Chapter 4
Chapter Four
“What?” Daniel’s voice sounded odd. His eyes had gone blank, then his pupils had flared wide, right before he had looked down at her business card. “What was what?”
“Nothing,” Mel said after a moment, a bit breathless. “Never mind.”
Oh, but it wasn’t nothing. It had definitely been the beginning of something—something intense and amorous that left her feeling a bit dizzy and very warm.
She leaned in. Though he held the business card as if he was engrossed in it, his eyes were shut tight. Another migraine?
It had come out of nowhere. Whatever it was.
Up till now, Daniel had only seemed interested in her in a casual way.
But when their fingers had touched, the chemistry had been instant.
It was like nothing she had experienced before.
There had been no slow build of attraction.
It was as if she had jumped into the middle of an ardent romantic encounter.
Whatever it was, it had left him struggling with the aftereffects. Dismay. Attraction. Embarrassment. Attraction.
Their food arrived, interrupting her investigation of his downturned face.
The waiter bustled around them, smiling.
Thanks to their pleasant exchange—her compliments on his service, his on her Italian, the ticket for their meal, and her cash in payment—the tension that had settled over the table eased a bit.
“How did you do that?” Daniel asked as the waiter departed.
Mel stiffened. “Do what?”
“Wrap the waiter around your little finger like that. One of your journalistic tricks?”
She smiled at him, wiggling her fingers under her chin, but her usual answer died on her lips when she saw him rubbing at his temples. “They love it when someone can speak the language. That’s all.”
He squinted at the huge panino spread across his plate. “So, what is this?”
“Oh, that is wonderful stuff. Soft goat cheese and Tuscan salami with fennel. It’s called finocchiona.”
“What are you having?” he asked, rubbing his mouth. He looked like food was the last thing on his mind.
“A truffle omelet. There’s a place here that’s been around for more than a century, selling these truffle cream sandwiches that are to die for. But they’re closed on Sunday.”
“Too bad.” He took a deep breath and tried to get a handle on his sandwich without spilling the contents.
For a moment, they were busy with the food. Daniel took his bites slowly. She could tell when his migraine started to ease and his appetite returned.
And throughout it all, he was broadcasting a heady blend of emotions. Embarrassment. Attraction. Guilt.
She finally reached up and grasped her pendant.
“I saw you doing that before. he said, squinting at her fingers. “What kind of stone is that?”
“Oh.” Mel frowned and dropped the pendant. “It’s just a habit I have. Some people fiddle with their hair. I rub my moonstone.”
He leaned over, studying it. “Moonstone?”
“Peach moonstone.” The skin beneath the pendant tingled with his gaze. “My mom gave it to me a long time ago. It’s supposed to have calming properties.”
Daniel nodded. “I like it that way, without a setting. Just the stone in its natural shape.”
That gave her an opening to ask about the pin he wore, which looked like a jar with tiny insects flying out of it. “If you don’t mind me asking—your lapel pin. What is that exactly?”
He looked down at the small silver pin. “It’s the symbol of my family’s new foundation. The Firefly Foundation. It’s focused on environmental issues.”
“So those aren’t bees, then.”
“No. Fireflies. It’s an interesting story.”
She raised her eyebrows, waiting. “Stories are meant to be shared.”
“And not part of our current deal,” Daniel countered with a smug smile.
The warmth of his smile kindled an answering warmth inside her.
Mel cleared her throat. “We can’t hit all the spots on their list, but neither can they. We’ll have to decide which ones to focus on and take the most logical route. First the Ponte Vecchio, then the line at the Uffizi.”
“That’s the art museum, right?”
“Yes, and it deserves a week all by itself, so even though it’s on the list, I doubt they’ll do anything other than admire the outside. Then the Piazza della Signoria, Il Duomo, and the line at the Accademia.”
“The Accademia?”
“Galleria dell’Accademia, where Michelangelo’s David really is. There’s a copy in the piazza, but they moved the real thing indoors.” She took a bite of her omelet. “They might decide it’s worth standing in line there. I don’t think they’ll go over to the Boboli, although you would love that.”
“What makes you think that?” Daniel said around a mouthful of sandwich.
“It is a huge park full of fountains and grottos and gardens and lovely shaded gravel paths. A bit of a climb, but the view of Florence from there is breathtaking.” She focused on her omelet, which was marvelous.
“I wonder if we should just go camp out at the train station. We know when they have to go back,” Daniel said.
Anxiety.
Mel projected reassurance and calm, but it didn’t seem to help. “We’ll can still get back in plenty of time and lurk. We know exactly when their train leaves, and we’ll be there way ahead of them.”
“Maybe I should just try her cell phone.”
“And what exactly would you say to her, Dr. Woodruff?” she asked, taking another sip of espresso.
For a moment she saw him go somewhere else, his eyes distant and unfocused. “You’re right. She wouldn’t listen, and I wouldn’t know…”
She waited for a moment. “Seriously. What would you say?”
He pointed at her in mock accusation. “I know. Your middle name is Relentless.”
“Wrong again.” She drank her caffè con zucchero quickly. “All right. Are we ready?”
Daniel scooped up the origami frog and put it into his satchel. “Ready. Thanks for lunch. Next time, I pay.”
“Yessir.” She unlocked her backpack and stood. “Onward to Ponte Vecchio.”
“That means old bridge, right?”
“Age is relative. I would say ancient, but…you’ll see.”
Daniel seemed to take in every detail as they explored the streets. He spotted a leather goods store where she served as interpreter and negotiator while he purchased a pair of gloves.
Of course, like everyone who visited Florence, he marveled at the graceful bridges over the River Arno. Mel took out her camera and snapped a picture of him in the middle of the Ponte Vecchio with the Ponte Santa Trinità in the background.
She told him about the original vendors who filled the shops on Ponte Vecchio. They were butchers and tanners and blacksmiths who used the river as a waste dump and were eventually evicted by Duke Ferdinando the First, one of the Medici.
“The grand duke was one of the very earliest environmentalists, even though his ulterior motive was to trade polluters for more prestigious commerce. He filled the bridge with rich jewelers and goldsmiths,” Mel said.
“Sort of the Renaissance version of gentrifying?”
“Exactly.”
Daniel scanned the crowds constantly. Even while he was standing at the foot of the copy of Michelangelo’s David in the Piazza della Signoria, he was clearly looking for the tour group. They weren’t anywhere to be seen around the Uffizi, and it was doubtful that they were inside.
They stopped for a gelato on the way north toward Il Duomo.
Mel guided him to the east side of the street while they enjoyed their creamy treats, passing the busy shops.
When they rounded the corner that spilled into the Piazza del Duomo, Daniel had no warning of what was coming. She waited to see his reaction.
He gaped up at the huge white, pink, and green cathedral.
She remembered the way she had felt that first time, emerging from the shadows of the side street to see this huge building covered with intricate marble designs, statuary and paintings, looking like a massive pastel confection rising from the pavestones.
“It looks like a giant birthday cake,” he said, with a mix of awe and disbelief. “A very classical birthday cake, but still.” Daniel looked around the crowded piazza. “A birthday cake surrounded by a lot of tourists.”
“Oh, this is nothing. In the summer?” Mel rolled her eyes.
“Normally, I would recommend a trip up to the top of the dome. There is nothing like it. But I think for this tour, we shall pay a quick visit to the Baptistery doors, walk around the piazza a bit, and check out the line to get up to the dome. If they’re already inside—”
“I think trying to track them down in the city is pretty damn hopeless,” he said. “You’re just too polite to say so.”
Mel pressed her lips together as he searched the crowds. Actually, it was a little too crowded for her comfort. It would be nice to get out as quickly as they could, but she could bear it for a while longer.
“You are in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Worst-case scenario, you get a whirlwind tour from a great tour guide, you get some more fabulous gelato, and we get to the train station in plenty of time to catch your friends on their way to the platform.” And I’m really interested in what you will say to them if we do.
She pulled out her camera and stooped to get a good angle on the facade behind him.
“Now think about the big birthday cake behind you and smile!”
He did. She was reminded once more of what a gorgeous smile he had when he stopped worrying for a moment.
It was difficult not to touch him. She wanted to loop her arm through his and drag him around the piazza, but she didn’t want a repeat of what had happened at the restaurant.
“Watch your bag and your money belt,” she said, making sure all the zippers on her pack were secured.
Normally pickpockets couldn’t get anywhere near her, but sometimes she got distracted.
“I should get something for Jamie. Well, besides your origami frog.” He looked around at the souvenir stands and the numerous artists set up on the piazza, selling their wares. “My sister too.”
“Probably better prices up one of the side streets,” Mel suggested.