BONUS SCENE
FIVE MONTHS LATER
NATALIE
“It even smells Italian,” I say to Gabe, virtually swinging from his arm as we stroll along a narrow curving cobblestone street in Florence.
“And what exactly does Italian smell like?” He looks at me with that smile, the one that says I love you all the more for your odd little ways.
I take a deep lungful of the warm air. “Sunshine and dust and old buildings. With an edge of something sweet.”
“And that, Bugs, is why you are the wordsmith in this marriage.” He wraps his arm around my waist and dips his head for a quick, soft kiss on my lips as we continue walking.
Marriage. The word still makes me smile and brings a warmth to my chest.
It’s been five months since that fabulous Christmas Eve afternoon in the bandstand by the pond. But it’s still hard to believe it’s real. That Gabe and I are married. That he’s my person. That we are going to be together forever.
We had to delay the honeymoon until we knew whether the Apollos had made it to the playoffs. Of course we were both upset that they didn’t, but it meant we could get away in May, before the start of my summer programs. And we could not have picked a better time for the weather. It’s perfect summer dress and sandals temperature, and the sky seems to be a different blue than it ever is at home.
“Are you going to tell me where exactly we’re going?” I ask Gabe.
We got off the plane only three hours ago. And wow, what a flight it was. I’d never even dreamed of traveling first class. It was a whole other world. Food and drink on demand, real china and cutlery, so much leg room that I was able to get out of my window seat and walk past Gabe without disturbing him. And our seats were in a kind of pod that meant we could create our own little cocoon of privacy.
They even gave us pajamas. Pajamas! And super soft mini duvets. And the seats folded flat like actual beds.
I got a bit giggly about the whole thing. But that might also have been due to the free-flowing champagne.
Gabe had kept everything a secret from me, so when we boarded a flight to Paris yesterday evening, I thought that was where we were going. But then we hopped on a smaller, but barely less luxurious, plane for the short flight to Florence.
A driver was waiting for us when we got here, and it was a swift ride to the hotel.
And my goodness, the hotel. My jaw must have hit my feet when we walked into the lobby with its patterned tile floor, soaring arched ceilings covered with murals, and enormous sparkling chandeliers producing a soft sunny light.
The mahogany-colored low leather sofas on one side matched the wood-paneled front desk along the other. And the man and woman standing behind it looked like they could have stepped right out of Vogue—not a hair out of place, not a crease in their perfectly tailored, matching navy-blue suits, their smiles as welcoming as they were dazzling.
As for our room, it’s the stuff of dreams. A huge suite with rich lilac-and-lemon bedding, purple velvet sofa and chairs, thick-piled muted green rugs, and double glass doors leading out to a terrace overlooking the Arno river and the iconic terracotta-tiled Florentine skyline.
I could have wallowed there all day, donning the pale pink silk bathrobe after soaking in the giant claw-foot bathtub. Then sipping a cocktail on the terrace and engaging in some honeymoon-based activities on that sumptuous bed.
But there’s plenty of time for all that. Thanks to the good sleep we got on the plane, we were excited to get out into the city and explore, so we just freshened up and headed out.
Gabe definitely has a goal in mind though. He’s consulted his phone a couple of times and we’ve taken a few turns, so he’s obviously on a mission. And he’s being mysterious about it.
“It should be just around this corner,” he says, taking my hand. There’s a flash of nerves across his eyes as he scans the area like he’s looking for signs and is worried we might have gotten lost.
We make a left turn, and the narrow street quickly opens into a sunny, bustling piazza.
“Look at this.” My eyes dart around the magical scene, half expecting this to be a movie set we’ve stumbled onto by accident. “Everything here is perfect.”
Gabe squeezes my hand and lifts it to his lips. “You sure as hell are.” His beard tickles my skin when his mouth breaks into a smile as he kisses it.
“Oh, you’re ridiculous.” I pause for a moment and stroke his smooth upper cheek, rising to my tiptoes for a soft kiss.
“And right over there,” he says, looking over my shoulder, “is a bit more of that ridiculousness. But it’s for you.”
He rests his hands on my shoulders and gently turns me around until I’m facing a small storefront with a blue-and-gold-striped awning over a patio of matching blue and yellow tables and chairs. A planter below the large front window is packed with perky irises and daffodils, coordinating with the color scheme. It’s a moment before I read the sign over the awning.
Amoroso Gelati.
My heart does a rapid pitter-patter and my hand flies to my open mouth as I spin around to face Gabe. “This is why we’re here?”
“Of course. I don’t ship a single carton of ice cream from Italy to Warm Springs for just anyone, you know.”
I reach up to throw my arms around him, and he lifts me off the ground.
“But you haven’t read the note on the door yet.” He puts me down and leads me closer to the little store.
That’s when I see it. The notice in the small window of the pale yellow door, in Italian and English: Closed for a Private Event.
“Oh, that’s a shame.” My heart sinks, then immediately rebounds. “But not to worry. We’re here for a week. We can come back tomorrow.”
Gabe moves ahead of me and reaches for the door handle.
“Oh no,” I protest, for fear he’s going to do something embarrassing. “Please don’t ask them to make an exception for us. It really can wait.”
“No need to worry about that,” he says, sweeping the door open and gesturing for me to enter.
“What do you mean?”
But then it occurs to me that maybe…
“Natalie!” “Benvenuta!” “Welcome!” chime three smiling members of staff standing in the middle of the tiny store, wearing blue-and-yellow-striped aprons that match the awning over bright white T-shirts. Their white caps have Amoroso Gelati embroidered on them in blue thread.
The whole shop is packed with flowers—sunflowers, daffodils, tulips, irises. It feels like spring in here with the sun and sky colors of the walls and the scent of the flowers mingled with the sweetness of the ice cream.
In front of the window, there’s a single blue table with two yellow chairs. On it is a vase containing one iris and one yellow tulip, a flickering candle in a glass jar, and two champagne glasses.
I look at Gabe, who is looking at nothing but me. “I can’t believe you did this.”
“Do you like it?” He sounds unsure.
My heart melts and I stroke the strong, curved bicep below the sleeve of his T-shirt. “Does that question mean you’re worried about what I might think? After all the times you’ve told me to stop worrying about what anyone thinks of me?”
“That silly grin tells me you like it.” He runs a finger along my bottom lip. “But I thought I’d double-check.”
“Please.” One of the assistants, whose name tag reads Dario, indicates the table for two.
I tell him “Thank you,” as Gabe and I take our seats.
The other two assistants move behind the counter and its glass-domed display.
“I hear our Spring Strawberry is your favorite,” Dario says. “But first, champagne.”
One of the others reemerges from the counter holding a bottle wrapped in a white napkin. She fills our glasses with a smile and a quiet “Congratulations,” like she just learned that English word this morning.
“And we really have this place to ourselves?” I ask Gabe.
“Yup.” He holds up his glass. “We have it for the rest of the afternoon until they close. But we can leave whenever you like.”
The third assistant appears with two bowls, each holding a waffle basket containing a small scoop of strawberry ice cream crowned with a chocolate curl. The ice cream is surrounded by overlapping thin slices of strawberry.
“Oh my God, that’s so beautiful,” I exclaim her as she places them in front of us.
“Congratulations and enjoy,” she says with a smile before moving away.
“And this is for you to choose from afterward.” Dario lays menus edged with the signature stripes next to each of us. “And of course you are free to browse at the counter and see which flavor tickles your eyes as well as your taste buds,” he says.
I can’t help but giggle at the appropriate concept of the sight of an array of ice creams tickling my eyeballs.
I thank Dario, who joins his colleagues discreetly behind the counter.
I lift my glass and tip it against Gabe’s. “You’re amazing. I can’t believe how lucky I am to have a husband who’d plan all this secretly.”
“Don’t waste time thanking me when one of the finest desserts in the world is melting.”
And we sit here, in the window of a tiny shop in Florence, overlooking the bustle of a small sunny square, my heart full of Gabe, my taste buds full of strawberries and cream.
We finish at the same time and pick up our menus. Feeling slightly jet-lagged now, my mind is instantly boggled by the array of choices—summer berries with lemon, espresso cheesecake, pistachio and orange blossom.
“I might have to go see which one tickles my eyeballs,” I tell Gabe, rising from my seat.
“Before you go.” He reaches into his back pocket. “I have this for you.”
He hands me an envelope—it’s identical to the blue ones he uses for the letters he writes to me every day that we’re apart.
Most times they come in the mail, but if he’ll be home the next day, he’ll bring the letter with him and leave it somewhere in the house for me to find. Several times I’ve found one on his pillow when he’s been up before me to train. Once it was in the fridge next to the coffee creamer. And my favorite was when he left it on top of my phone, then went out and called me.
My heart stutters for a moment at the surprise of him handing one to me right now.
I slide it from his hand as I retake my seat. “But we haven’t been apart since the last one.”
“I know.” He pushes those thick fingers that are capable of causing my body such magic, through his lush dark hair. “This is an extra one.”
I slide a finger under the edge of the flap so it pops open without ripping—-the memory of Gabe’s story about opening his Christmas gifts carefully to save the paper has stayed with me.
There’s a single sheet of his crisp white paper inside, folded in half.
My chest trembles a little as I open it. Gabe’s never watched me read one of his letters before. It’s something I always do in private so I can smile, laugh, or shed a little tear without anyone knowing.
This note is just a few lines long.
Dear Bugs,
It might have been an injured shoulder that brought us together, but you have healed every part of me.
Italy is just the first country we’re visiting as husband and wife. I want to see the world with you.
This trip will be our first memory as a married couple. And I can’t wait for us to build a lifetime of new joint memories.
This honeymoon will end, but you will always be the joyful, light-filled woman I am proud to call my wife and am so lucky and privileged to have by my side in all things.
My crusty heart will love you forever.
Gabe.
P.S. Now go choose some more ice cream.
I sniff back the lump in my throat. No matter how many of these letters he sends, no matter if they’re funny, or sweary, or—like this one—chock full of love, the novelty will never wear off. They will always be special, and they will always kick me right in the feelings.
Drawn to him like a bee to nectar, I leave my seat and wrap my arms around his wide shoulders.
“I will love you forever too,” I whisper into his ear, almost forgetting there are other people here. I don’t want them to feel uncomfortable.
He swivels in his seat and pulls me into his lap.
Resting the tip of his nose against the tip of mine, he says softly, “I know you’re worrying about what the staff might think, but don’t.”
And he kisses me in a way that stops everything—stops my breath, stops my worries, and stops me from thinking about anything but him and me and that we get to be together forever.
He eases his mouth from mine, then comes back for one more light-as-air kiss as he pushes my hair off my forehead.
“Now, go do what the letter says.” He grins at me as he taps my hip. “Go choose your next scoop.”
I slide from his lap knowing the warmth of it will always be there to return to, whenever I like and whenever I need it.
Dario nods as I approach the counter to peruse the offerings.
Should it be the honey and almond, the dark chocolate with chili pepper, or the mango peach?
“I’m spoiled for choice,” I tell Dario.
“Choosing ice cream is like choosing life.” His rich Italian accent makes everything he says sound like poetry. “There are so many options. But you can only pick what feels right in the moment.”
I look back at Gabe, who’s reading his menu.
The only choice I am absolutely certain about is him. Gabe is my favorite flavor. And I would pick him every time. Over and over again. With or without a chocolate curl.
Natalie might currently be in beautiful, sunny Florence, but her heart will always be in Warm Springs. To head back there for more small-town shenanigans, pick up That Conflicted Feeling.
You’ll find that Polly, who owns the local produce store, and her husband Max started off as enemies rather than lovers…