Chapter 44
JULES
“Buongiorno, bellissima.”
“Buongiorno, Emilio,” I said to the wine store owner. We had many conversations about my Italian heritage, and I’d even stopped by the day after I got home from Italy to tell him I’d been able to talk to one of my ancestors.
Emilio’s family still owned a vineyard over there, and he sold both his own family and other Italian wines, as well as Finger Lakes ones, in his store. He was as much a Cedar Falls staple as anyone in the town.
“How can I help you today?”
I could just as easily see him sitting in a piazza, across a chess table, smoking a cigar as I could hear him behind the register.
Of course, thinking of an Italian piazza made me think of… him.
But I vowed not to dwell on it. Not to put my life on pause. And I wouldn’t.
“I accidentally just agreed to share the fall wine festival this year.”
His life was deep and joyful, a reminder—as if I needed one—of what I loved about living here.
“Accidentally?” he asked with his thick accent. More than thirty years in the States, and it was still prominent.
“I’ve been waffling about it, but this morning I went ahead and agreed. So I figured I would stop by on my way out to see if there was a time we could meet. I would love to make this year an Italian theme and showcase your family wines.”
His eyes lit up, as I suspected they might.
“Fantastico! Grazie mille, signorina.”
“Prego. Guess you can say I was inspired by a recent trip.”
He sat down on the stool behind the counter. Was it my imagination, or did it feel like he had aged since the last time I saw him?
One life. It was the only thing I’d ever considered getting as a tattoo. I prayed his wife was in good health, but didn’t want to pry.
“You told me some of it. I’m afraid I’ve made my last trip back there. Tell me more. Bring me back to my homeland.”
I froze, speechless. So it wasn’t my imagination. Something was wrong.
“Emilio? Are you okay?”
He sighed. It was the sigh of an old man who had lived a good life. “As okay as I can be at my age.”
He’d skirted the question.
“It’s one place I’ve never been to, Cinque Terre. Tell me what you liked about it.”
Oh boy. It was one of the last things I wanted to do. Not today. Not after Cole had apparently gone back to New York early, most likely to avoid me.
But Emilio… with his weathered, wrinkled skin, his nose and ears probably bigger than they were thirty years ago when he’d come to this country. His kind eyes, ones that had locals coming into his shop to buy wine when they could get it so many other places in this region.
“It’s beautiful. A mix of your typical Italian town with its cafés and restaurants. Cobblestone streets and tourist shops. But also a seaside place where the salt air gets into your lungs and begs for you to stay.”
I thought of our boat day.
“We met a boat captain named Marco who took us all around the five towns, and into hidden grottos, the Gregorian Sea as crystal clear as any I’ve seen before in the Caribbean.”
“We? You and Delaney?”
So he didn’t know. How would he? Unless he had talked to one of the others about our trip.
I told Emilio about my mishap, how I’d left the backpack in a public restroom. How Parker and Cole came to help us out, and then… the rest of it. I left out a few details, of course.
When I was finished, Emilio smiled. An unknowing smile, born of more years of life experience than Cole and I had put together.
“Ahhh. Molto bene. You fell in love in Italia, mia Giulietta.”
He’d always called me by my Italian name. But now, it just reminded me of Cole, who was the only other person, besides my parents, who didn’t call me Jules.
Emilio smiled—not amused, not surprised. Just certain.
I felt the familiar instinct to deflect rise up. I let it pass.
“I did.”
He didn’t react the way people usually did when you said something like that. No commentary. No knowing nod meant to guide me somewhere. He just looked at me for a long moment, as if committing something to memory.
“He’s in New York,” I said.
“Yes,” Emilio replied.
The quiet stretched—not awkward, not heavy. Just there.
A customer came in then, the bell above the door chiming softly. Emilio straightened, already turning back to the counter.
I stepped away without another word, the admission still settling in my chest—not asking anything of me yet, but no longer something I could pretend I didn’t know.