Chapter 3
3
Alex was so surprised by the question that an answer was beyond him. He hesitated for long enough that she turned away and muttered something under her breath, her face contorting into a grimace of embarrassment.
Opening his mouth, he still couldn’t decide what to say, as much as he wanted to reassure her that she shouldn’t be embarrassed. It was the first time a stranger had asked him out while he was playing accordion in the street, but it was also the first time a dog had spontaneously joined in with his act. He was flattered – which surprised him.
‘Forget it,’ she said before he could pull himself together and respond. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking. You don’t know me from a bar of soap and I’m sure you have better things to do than have dinner with a tourist.’
Avoiding his gaze, she headed for the bridge, urging the reluctant Arco to follow her. She was a tall woman – well above average – with her hair pulled back in a short ponytail that didn’t quite contain it. Her jacket was frayed at the cuffs and her sneakers were worn. He had the impression of a person who’d been on the road a long time and just wanted to get home.
She was five steps away, moving swiftly with her chin in the air, when he finally reacted. ‘We have a ritual here in Friuli,’ he called after her, ‘called the “tajùt”.’
It was a strange way to begin accepting her invitation, but at least she turned her puzzled gaze back on him. ‘Does it involve an accordion? If so, I’m not sure I’m your girl for that.’
‘No, perhaps “ritual” is the wrong word. A habit? It’s a glass of wine, drunk in an osteria. This… important custom requires company.’
‘Ohhh,’ she said slowly. ‘It’s a cultural experience, is it? Not just a glass of wine in a bar?’
He responded to her doubtful smile with an earnest nod. ‘Wine is more than culture here. It’s life.’
‘And you will… donate your time for the sake of sharing the cultural richness of your home?’ Her accent was clear now – along with a dry sense of humour.
Alone with her dog, in her shabby clothes and with that tired air, she didn’t look like the usual sort of tourist that turned up in Cividale.
He acknowledged her teasing with a nod. ‘Have a drink with me. Three courses and coffee might be a risk, in case the accordion player bores you to death,’ he added.
‘Don’t feel obliged. It’s weird that I asked.’
‘It’s a little weird that I want to say yes.’ More than a little, but she didn’t need his life story. ‘There’s a bar near the ruins of the Roman baths. Seven o’clock?’
It was her turn to hesitate, but she gave him a slow nod, studying him with a puzzled brow. She had brown eyes, striking in contrast to her blonde hair. Her most prominent feature was probably her pointed chin.
‘See you… then,’ she said. Giving him a tight smile and an awkward wave, she took off over the bridge after the lively dog.
Alex watched her go, craning his neck to follow her progress back into the narrow lanes of the old town. Even though he wasn’t convinced she’d actually come, how soon could it be seven o’clock?
Surely she wasn’t coming.
Alex had told himself exactly that at least twenty times already, but part of him obviously didn’t believe it, since he’d returned home, showered and shaved and even spent ten minutes trying to tame the wave in his hair.
And now he was around the corner from the bar near the Roman baths, telling himself firmly that he didn’t believe she’d be there anyway, so it wouldn’t be a disappointment when it turned out to be true.
The outdoor tables still sat hopefully on the cobbles, even though the evening temperatures dropped after sundown in October. Only a pair of hardy smokers hunched under the awning and Salvino’s more sensible customers were inside by the hearth.
Of course she wouldn’t come. She hadn’t even told him her name and he was unreasonably irritated by his neglect of simple courtesy in not offering his. But perhaps she’d wanted a degree of anonymity. He could relate to that.
Instead of pushing open the door, he peered through the window, past the vintage rotary dial telephone, Roman coins and local embroidery on display. He’d been right. She wasn’t there. It was for the best. He wasn’t sure what he would have said if she had turned up – what she would have said, or why he was so keen to prolong their acquaintance.
Checking his watch, he wondered how long he should wait and how long it would be before Salvino saw him and questioned why he was loitering outside the bar. He’d just decided he should go home when he heard a bark, and the joyful ball of curly fluff he recognised from earlier that day appeared around the corner, making a beeline for him.
It was impossible not to smile at the goofy animal, his tongue hanging out as he jumped up in excitement. Alex dropped to his haunches to greet him and Arco promptly perched his front paws on Alex’s thighs.
‘Ciao, bello,’ he said, scratching the dog under the ears as he preened in apparent ecstasy. He was a handsome dog, brown with white markings on his face.
‘If you say “Ciao, bella” to me now, I’m going to feel like a dog.’
His gaze snapped up to find his date with a smile on her lips that couldn’t quite disguise her uncertainty. Rising quickly to his feet, he held out a hand. ‘You can have a Friulian “mandi”.’
She took his hand and shook it once, decisively. ‘Is that the local greeting? I thought I could understand quite a lot of Italian, but I’ve disappointed myself around here.’
‘Don’t be disappointed. Furlan – that’s what we call Friulian – is classed as a different language from Italian, an older language.’ He cut himself off before he babbled any further. ‘I’m Alex, by the way. We… forgot that part earlier.’
‘Julia,’ she said with an awkward smile.
He caught Salvino’s eye as they walked into the small bar, greeting him with a lift of his chin but ignoring his friend’s questioning gaze. Perhaps he shouldn’t have brought her here – shouldn’t have accepted her invitation at all. He knew what his friends and neighbours were all thinking, when they saw him with a woman.
When he and Julia were settled at a table in a corner near Salvino’s display of cast-iron cauldrons and teapots, she watched him warily. ‘Seriously, you don’t have to do this. I didn’t even expect you to come.’
‘I thought you wouldn’t be here.’
‘Well… here we both are.’ Her eyes were guarded under her lashes. ‘Are we having that drink? Is there something local you recommend?’ she asked, breaking the silence. At least babbling about the local wines gave him something to say for a few minutes.
After he’d called out their order to Salvino, still studiously ignoring the curious looks from his friend he could feel on the back of his neck, he gathered his scattered thoughts.
‘Eh,’ he began, knowing he owed her an admission up front, but not certain how to explain himself. ‘I’m sure you’re not interested anyway, but I should tell you that I’m not… that meeting someone romantically is not… available. Not that you’re not… It’s me. I’m not…’
‘Please don’t tell me you’re married or?—’
‘No!’ he denied immediately. ‘That’s not what I meant. I’m single. I’m just not…’
‘You’ve said “not” at least six times.’
‘I know, it’s not coming out right,’ he said, rubbing a hand over his eyes. ‘I just wanted to be clear that at the moment, for me, a relationship is…’
‘Not,’ she supplied with a huff of a laugh. ‘I hear you, don’t worry.’ He finally dared to meet her gaze to find shadows at the edge of her expression, making him wonder if ‘I hear you’ meant ‘me, too’. ‘I didn’t ask you to dinner with romance in mind. Mainly I was just… hungry. Eating alone is awkward.’
‘Ah,’ was all he initially said in response. And it was a relief – truly, it was – that she wanted to meet him simply to have company for dinner and not because of… anything else. He forced a smile.
‘Not that you’re not…’ she continued. ‘Damn, now I’m just saying “not”. I mean, it wasn’t only because it’s awkward eating alone. You’re also gorgeous.’
Her voice trailed off at the end and the tingle in him bloomed into warmth concentrated in his cheeks.
‘I’m leaving tomorrow anyway,’ she finished, giving herself a shake.
‘Tomorrow?’
She nodded. ‘I’m just passing through on my way back to Australia.’
‘Australia, yes, you said,’ he repeated, his brain still catching up. Perhaps with good reason he’d warned her he might be a boring dinner date. ‘I thought you looked travel weary,’ he commented, looking up to thank Salvino when the barman placed his beer in front of him. Julia’s glass of sparkling Ribolla Gialla arrived as well, along with a bowl of crisps and a basket of grissini. She took a few crisps as soon as the bowl hit the table.
‘Travel weary,’ she repeated thoughtfully once she’d finished chewing. ‘Does that have something to do with bags under my eyes along with all the rest of my luggage?’
‘I didn’t mean—’ Romance or not, he was a terrible date and heat crept up his neck. ‘It was your expression, not your appearance. I… like your appearance.’ He could do better than that, but he probably shouldn’t tell a woman he’d just met that he liked her pointed chin and her wry smile. Releasing a pent-up breath, he looked her in the eye and said, ‘I find you attractive too.’
Silence stretched following his confession, long enough for the air to fizz. Then she smiled – a grin that blossomed on her face – and her nose wrinkled.
‘I’m glad we cleared that up,’ she choked around stifled laughter. ‘We’re just two attractive people having a drink with no expectations.’
The tension in him snapped as well and he sat back in his chair, matching her grin with an easy one of his own. Lifting his beer glass, he tapped it against hers. ‘I’m glad too. No expectations. Sal?t… Julia.’
‘Cheers, Alex,’ she responded to the toast and took a sip of her wine.