Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Renata
I’d fallen asleep every night praying for Mike.
Our conversation about his depression had shocked me, but I was grateful he’d opened up to me about it.
If I thought I could love him the way he deserved, I could’ve stayed with him that night, just to hold him and prove to him he wasn’t alone but I didn’t want to muddy the water.
There were telltale signs that Mike was worried about my doubts. Even on days when we’d had a great time together, I’d let those warring emotions get the best of me, and I’d pull away physically or emotionally. He didn’t deserve this hot-and-cold treatment.
My biggest fear was allowing myself to show him my growing feelings, only to disappoint him when it wasn’t enough.
Yet the safety, the connection, and the passion building between us were undeniable.
In those moments, I’d let myself go, hold him, and enjoy being in his arms, only to pull away.
It was becoming unbearable to ignore the hurt in his eyes.
“Father, why can’t I bring my own walls down and let him in?
I’m such a hypocrite. He was willing to open up about his depression, his feelings of shame, and here I am still carrying this.
But what I feel for Mike is stronger every day.
Show me how to love him. Show me how to face my own fears and say the words he longs to hear. ”
I had been searching the Bible for answers. God kept reminding me of His love, but that was different from loving Mike in my eyes. I knew I’d have to find a way to fix this.
I was in the backyard talking to God while Mike had lunch with Grammy. We often went together, but I told him to spend time alone with her some days. It was a quiet afternoon as I sipped on my espresso in a thick, plush chair I’d bought for our patio.
With Mike’s insistence that the house was now ours, he’d encouraged me to add what he called ‘The Renata Magic’ to it, and the backyard had been transformed into a quiet oasis.
A fountain gurgled nearby, and hidden speakers had been added for our impromptu dancing sessions he’d promised me.
Solar lights were spread throughout, so at night, the whole yard had a soft glow.
He’d helped me string multi-colored glass jars with solar lights on the lemon tree, which, thankfully, meant its resident squirrel had moved out. Our nights were quieter now, whenever Max, his trusty but goofy husky, made his nightly scan of the premises.
I found the perfect place for each of Mike’s creations and compiled my wish list of others he was more than happy to start on.
The imperfect bowl I’d admired on my first tour of his workshop became our landing spot for his keys and wallet.
I wanted it to remind him every morning and evening that he didn’t need to pursue that lofty goal of perfection.
Some evenings we would spend in his workshop, music playing in the background.
I would watch him work, making notes in my notebook and sketching ideas for the new firm.
It was on those lazy evenings that my mind would wander to our wedding day. As beautiful as it was, the thing that stood out for me was that kiss. I traced my lips as I remembered how Mike’s felt on mine.
“Whew! I need some cold water,” I said out loud with a chuckle.
My husband was ridiculously handsome and an amazing kisser.
Like 5 out of 5 stars. Highly recommend.
I hadn’t expected it since we said we would go slow, but when Pastor Danny said you can kiss your bride, who was I to argue with a man of God?
Since then, our kisses had been chaste and infrequent, and I was sure Mike had the same idea as I did. If we went beyond that, the ever-present spark between us would ignite. Seriously, that spark was so intense, we needed to avoid his workshop. And any gas-powered machinery.
Taking my last sip of coffee, I thought about how I had eased into a slower life, knowing that once the business opened, it would all change.
That said, I wanted to adopt the Italian way of working, with more breaks and a more balanced work-life philosophy.
It felt so foreign to hug Mike goodbye every morning as he left for work, knowing I didn’t have a job to go to, but I convinced myself and my mother that it was only temporary.
There were days when I fought the guilt of him taking care of me, but I’d told Vicky that I secretly enjoyed it for a change.
I’d never had someone to rely on in that way.
I walked into the house that had become my home and set my cup in the sink.
Thinking about work made me recall my conversation with my ex-boss, Mr. Lamont, the day before.
He had a hard time understanding the tremendous changes I’d made and warned me that my job wouldn’t be waiting for me if I changed my mind.
There were so many unkind things I wanted to say to him, but as a professional and a believer, I knew none of them would benefit either of us.
Ever since Mike and I filled out the immigration packet, I’d felt the ties to Tuscany loosening.
It would always hold a special place in my life, and he and I had already discussed making a trip to Italy to visit my parents once things were further along.
But San Diego was now my new home, and that thought made me unbelievably happy.
We were meeting Miles and Vicky for dinner at a seafood restaurant in the Gaslamp area the next Saturday night. Miles had a late meeting at work, making them run late, so Mike and I sat at the bar until they got there.
“You look lovely in purple,” he said, swiveling his high-top barstool towards me, touching my leg with his knee.
I looked down at where our bodies met and smiled. “You’re very sweet. That’s what you say about every color I wear. And it’s eggplant, not purple.”
He shrugged and leaned closer. “Eggplant, purple, green, blue. You, Renata Walker, have brought color into my life.”
“You’re very cute when you’re flirting, you know.” I tossed my hair off my shoulder, and his eyes tracked it. He didn’t shy away from showing how much he loved my curls. Mike had found a way to have his hands on them regularly.
“I was going for handsome, but I’ll take cute. Will you be okay for a minute? The bar top over here is sticky, and I need to wash my hands,” he said, holding them up for me to inspect.
“Of course. Go wash them so you don’t put anything sticky on my purple dress,” I teased.
He kissed my forehead and walked away. Not thirty seconds later, a well-dressed man in a blue suit, wearing way too much cologne, slid into Mike’s seat, his attention locked on me.
“Oh, sorry, but my—”
“Nothing to be sorry about, beautiful. I’m here now.” His smile wasn’t genuine, and I could tell this was a well-rehearsed line.
Even though I didn’t go out much in Tuscany, I was used to this type of man. Besides, his gelled hair and perfect teeth annoyed me. “Thank you for the compliment, but--.”
“There’s more where that came from,” he said with a wink and a suggestive tone. I had to force myself not to roll my eyes.
“Not necessary and very much not wanted,” I said sternly, hoping he’d get the hint, pulling my body as far from him as possible.
“I like your accent, and I think you will actually want--.”
Before I could tear him apart verbally, a familiar voice growled out, “I’m giving you one warning and one warning only. Do. Not. Finish. That. Sentence.”
When I turned, my husband was standing at his full height with a look of murder on his face.
Apparently, the man wasn’t too smart because he answered, “And who are you? I’m having a conversation here.” The fool made the mistake of reaching for my arm.
Mike’s face turned the color of my dress, and his jaw ticked twice as he grabbed the man’s hand, making him wince. “Touch my wife, and you won’t be able to move this hand for a very long time.”
Understanding finally dawned on the man’s face, and he pulled his appendage back quickly and slid off the barstool to stand.
Realizing that Mike was about four or five inches taller than him, he ducked his head and ran.
There was no hiding what this unexpected protectiveness did to me. I was flushed and practically sweating.
“Mike,” I breathed out, swallowing hard.
He looked me up and down as if inspecting for any evidence of the man having touched me, then rubbed my arm softly. Just then, Miles and Vicky ran up to us, apologizing for being late. Realizing something was wrong as they looked back and forth between us, Vicky asked, “Hey, what’s going on?”
Mike took a deep breath like he was resetting from killer mode back to himself. “Nothing. Just taking care of what’s mine.” He held his hand out to me, helped me off the barstool, and walked towards the dining room as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t just wrecked my world.
I mouthed, “tell you later,” to Vicky and followed my alpha male, I mean, husband to dinner, my heart racing and body overheating.
Mike hadn’t mentioned the incident again all the next week, so I didn’t bring it up. But I was tempted to call the restaurant to see if they had caught it on their security camera, so I could watch it over and over.
No need, really. It was playing nonstop in my head for almost a week.
Days later, I had just finished cleaning the kitchen after dinner when Mike walked in from his first session with Pastor Danny. With great fanfare, he teased me by carefully placing his keys and wallet in the imperfectly beautiful bowl he’d made, making me shake my head and smile.
His eyebrows pinched as he walked over to me and hugged me, his mood turning somber.
“Hey, you,” he said quietly as he kissed my head. I knew this first counseling session would be challenging for him. I pushed away the memory of his protective side, which I now had to have for him.
“Hey.” I hugged him tightly. “Missed you today. I’ve got some dinner if you’re hungry.”