Chapter 9 #3
The smile on Matteo’s face disappeared. “I have some dead relatives we can talk about instead.”
I laughed. “He’s certainly charming.”
Matteo grunted. “He’s something…”
“He thinks we’re soulmates.”
“Oh yeah?” He stabbed at his risotto with his fork. “So you’re going to go out with him?”
“Gosh, no. He’s nineteen.”
“His last girlfriend was in her thirties.”
“Well, even if the age difference didn’t bother me, I don’t believe in soulmates. That’s just branding for the idiots who don’t sign a prenup.”
Matteo chuckled, and the tension that had been in his face since I’d mentioned Tomasso seemed to dissipate. “Glad you declined. Now I won’t have to kick the kid’s ass if he does something wrong.”
“What might he have done wrong?”
Matteo’s eyes dropped to my lips. “Taking you out, for starters.”
Oh, wow. Not what I expected for an answer. I wasn’t even positive if he meant it the way I took it, but I liked it when he looked at me that way—like he was hungry for more than just what was on his plate.
I shoved more risotto into my mouth to keep from saying something I’d regret, and when I looked over at Matteo’s plate, I found it empty. “Would you like more?”
“Sure. But I’ll get it.” He stood. “You keep eating.”
Matteo came back with a second heaping plate and refilled both our wine glasses before digging in.
“Thank you,” I said. “By the way, while you were upstairs working, I took the tarp off the Vespa. It’s not just purple it’s bright purple.”
“Your grandmother, she got it a few years back. She zipped around town like a madwoman on dat thing.”
Picturing it made me smile. “It started right up. Would you mind giving me a lesson?”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea, but if you insist on driving it, yeah…I teach you.” He lifted his wine glass, tilting it to me. “In the daylight, when we aren’t finishing a bottle of wine.”
“Okay!” I smiled. “Also, would you happen to know where my grandmother’s sister lives? The attorney gave me an envelope to give her.”
“Anna?” He nodded. “She’s in Cortona.”
“Any chance you know the address so I can pop it into Waze?”
“No, but if you’re gonna visit her, you’re going to need someone to translate for you. She doesn’t speak any Inglese.”
I twisted my lips. “Hmm… Maybe Tomasso can come with me.”
Matteo frowned and shook his head. “Cute. I’ll take you after your scooter lesson.”
We finished eating, and I washed the dishes while Matteo dried.
The sink was in front of a picture window that looked out to the yard, to my grandmother’s tree garden that was apparently more of a memorial.
I lifted my chin as I passed Matteo the last plate.
“I planted the oak this morning before I went to the attorney’s office. ”
“How’d that go?”
“Fine. But it feels different sitting out there on that swing now that I know what all the trees represent.”
“Different bad or different good?”
“Good, I think. This morning, I felt closer to my grandmother and my mom than I have in a long time. You wouldn’t happen to know which tree she planted for my mom, would you?”
Matteo tucked the last plate into the cabinet and closed the door. “I don’t, but I can show you how to find out.”
“What do you mean? Is there a map or a key of some sort?”
He nodded toward the door. “Grab your wine. Come.”
Outside in the yard, Matteo stood next to one of the smaller cypress trees. He pointed. “Whose initials are LB?”
I pushed up to my tippy toes. Sure enough, there were two letters carved into the tree. “Oh my God. That’s probably Louis Bianchi. He was my grandfather’s brother. He died two or three years ago.”
“Well, that’s your key to which tree is for which person.
Each has a carving for the person it was planted for.
Sophia came out here with a knife, and she marked them up herself.
Some of them are probably pretty high by now—a cypress tree grows about thirty to sixty centimeters, one to two feet, a year—so you might need a ladder to figure out some of the older ones. ”
I looked up, using my hand to shield my eyes from the late-day sun. Some of the trees had to be fifty feet tall. “My mom and dad died fourteen years ago, so theirs are probably pretty high.”
Matteo lifted his chin to two tall trees standing next to each other. “Those look to be about the same height. Probably seven and a half meters or twenty-five feet, so the growth, it fits the timeline. My guess is those are probably for them.”
I stared up at the stately evergreens. “I bet you’re right.”
My heart swelled as I walked to the smaller of two lemon trees. “This is marked R.D. I’ve been wondering who got the fruit trees. But I’m not sure who that is?”
“It’s your grandmother’s second cousin. I only know because I carried the seedling out of da car a few years back, and when I asked her why a lemon tree, she say Rosa was a sourpuss.”
I laughed. “That’s so my grandmother.”
I spent a few minutes looking around at the markings on the smaller trees. When I looked over at Matteo, he was leaning against my grandfather’s oak, watching me.
“What?”
“Nothing. You just look relaxed right now. You don’t have the little lines between your brows that you did when you got here.”
“You know, you’re not supposed to point out imperfections on a woman.”
He smiled. “A few small lines aren’t imperfections. They’re your story.”
“I guess I am more relaxed than I’ve been in a while. At least I think I am. The feeling is so foreign that I can’t be sure.”
His gaze flickered down to my lips and back to meet my eyes. “It looks good on you.”
Something in my belly stirred. “Thank you again for today.”
He nodded once and looked at me like he was going to say something before changing his mind. “I should get going.”
“I think I’m going to stay out here and swing for a bit while I finish my wine. I’ll see you tomorrow for my Vespa lesson? Would around nine work?”
He shook his head, but a smile threatened at his lips. “I’ll be here.”