Chapter 41
Forty-One
Mark
Unfortunately, a guy has to work, even if he chafes at every wasted hour not spent with a hypothetical tourist during her limited time in Rome.
On Friday afternoon, I leave the office early to pick up my car. My friend texted this morning that they were leaving Positano, and we agreed to meet at my apartment at noon for the transfer.
Halfway home while I’m waiting at a crosswalk, a text rumbles my phone. I used to not be so phone-obsessed, but the possibility that Lexington might have written has me yanking it from my pocket like it’s on fire.
Car broke down outside of Naples. Looking for a mechanic. Sorry.
I wipe the sweat from my forehead. Trying to find an available mechanic in Naples on a Friday afternoon midsummer? Sounds like the setup for a bad joke.
Arranging alternate transportation to my aunt and uncle’s house is going to be a problem. The light turns, and I stride across the street. Am I moving faster? Am I scrambling in any way? No. Being stuck in Rome doesn’t sound that bad.
I’ll give you one guess why.
But Nonna really wants me there. And it does happen to be a party in my honor. So I better do my best to work this out.
Walking faster now, I call Luca.
He answers with, “You don’t have your car, do you?”
Rose and Aurora, my younger cousins in Monte Migliore, are chattering in the background. Luca, Mariella, and their parents must already be there.
A pleasantly pungent smell hits the back of my nose when I enter my apartment building. Signora Capozzi must be cooking for her son again. He comes over almost every weekend, and I think his pores must be clogged with garlic. “Nope. The car’s dead in Naples. Go ahead and say it.”
“I told you so.”
At the top of the stairs, I unlock my door and walk inside. “Did that feel good?”
“Yup. What now? Uncle Beppe and Aunt Stella are already here. I saw on the newsfeed the trains are on strike again.”
“Well, it’s Friday, so no surprise.” I toss my keys onto the table and kick my sneakers off. “Guess I’ll look for a car rental.”
Luca lets out a cynical snort. “Good luck with that. We’re in high tourist season.”
“Someone will have a vehicle.”
“Call me back when you’re ready for another ‘told you so.’”
“You’re hilarious and overconfident.”
“Ditto.”
We hang up, and I start making calls, sipping on a cold glass of water and pacing the living room while I make my way through the list. Five, ten, twenty rental places—no available vehicles.
One guy says he has a Vespa still on the premises, but it’s reserved.
I keep calling until I’m out of rental companies. Freaking tourists.
I call a few friends who have cars, but all are out of the country on vacation or unavailable. Nonno and Nonna have been staying several days out at Monte Migliore. There’s no one left.
I set my cup in the sink and lean against the kitchen counter. The company with the reserved Vespa looks like my last shot. I call the guy back. “Me again. Any chance they don’t show up for their reservation?”
“That doesn’t happen often.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. The sun is coming in strong through the kitchen window like a do-or-die sword, a reminder of the fading afternoon. My window of opportunity (pun intended) to solve this and get to my own birthday party is shrinking by the minute. “What time is the reservation for?”
“One.”
I pull the phone away from my ear and check the time. Twenty minutes. “Thanks.”
I hang up and dash for my shoes and wallet. If whoever has this reservation doesn’t turn up, I can swoop in to rent the last Vespa. Otherwise, I guess I’ll be begging a tourist for mercy.
Which is not my forte. On my way out, I check the Uber prices to Monte Migliore. Yikes.
At the tiny rental office, the empty row of scooter parking spaces in front mocks my lack of planning.
I pull open the door and step into the bare-bones shop. The employee looks up from his desk. The guy can’t be more than twenty years old. “Can I help you?”
The last scooter rests against the wall, key dangling from the ignition. Okay, we’re all thinking it: In the movies the guy would hop on the Vespa, rev it while the panicked tween fumbles with the phone, and then bust through the glass walls and save the day.
I sink into the cheap customer chair. I am not that guy, and the scooter is only a step above an e-bike.
Plus, it’s painted baby blue and the helmet hanging from its handlebars has hippy flowers painted on it.
Not the getaway vehicle of my dreams. “Hi, I called earlier. Do you mind if I wait here and see if the renter shows up for that thing?”
He shrugs. “Sure, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up. She called to confirm a few days ago.”
I grimace. If I had a week to prepare my case, work out how to approach a stranger with this request, this might be only a mild disaster. In a few minutes? I’m doomed. I pull up the Uber app again.
Yeah. Three hundred euros out to the villa is worse. Barely.
“Could I—”
The door opens and I hear a familiar voice. “Mark?”
I whip my head around. Lexington. She’s wearing a dark green, sleeveless linen jumpsuit with loose, wide legs and black sandals. Every time I see her, I feel like I’m standing on top of the tallest building in the world. Exhilaration and goose bumps.
“Hey, you. I thought I wouldn’t see you until tomorrow.” I’m out of my seat and standing in front of her before I process what’s going on.
Then I put the facts together and my smile fades. I should have remembered. On the plane. She told me she’d reserved a rental.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, Lexington.” This isn’t her problem, and I’m not ruining her Italy plans. She thought ahead. She lined up all the details for this trip.
“Are you here for a Vespa rental too? That’s a crazy coincidence.”
She glances around, as if seeing the office and the baby scooter for the first time. “Is there only one rental left?”
“Yeah, it’s yours.”
She tilts her head. “Did you have somewhere you need to be?”
“Don’t worry about it.” I should just go instead of standing here making this awkward.
“Mark.” She sets her hands on her hips and pins me with a be-honest stare. “Either you need a Vespa rental, you know this guy, or you’re stalking me. Which is it?”
“Don’t know him,” the employee says, pushing his glasses higher on his nose.
I toss my hands up. “Thanks for having my back, man.”
“I’ll let you two sort this out.” The guy disappears through a door at the back, leaving it open.
I rub my neck. “I was supposed to drive out to Monte Migliore today—”
“Oh, that’s right, your event thing!” Her face shows the chagrin I feel.
“Right, and the friend who borrowed my car won’t get back in time. That scooter is too pansy for my manliness anyway, so don’t worry about it.”
She grins, but bites her lip. “I would let you take it, but I have to fulfill a promise. Tomorrow and Sunday I’ll be busy with the festival, so it has to be now.”
Because then she’s out of time. Neither of us mentions the After the Festival.
I reach for her hands, massaging her palm. “Promises are important. I promise, for example, not to make fun of you in that flower helmet. Now go sign that paperwork.”
She glances from our hands up to my face, and her smile asks me loads of questions we can’t answer right now. “Where’s that town you need to drive to? I’m going north. Maybe we could double up if we’re headed in the same direction.”
“Due south. You don’t need to solve this for me. I’m a big boy, I’ll manage.” I tuck her hair behind her ear. “Now put that helmet on so I can not make fun of you.”
She shakes her head, and her smile is full of that sweet nature I saw in the airport, wanting to ease someone else’s trouble. “I only need the Vespa for a few hours. If I’m back by five o’clock, would that give you enough time to get to where you need to be?”
“Yes, but—”
The employee pokes his head through the doorway from where he’s clearly been listening. “Only thirty more euros a day to add a driver.”
I toy with her pinky finger. “You don’t have to do this.”
“We have time to both use it today.” Her chin dips, and she looks up at me from under her lashes, playful. “I refuse to be a tourist leaving a mess for someone else to fix.”
Like me, she must remember every stupid word I spoke on that plane ride. “Lexington, I’m sorry I—”
Her eyes shine in amusement. “I’m teasing. My real motivation is to even the hero score.”
“Passport and lira versus a Vespa half-rental? Consider it almost even.”
She slaps my arm as we head for the paperwork on the desk. “Pick it up at my hotel?”
I smile. “I’ll be there. Seriously, Lexington, thank you.”
I know how I want to pay her back for this, and it’s a win-win reward.
We sign the paperwork, split the price, and I wait until she sets the flower helmet on her head, looking adorable, before I leave.
I start counting the hours until I see her again.