2. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Saturday, June 22nd
Though it felt beyond weird to be here without her kids, Danielle realized—with a twang of mom guilt—she was almost enjoying her first day in Trappers Cove. The crowded main drag was so much easier to stroll without Noah and Olivia halting every few feet to beg for treats or souvenirs. Danielle slid through the crowd at her own pace, pausing to admire a display of blown glass vases and flip through a rack of colorful summer dresses. A reluctant smile tugged her lips upward as she inhaled the familiar scents of kettle corn, fish and chips, and salty sea. Maybe two weeks of this would do her some good after all.
Then she caught sight of her reflection in a shop window.
“Ugh.” She’d smoothed her shoulder-length brown mane into a low ponytail, but the humid ocean breeze pulled tendrils loose and curled them into a wild frizz that totally clashed with her crisp outfit. She untucked her blouse from her linen skirt. Nope. Now she just looked sloppy.
Across the street, a pack of teen girls shrieked with laughter. The sight stabbed her with longing for her own daughter. Only thirteen, Olivia already possessed the sharp eye of a natural fashionista. She’d know exactly how to style Mom’s outfit.
What would Olivia do? Danielle knotted her blouse at the waist. Better. Almost jaunty. Eyeing her reflection critically, she tugged the cloth lower to cover a soft roll of pale flesh. Marie’s right. I need sun.
Her exposed middle rumbled. Well, she might lack company on this trip, but she sure didn’t lack for culinary delights. During the school year, she’d opt for something healthy—an apple, perhaps, with low-fat string cheese. But this trip was about pampering her wounded heart and exhausted body. She scanned the street for the most deliciously sinful option. Snow cones, soft pretzels with gooey cheese sauce, pizza by the slice…
Bingo! Sandals slapping on the pavement, she made for her favorite gelato shop, Gelateria Paradiso. For as long as she remembered, trips to Trappers Cove included a visit to Salvatore, the opera-singing, silver-haired signore who always greeted her with a flirtatious “Ciao, bella.” Exactly what she craved: sugar and sweet talk.
She entered the narrow storefront and took her place in line behind a family with three squirmy littles. Beneath bright posters of the Amalfi coast, she hummed along to the strains of Nessun Dorma while daydreaming of top-down rides on twisting, cliff-side roads above a sparkling blue sea.
“Ciao, bella.” The unfamiliar voice snapped her reverie.
“Oh, uh,” she stammered at the gorgeous young man smiling behind the counter. Dark, curly hair, wide, lush-lipped mouth, cleft chin covered with dusky scruff, and espresso-brown eyes that twinkled with flirtatious mischief. Broad shoulders filled out his tight black T-shirt beautifully.
Like a scene from a Fellini movie, everything around her slowed and blurred as his gaze slid down her body, then back up to her eyes and lingered for a long, breathless moment.
His glossy eyebrows flicked up in a cheeky salute. “Welcome to Paradiso, signora. Tell me, how can I serve you today?” With his ice cream scoop, he waved toward the Italian ices. “Something tart to soothe the heat? Limone or mandarino? Or perhaps something richer.” He leaned onto the glass case and rested his perfect cleft chin on his fist. “Cioccolato fondente? Zabaglione? Tiramisu?” Rolling off his tongue, the words sounded far more like seductive foreplay than dessert options.
She swallowed hard and tugged her collar away from her suddenly sweaty chest. “Uh—so many choices. I can’t decide.”
His teasing smile widened, slow and sure. “Place yourself in my hands, bella. Just tell me how many scoops and let me surprise you.”
She was helpless to resist. “Okay. You choose. Two scoops, please.” She cleared her throat and found a bit of courage. “I place myself in your expert hands.”
Was that a blush darkening his sculpted cheekbones? No, it must be a reflection from the deep red gelato he scooped into her paper bowl. He added a scoop of creamy white laced with ribbons of crimson, then raised a spray can and his eyebrows. When she nodded, he topped the bowl with a fluffy peak of whipped cream and handed it over, along with a plastic spoon.
“Tell me if I got it right.” His dark gaze never left her face as she lifted a bite to her lips.
Subtle and creamy, hints of vanilla contrasted with a sharp burst of cherry flavor. “Wow.”
“That’s amarena. Bitter cherries with fior de latte.” He gestured with a tilt of his chin. “Try the other.”
She dug into the fruit ice. Tart and rich, the perfect foil. Mouth full and tongue a bit numb, she smiled and nodded.
“Frutti di bosco. Fruits of the forest. It’s good, huh?” His flirtatious mask slipped a little, giving her a glimpse of the young man beneath, sweet and eager to please. And holy brain freeze, wouldn’t she love to please him in return.
“The perfect combination. You are a true artist, signore.” She glanced around the shop, grateful no new customers interrupted this surprise encounter. “But where’s Salvatore?”
The brass bell above the door tinkled, and the old gent in question stepped through, thick silver hair gleaming, burly arms around a big Styrofoam cooler. He set his load on the counter, spread his arms wide, and flashed a mustachioed smile. “La bella Daniella!” He enfolded her in a warm hug and glanced over her shoulder. “But where’s your family? I have your daughter’s favorite right here.” He patted the cooler.
The mention of her missing kids pierced her happy, sexy ice-cream dream. “I’m afraid they aren’t coming this year. Jason and I, we—” No use boring her old friend with tales of Jason’s infidelity, his coldness, his indifference. “We went our separate ways. The kids are with him in Southern California.”
Salvatore’s smile melted. He cupped her cheek in his broad, calloused hand. “Oh, cara mia, I’m so sorry.”
Embarrassed by a wash of tears, she sniffled and lifted her cup. “Well, your new helper made me feel much better with his magic touch.” Realizing how sexy that sounded, she quickly added. “With choosing flavors, I mean.”
Salvatore chuckled. “My nephew loves the beautiful ladies, just like his old uncle. Come, sit. Visit with me a moment.”
“Oh, but I haven’t paid yet.”
Salvatore patted her hand. “On the house.” He led them to a little wrought-iron table near the front window and called over his shoulder, “Matteo, due espressi, per favore.”
Sal glanced at his nephew. “My younger brother’s boy. His papa died last March. Heart attack. Always working too hard. I told him to slow down and enjoy life. But would he listen to his big brother?” He raised his hands in a helpless gesture. “Matteo’s been a great help in the shop since I lost my Giulia.”
“Your wife? She’s—”
Sal nodded and crossed himself. “Breast cancer. Terrible thing. If it weren’t for Matteo, I woulda had to close the shop.”
Danielle’s heart wrenched, and she squeezed the old man’s burly hand. “I’m so sorry, Sal. Giulia was a wonderful person.”
Olivia and Noah would be heartbroken to hear they’d lost the tiny, bustling woman who always fussed over them when they came into the shop. “Beach nonna,” they’d called her.
Sal dabbed his eyes with a paper napkin and jerked his thumb toward the counter. “Matteo’s a good boy. A carpenter like my papà.”
The good boy in question strode to their table, all six muscly feet of him. “Here you go, Zio Sal. Signora.” He set down two steaming espressos.
Salvatore patted the table. “Sit, boy. Meet Danielle. She’s been coming here for—how many years, bella?”
“Fifteen, at least.” She regarded Matteo. How old was he, twenty-five? Faced with his glorious male beauty, she felt every year of her age—and then some.
Salvatore and his nephew leaned close across the table and muttered back and forth in Italian, their gazes flicking to her. Her knowledge of that language was limited mostly to food words, but divorziata was easy enough to understand. The two men straightened and faced her, Salvatore with a wide grin, Matteo with a shy one.
What happened to Mr. Suave?
“Danielle,” Salvatore began, “would you do an old friend a big favor?”
“Umm.” Her gaze skittered between them. “Sure, if I can.”
“Tomorrow night, we are attending the Sons of Italy scholarship banquet. The food will be squisita.” He kissed his fingertips. “But the old nonnas keep trying to set up Matteo with their daughters and granddaughters.” He clapped his nephew’s muscly shoulder. “If you come as our date, he can enjoy the party in peace. What do you say?”
Leaning onto his sculpted forearms, his fingertips inches from hers, Matteo added, “You’d be doing us a huge favor, Danielle. And he’s right, the food is really good. Just dinner and a little dancing. Will you join us?”
How could she possibly say no to these two lady-killers? Between Sal’s courtly, old-world manners and Matteo’s sparkling, flirtatious gaze, she was a goner. Besides, her book club would approve. Hell, they’d stomp and pump their fists.
She smiled. “Sure, I’d love to join you.”
“Stupendo!” Sal downed his coffee, gave her arm a gentle squeeze, and rose to greet incoming customers.
Upping the ante, Matteo took her hand and raised it to his lips. “Mille grazie, Danielle. You’ve saved me from the nonna mafia. I promise you’ll have a good time.” His warm, soft kiss on her knuckles triggered a cascade of happy shivers.
Flushed and stammering, she thanked him for the ice cream and watched him turn his dazzling charm on the next customer.
Could she…could they…maybe a summer fling?
She shook her head, dismissing the ridiculous notion. Just a nice young man flattering an old friend of his uncle’s. Nothing to get excited about. Still, as she left the shop, she hummed along with Sal’s Italian opera soundtrack, a giddy grin on her lips and a cocky sway in her step.