Chapter 22 Luca
Luca
Unsurprisingly, Carla’s girls win their first playoff game.
“You did it!” I congratulate her, lifting her off her feet and spinning her around.
“You made it!” she replies, beaming at me.
Alejandro and I slid onto the bleachers beside Marlowe and Abuela right in time for the coin toss. Our flight home from Málaga was delayed and I was relieved to make the game.
“Your girls played fearlessly,” I say. “They were strategic, decisive, cohesive…Carla, you’re incredible. I’m so proud of you.”
Her eyes soften and she pulls me in for another hug. “Thank you for being here. Thank you for everything.”
“It was all you, campionessa.” I note her girls and their families waiting for her. “Go! Go celebrate with your girls.” I kiss her cheek.
“I’ll see you early at the airport?” she confirms.
“Four a.m.” We’re flying to Tuscany for a whirlwind fifty-two hours to finalize some items for June’s camp.
“Okay.” She squeezes my hand. “See you soon, Luca.”
I watch her walk into the warm, waiting embraces of her girls. They swarm her, hugging and laughing and cheering. The moment is so innocent, it reminds me of the feelings that flood me after two weeks spent at the summer camp.
Carla’s coaching prowess, fútbol skills, and overall personality are such a wonderful addition to my camp. I’m thrilled and relived that she agreed to help me.
Glancing at my watch, I sigh. I need to go home, unpack, repack, shower, and sleep for a few hours. On the way to my car, I catch sight of Sergio, scowling off to the side. Recalling the need to deal with him, I make a mental note to ask álvaro for some insight.
Then, I say goodbye to Ale, Marlowe, and Abuela, and drive home. But sleep doesn’t come. Even though I need to rest to gear up for the weekend, I can’t turn my mind off.
Will Carla and I take a step forward in our relationship this weekend?
More than anything, I’d like to make our relationship official.
To know that we’re both interested in commitment and monogamy and creating a future together.
To have some reassurance that Carla is thinking of me with the same seriousness that I attribute to a relationship with her.
Will she like Tuscany? My home in Italy?
Does she still want to make a play for the national team?
Does she want me as a permanent fixture in her future the way I desperately want her in mine?
Sighing, I swing my legs to the side of my bed, pull on some joggers and sneakers, and grab my jacket, helmet, and keys. Then, I take a long, winding motorcycle ride down the coast.
I breathe in the fresh air, savor the feel of the cool wind against my cheeks, and relax as my mind slowly clears.
Whatever happens this weekend, one thing is certain: I’m going to make sure Carla knows exactly how I feel.
I’m done holding back; I’m finished second-guessing myself.
The way I feel for her is more than I’ve ever felt for any woman—including the one I proposed marriage to.
While Chiara and I were complacent, having spent so many years together, she didn’t twist me up the way Carla does.
I never craved her with the same intensity I yearn for Carla.
I never thought about her day or her future goals with the same consideration I spend wondering about Carla’s.
This weekend, I’m taking a leap of faith, letting down my guard, and opening myself up to true possibility.
“Did you sleep at all?” she asks, concern in her eyes, as I drop into the seat beside her at the boarding gate.
“I look that bad?”
She snorts, reaching out to brush my hair out of my eyes. “Just…tired.”
“I was too keyed up to sleep. You?”
She shakes her head. “I crashed as soon as my head hit the pillow. When my alarm went off, I couldn’t believe it was already time to drag myself from bed.”
“Stay out late partying?” I joke.
“Oh, yeah. We lined up those ice cream floats.”
I chuckle. “I bet the girls were ecstatic.”
“Very much so. Our next game is next week. I’m really proud of them.”
“I’m really proud of you.”
Her eyes soften and she smiles.
Our boarding group is called and we stand. I reach for her carry-on and she gives me a side glance but lets me carry it for her. We board the plane, stow our belongings, and take our seats.
“Carla, I’m apologizing in advance, I’m going to crash.” I place my headphones around my neck.
She reaches for my hand, playing absentmindedly with my fingers. “Just don’t drool.”
I snort and dip my head, tugging on my headphones. With her by my side and the weekend before us, I pass out before takeoff.
When the plane touches down, a feeling of peace washes over me. I’m home. We deplane in Milan, wait for our luggage, and hop into a van I arranged to drive us to the camp. We have four hours ahead of us and we both fall asleep for the ride.
But when the van pulls up to the old farmhouse, I’m relaxed, well rested, and excited to enjoy this time with Carla.
We step out of the van and I pull in a deep breath, closing my eyes as a wave of homecoming crashes over me.
Fields of green wrap around us, the blue sky is cloudless overhead, and my home beckons—rustic, and charming, and just how I remember it.
“Whoa,” Carla breathes. “This is beautiful, Luca.”
“Grazie,” I murmur. “I put a lot of hours, a lot of love into this property. The farmhouse…” I tilt my chin toward the ranch style home. “Welcome to my home.”
After I show Carla to the bedroom, I give her a tour of the property and the facilities.
The cook, Davide, has been hard at work preparing the menu for the camp and has created a few recipes for us to try this weekend.
The dormitories at the nearby agritourism hotel have been blocked off and are ready to be assigned to campers.
Fútbol balls, goals, jerseys, cones, and other necessary items have been purchased or repaired and are primed for our first day of camp.
The fields have been maintained and are in perfect shape.
With each passing hour, I relax. Everything is falling into place and we’re more prepared to kick off camp than I imagined we would be when I first received Paolo’s email.
“This is great,” Carla says as we walk along the side of the pitch.
“We have four pitches,” I explain, pointing them out. “I’d like to break them up by age group, and of course, this year, keep one for the girls.”
“I can’t believe nine girls are coming,” Carla admits. “They’re teenagers and have been playing competitively for years so I don’t think they’ll have the same homesickness that some of the younger players might experience.”
“That’s never been much of an issue before. A lot of the younger kids who attend are from nearby and their parents are always on hand. Or they come with an older sibling.”
“Ah, that makes sense.”
“This is the first time we have so many Americans joining us.”
Carla laughs. “I’m glad I could help round out your diversity.”
I grin and reach for her hand. “Come here, I want to show you something.”
I gesture in the distance and we increase our pace. As we approach the hill, Carla shakes off my touch. “Race you to the top!” She takes off at a full freaking sprint.
Groaning, I tear after her, but she’s had too much of a head start for me to pass her easily.
She reaches the top of the hill half a step before me and throws her arms in the air, whooping.
“Yeah, yeah, we all know you’re the campionessa,” I tease her.
She does an adorable dance, but her arms fall to her sides as she takes in our surroundings. Below us, a tiny, charming town sprawls to one side while the other is lined with rows and rows of grapevines.
“It’s a vineyard,” Carla murmurs.
“One of the best in Tuscany.”
“This is…wow. It’s beautiful.”
“You want to go for a tasting?” I tilt my head.
Her eyes flicker to mine. “Now?” She looks down at her rumpled clothing. “Dressed like this?”
“You look beautiful. And it’s fine. I know the owner.”
“Okay. Vale,” Carla agrees, reaching for my hand.
And I like that she reaches for me. That she is beginning to show the same affection I freely give her. This weekend feels like more than just camp preparation. It feels like the start of something big and meaningful.
Carla guides me down the hill and I follow, enjoying the view of her in my home, surrounded by my father’s favorite vineyard. I invested heavily in it, purchasing half of the company several years ago.
As we step into the main building, the woman behind the bar turns and a beatific smile crosses her face. Her hair is more gray than black now and she looks smaller than I remember, but her eyes dance. “Luca, Luca. Bentornata a casa.” Welcome home.
“Grazie, Angela.” I approach the bar. “Carla, this is Angela. Her great-grandfather started this vineyard in 1889. Angela, meet Carla.”
“è la tua ragazza?” Is she your girl?
I blush and Angela chuckles, clapping her hands together. She rounds the bar and embraces Carla, kissing both her cheeks. “Piacere di conoscerti.” Nice to meet you.
“Il piacere è mio,” Carla replies, her Italian perfect. The pleasure is mine.
“Ah, there he is!” Angela’s grandson, Pepe, appears, carrying a crate of wine bottles.
“Good to see you, Pepe.” I pull him in for a hug once he places the crate down.
“You too.” He turns toward Carla and introduces himself. Then, he asks, “You want to try some wine?”
“That’s why we’re here,” Carla laughs.
Pepe’s expression warms as he rubs his hands together. “Excellent. Come, sit over here. I’ll take care of them, Nonna. You go rest.”
Angela nods and kisses her grandson’s cheek. She pats me affectionately on the shoulder, giving it a little squeeze, before meandering out of the room.
We turn our attention to Pepe. Carla leans in as he spins a compelling tale of the vineyard’s, and his family’s, history. It’s all true but Pepe shares it with enthusiasm, so much so, that Carla is hanging onto his every word, enthralled by the family scandals and hardships over the years.
“And now…?” Carla asks as Pepe nears the end of his tale.
“And now, we drink,” he says, flourishing two wineglasses and placing them in front of us.
Carla laughs.
“Our first wine is a Chianti Classico. You know, Chianti Classico can only be from this region?” Pepe asks, showing Carla the wine bottle. “On the bottle, it’s marked by this seal.” He taps the black rooster. “Il Gallo Nero. And it must be made from at least eighty percent of Sangiovese grapes.”
Carla smacks her lips. “Chianti Classico is my favorite. You know, I always got headaches when I drank Chianti in the States. But that never happens when I’m back in Italy.”
“Ah,” Pepe sighs. “This is mainly from the additives. I promise, this won’t leave you with a headache.” He pours her a small amount and steps back as he waits for her to try it.
Carla tests the wine like an expert and pride shines from Pepe’s eyes, as if he had a hand in turning her into a wine connoisseur. But I like seeing her relaxed and enjoying the afternoon.
We’ve never spent this much time together away from our daily routines and commitments. For the first time, we can just be.
“Mm,” Carla murmurs, placing down her glass. “It’s delicious.”
“Sí,” Pepe agrees, pouring us each a full glass. His phone rings a moment later and he holds up a finger. “I need to take this.” His eyes cut to mine.
I wave him away. “I got it.”
“Grazie, Luca.” He slips around the bar and out the front door.
When I turn toward Carla, she’s spun closer to me. Her knees are pressed together and when I turn my barstool my knees bracket her thighs.
She looks beautiful, with her braided ponytail resting over one shoulder, strands of hair framing her face. She lifts her wineglass. “Thank you for taking me here, Luca.”
I clink my glass against hers. “I’m happy you came, Carla.”
She takes a sip of her wine. “Me too. Really happy.”