Epilogue Snapshots of Afterward
Epilogue
Snapshots of Afterward
Five days later
The elevator door cracked open, and Bianca looked left and right. There was no one in the hallway, no one stirring, not even a mouse. Without second-guessing herself, she tore off her top and dropped her skirt, then removed her undergarments, leaving it all in a pile at her feet.
He was home, as he’d just buzzed her in.
She wore nothing but heels and a pair of earrings as she approached his door. A small voice told her that she better stop these shenanigans, but a bigger voice told her that this was who she was and that’s who she was going to be.
Bianca knocked on the door, then hid out of sight so he couldn’t get a sneak peek through the peephole.
Thank God no one else on his floor appeared.
This was her, all of her. Bianca Briggs. Fully living in this moment. Not waiting till she weighed less or until she had it all mapped out.
Was she leaving burn marks? Yeah, perhaps. What was wrong with that? Maybe her book did have a few good pieces.
The door finally cracked open. She took a breath, closed her eyes, then stepped forward and held open her arms. “I am officially giving you all of me.”
With her eyes still closed, she waited for him to seize her. Because she definitely didn’t look that bad, and let’s be honest, he’d never shown anything other than a mad desire for her. The only thing in their way had been her mind.
Corrado did not seize her as she’d hoped.
Instead, she heard a harrumph that sounded distinctly female, then a few Italian words spoken so quickly that Bianca couldn’t catch the meaning.
She opened her eyes to find a woman twice her age staring at her.
It was Corrado’s mother.
“Oh, my God!” Bianca said. She’d only met her a few times ten years ago. She raced for her clothes.
Once she’d covered herself, she turned to find Corrado walking out the door to join her in the hallway.
“This is a surprise,” he said.
“I am beyond mortified. Oh, my God. I’m leaving.” Her shoes in her hand, she frantically pressed the down button on the elevator.
He came up behind her and tugged her to him. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Off to find a hole to hide in.” She pressed the down button again, and then again and again, mashing the damn thing.
He started laughing. “I’m sorry I wasn’t the one to answer the door.”
“I bet. Your poor madre.”
He took her arm and turned her toward him. “What if she hadn’t been here? What was your plan?”
She had to work hard to lift her eyes to him.
This required a full admission. “What do you think the plan was, you dummy? To show you that I’m done running.
That I want to try again if you’ll give me one more chance.
I was scared and you seem to like me just the way I am.
But now your mom has seen me naked, and that might change everything. ”
He laughed again.
“Also, I’m sorry about the other night. How things have gone since then. I guess that’s what this was going to be. A naked apology is the best kind when you’ve messed up royally. I’m sorry.”
“As you are not naked now, I cannot accept your apology.”
She looked at the door. Thank God his mom had left them to it. “Okay, how about another time when your mom’s not here?”
“I’ll tell her to leave. Be right back.”
She grabbed his arm. “Can I ask one thing? Did you turn me away because of my father talking to you?”
“I bet you can answer that.”
“I can’t, that’s why I’m asking.”
He took both her hands. “No, Queen Bee. I turned you away because I was waiting for you to show up naked and commit.”
“Here I am, then.”
He stepped forward and kissed her, then whispered into her ear, “I turned you away because I didn’t believe you. Now I do. So let me go tell my mother that she and I will have to catch up another time.”
“Wait, I can’t see her again. Not now.”
“Then go take a walk, come back in ten, and let’s try this again. The whole show. And this time, I’ll forgive you.”
She kissed him. “Deal. See you in ten.”
Seven days later
Moira rode in the taxi with Harold to the airport. She climbed out to say goodbye, and as they hugged, he said, “I’m going to come back and find you, okay? Soon as I get out of debt and figure out what I’m doing. Soon as I have a degree.”
He let go of her and thought they might kiss, but they didn’t. Cars rolled in behind them; travelers raced out with their bags.
“I did want to say something, though,” she said. “It’s strange to live in a world where no one knows your real name. I want you to know it. Just you, okay?”
“You sure? I won’t be able to not ChatGPT you.”
“I don’t care. I want someone to know the real me.”
He mulled that over.
“My real name’s—”
He put a finger to her lips. “No, don’t. I know the real you. Your name has nothing to do with it. How about you tell me next time we see each other? I know you can’t come to Denver, but I’ll be back.”
“You promise?”
“Yeah, I promise.”
She surprised both of them by kissing him.
“But we also promised we wouldn’t kiss each other,” he said.
They’d hung out the day after the dinner debacle at Corrado’s restaurant.
And the day after that. And all the days since.
But the one rule they’d made was that they couldn’t let a romance grow between them.
No kissing. Because saying goodbye would hurt so much worse.
Moira kissed him again. “Yeah, some promises are worth keeping. Others are just dumb.”
Three months later
George walked out into his backyard in Scottsdale. He couldn’t have imagined it, but he felt emotional saying goodbye to Mr. Nutz.
He filled his old bird feeder for the last time, saying, “I know you’re watching me. Come on out, you tree rat.”
When the feeder was full, he poured the rest of the seeds onto the rocks. A whole bag. “There you go. Have at it. I’ve got no fight left. This is my surrender.”
No sign of Mr. Nutz.
With a strange longing in his heart, he backed away and started to go. One day he might return with his squirrel feeder invention, but he’d put it on the back burner due to some major incoming life changes.
When he opened the door, he glanced back one more time. Mr. Nutz had shown his smug face and was now creeping toward the pile of feed.
“There you are.” George watched him eat for a while, then raised a hand. “Ciao, Mr. Nutz. I’ll say hi to your cousin in Bologna.”
Fourteen months later
With the help of her friends, Sandy had fallen back in love with The Only English Bookstore in Bologna.
And thanks to Moira and her relentless pursuit of dominating the bookstore world, they were having their best year yet.
The store had been featured in some of the latest travel blogs and had recently garnered all sorts of press for the event today, the European launch party for Bianca’s new release.
Book events were still kind of the worst, but it felt good to have a line around the block, and Sandy was proud of Bianca, who’d penned a new effort certainly worthy of celebration.
Bianca stood next to the devastatingly handsome Corrado under the cathedral ceiling, both of them smiling brightly as they chatted with a group of Megawatters, or whatever it was her groupies were called now.
The couple had a lot to be happy about. As of a week ago, Corrado was the newest chef in Italy to have earned a Michelin star.
And The Megawatt Detox: Recipes for a Slow Life had just hit the New York Times bestseller list. The publisher had rushed the release because Bianca’s uninhibited rants on Substack and Instagram had turned her into a superstar. What a life they were stepping into.
From her position behind the cash register, Sandy watched George working the crowd, pushing his daughter’s book like his life depended on it.
Okay, Moira didn’t deserve all the credit for their upward sales trend.
George was no doubt one of the best booksellers to have ever lived.
Maybe it was the green apron. Ever since taking the job, he’d started wearing one, for no other reason than he thought booksellers should don green aprons.
Even watching him work made her happy, and she felt so grateful that it had all worked out.
Once he’d shocked everyone by moving here in the spring, securing an apartment right around the corner, he’d started niggling Sandy about a job.
She’d refused to hire him a hundred times but had eventually caved and even let him open up an “American items” section.
The Doritos and Cheez-Its may or may not have had a little something to do with the uptick in sales.
Sandy would never admit it, though. Nope, not ever.
Sandy would, however, admit that having George around was wonderful.
No man had ever lifted her up so. Along with spending hundreds of hours on the phone with him, Sandy had visited him twice in Arizona while he’d been packing up, selling the house, and working on a visa, and now that he was here, they were officially a couple.
She looked at her green-aproned boyfriend.
What a strange word, boyfriend. They were too old for such a word.
How about lover, partner, significant other?
He was also the inventor of a squirrel feeder, the designs of which he was now shopping to manufacturers.
Who knew if there was a company out there crazy enough to bite?
And who knows, maybe she’d be crazy enough to give marriage another go if he ever asked her.
He spent most nights at her place anyway, and she adored waking up to him.
George must have sensed her watching him. He pressed Bianca’s book into a potential customer’s hand, then beelined it through the swarm of Megawatters for Sandy.
Winding around the counter, he said, “I think we might have to cut people off. Fire code issues.”
Sandy’s jaw dropped so low not even George R. R. Martin could have filled her mouth with words. “You know how long I’ve wanted this many people in my store? You can cut my arm off before you cut off that line.”
Sandy looked across the room at the two new sets of shelves they’d built. “If the romance section wasn’t so damned big,” she said, “we’d have more standing room for these perusers. This is what I get for letting you and Moira run the show.”
He cracked a charming grin. Drawing closer to her, he whispered, “Dammit, I love you, woman.”
She let him kiss her, then said, “I’ll believe it when you can say it to me in Italian. Or . . . if you ever get the guts to pull on one of those American-flag mankinis you insisted on me bringing in here.”
They both looked toward George’s “American items” shelf tucked into a corner near the stairs to her office. There were Pop-Tarts, Cheez-Its, Oreo cookies, marshmallows, jars of maple syrup, and Jif peanut butter. And on a rack at the end hung several pairs of American-flag Speedos.
Okay, she’d admit it. His efforts had drummed up some new customers. Whatever it took to keep the lights on.
George straightened his apron. “Did I ever mention my idea of turning the back room into a laundromat? They still don’t have dryers in this city. You can shop for books while you dry your clothes.”
“Oh, dear Lord, here we go,” Sandy said.
“And while I have you, I’m still on the lookout for a slushy machine.”
“A slushy machine?” It’s a good thing Sandy wasn’t in the middle of drinking Lambrusco, because she would have spit it all over him.
Out of nowhere came Moira in her own green apron. “Did I hear slushy machine?”
“Oh, yeah,” George said enthusiastically, winking at Sandy. Boy, did he have her number. “Sandy was hoping we could get a cherry blue-raspberry flavor.”
Moira’s eyes grew to the size of watermelons.
She’d been extra giddy lately because Harold was coming for a visit during his new school’s fall break.
“Perfect,” she said. “And oh, how pretty the bright slushy colors would be. Right at the entrance.” Then she leaped into an American accent that Sandy had never heard before, a not-so-bad Scarlett O’Hara.
“You know what I think would bring them in droves? Good ole American apple pie. Fresh baked, flaky crust, smell of cinnamon filling the store. I bet Sandy makes a mean apple pie, coming from the South.”
George offered a wretched yet adorable accent that evoked Atticus Finch. “I bet she does, Moira. It’ll be the only American apple pie in Bologna.”
Moira let out a cackle that likely shattered every window on Via Giulia. Cracking up herself, Sandy playfully began to massage her temples. The two of them loved razzing her. And you know what, Sandy deserved every bit of it.
Wiping away happy tears, she held out her arms. “Come here, you two buffoons. Give me a big hug.”
Lo and behold, the last of her icy walls did melt as Sandy squeezed tight two people who’d showed her that life wasn’t over yet; it would keep rolling out in front of her in true choose-your-own-adventure fashion.
Well, she was tired of crawling the cracked sidewalk to Lonelytown.
It was far better to be surrounded by those you loved—and books, of course, heaps of books—as you strolled the Yellow Brick Road toward the great unknown.