I am very sorry for what you and your daughter are going through,” I said softly as she carefully brought the sleeve of her olive-green sweater to blot the sudden dampness in her eyes. “It is not easy at all.”
She shook her head. “I just feel like a massive failure as a parent. That my child is … is hurting so much, and I don’t know how to help her.”
I’m sure it wasn’t easy for this woman to unload all of this on a complete stranger. It wasn’t easy for me to hear, but I empathized with her, and while I knew I wasn’t going to be able to get over my attraction to her if she kept coming around, I needed to ignore it for the sake of her daughter.
My head bobbed. “She can come, yes.”
Her eyes lit up, and the smile that curled her full lips made my pulse race. “Really?”
I continued to nod. “Your daughter is Sam?” I asked.
“Yes. Samantha, but we call her Sam. She prefers it.”
“I am Tommaso, but I prefer Tom.”
That made her chuckle a little.
“And you are?” I prompted.
“Oh!” A rush of pink filled her cheeks, only making her more lovely. She thrusted her hand out again. “Danica. Danica St. Claire. Sorry. I … I’m so silly. I didn’t introduce myself when I arrived.”
I took her hand again, eager for any opportunity to hold it once more. “Piacere. Pleasure,” I said. “Would you like to come meet the animals?”
She shook her head quickly and pulled her hand away almost like I’d just told her I’d mucked the stalls and forgot to wash my hands after. “No. No. Thank you. I should be going.”
“Okay.”
“Wh-when would be a good time for Sam to come by? What is your schedule?”
That made me smile. “I do this all day. Every day. She can come by when she feels ready. After school? Weekend? Whatever works for her. This is for her.”
The sudden gust of wind that ruffled her hair around her face like a flaxen halo seemed to carry away a considerable amount of Danica’s worry too, and her shoulders relaxed. Her smile in response seemed bigger too. “Monday after school?”
I nodded. “Si.”
“Thank you, Mr.—Tom. Thank you.”
“Prego,” I replied, watching her skirt around the grill of her RAV toward the driver’s side door. “Until Monday, Ms. St. Claire.”
“Danica,” she said, the pink back in her cheeks as she hauled open the vehicle door. “Please, call me Danica.”
“Danica,” I repeated as I picked up the basket of eggs and climbed the three porch steps to the top. “Ciao.”
“Uh … ciao. B-bye.” Then she waved awkwardly before climbing in behind the steering wheel and closing the door.
I would have liked to stand there and watch her drive away, but the voice in the back of my head said it wasn’t a good idea. And I never ignored that voice. So I headed into the house as she did a U-turn in the driveway and made her way back toward the main road.
Portia was in her bed by the fireplace and only opened her eyes, but didn’t move when she saw me come in and set the eggs on the island.
She didn’t have to say anything for me to know exactly what she was thinking. The pig said a lot with her eyes.
“Non dirlo. Lo so che è bella. Non significa che io debba farci qualcosa. Tieniti le tue opinioni per te, mia porcellina. Io terrò a bada i miei sentimenti e tu tieni a bada la tua lingua,” I muttered to her.
Which was basically me telling her that I knew Danica was pretty, but that didn’t mean I had to do anything about it. Portia needed to keep her opinions to herself, and I’d keep my feelings to myself.
All that earned me was some serious pig side-eye, and that was the absolute worst kind of side-eye. Because my pig was usually right.