Chapter 32
When I woke up, my guilty conscience immediately kicked in. I texted Laurie asking how things were. I only got a reply as I was on the way to training.
Radio silence. Pili’s picking me up.
We’re going shopping.
Under other circumstances, her staccato answers would have given me pause, but yesterday she had written to me and told me not to worry.
And that her brother had completely overreacted and needed to calm down.
I still felt guilty. Thanks to my blabbing, Vince was angry with his sister.
She’d only been worried about him. For whatever reason.
The most obvious one a failed relationship still weighing him down.
At least that’s how I had interpreted her statements.
Having said that, interpreting wasn’t one of my strengths.
Otherwise I wouldn’t have misinterpreted the signs so much, wouldn’t have been so quick to convince myself that Vince had feelings for me that went beyond a summer fling.
Did you think that I…was in love with you?
“Lou?” Kay’s voice tore me out of my thoughts.
“Hmm?”
“I asked you whether you were ready.”
I nodded, did a couple more shoulder rolls, and finished my warm-up.
The rest of the day I dove headfirst into training and enjoyed the break from the chaos in my head.
I ran back and forth from sideline to sideline, up to the net and back to the baseline, ran after balls I knew I’d never catch, and exhausted myself on serves.
I was too busy wheezing, panting, and sweating to give any further thought to what had happened between Vince, me, and Laurie.
* * *
“Laurie isn’t here,” Vince said later that evening, opening the door in a gray T-shirt with washed-out writing. He was barefoot and wearing a pair of shorts that reached his knees.
“I know. I wanted to see you.”
He didn’t move an inch, but I wasn’t going to let myself be intimidated.
“Can I come in?”
He silently stepped to the side, just enough to let me slip past. For a second, I was distracted by all the shrink-wrapped mattresses stacked up in the entrance.
“So, I wanted…”
To my dismay, he left me standing there on my own and walked off into the house.
“Um…hello?” I said at the exact same moment he called back, “I’ve got pasta on the stove.”
I followed him into the kitchen where there was indeed water boiling away in a pot. With his back to me, he lifted the lid, stirred, and closed it back up. Then he turned around, leaned back against the counter, and crossed his arms.
“You wanted…?”
It took me a moment to understand he was taking up our conversation again.
“To apologize to you. It was stupid of me to distance myself without explaining why.”
He didn’t respond, which suggested he wasn’t all that happy with my apology.
“I should have spoken to you before coming to any conclusions. And I’m sorry that you were worried about…what happened between us in your Jeep.”
Behind him the lid began to rattle, and he wheeled around to reduce the heat. Turning back to face me, his face was somewhat softer than before.
“You hungry?”
I blinked as if I’d misheard. “Does that mean you aren’t angry anymore?”
“It means I cooked too much pasta.”
A timid smile appeared at the corner of my mouth. Then I nodded. “Pasta would be great.”
“Then I’ll put some in that Tupperware there for you.”
I froze.
“That was a joke.” He chuckled. “You should have seen your face.”
I felt the soft redness creeping into my cheeks and rolled my eyes. Meanwhile, he lifted the lid and fished a noodle out of the water. He brought it to his mouth, and I began to stare at his lips a little too enthusiastically.
“Just right,” he decided while continuing to chew, and moved to dump the pot into a colander already in the sink.
“Should I set the table or something?” I asked, to have something to do other than just stand around.
“You can grab the pesto from the fridge.”
I nodded and opened the refrigerator. I scanned all the things inside, the foreign packages and brands, but nothing reminded me of the Barilla pesto I was used to in Munich.
“Um, are you sure that…”
“Glass jar, middle shelf.”
I flinched, as I hadn’t noticed him sidle up to me at all.
His mouth was so close to my ear I could feel his breath.
And then I made a mistake and looked to the side.
Brushed his cheek with the tip of my nose.
The unexpected touch made me take a step back, knocking my head on the door in the process.
“This okay?” he asked, taking a tiny step toward me.
I could feel the cold at my back, but, above all, his closeness.
Somehow I managed to nod. He stretched out a hand, and for a fraction of a second I thought he was going to caress my cheek.
But then he reached past me and grabbed a jar.
Although it was covered with a layer of plastic wrap, the smell of garlic and basil was powerful.
“I hope you like pesto Genovese.”
I was impressed by how easily the word rolled off his tongue. Whenever Dad tried to use any Italian words, my mother and I would burst out laughing.
“Of course. Though, to be honest, I’ve never had homemade pesto before.”
“It’s going to ruin you for any other kind.”
“Now, someone sounds a little convinced about their pesto skills.”
“It’s an old family recipe.”
“Isn’t that something that only happens in Hollywood movies?”
“In Hollywood movies and with the Trevis of Bologna. My Mom was Italian.”
“Oh! So…you grew up bilingual?”
“Not really. Mom tried, but…she preferred to speak English. When her dad accepted a job here in the States and they all moved over, she’d just turned five. I think she felt more at home here than she ever did in Italy.”
“What was her name?”
“Luciana.” He narrowed his eyes. “What?”
Only then did I realize I was smiling.
“Nothing.” Seeing his confused expression, I said, “A lot of people seem to have a hard time pronouncing Italian, but out of your mouth it sounds so…beautiful.”
My compliment seemed to embarrass him. He smiled in an unusually shy way before proceeding to pull off the plastic wrap. The pesto’s full aroma unfolded, and I let out an overjoyed sigh.
“That smells wonderful!”
He shrugged and his expression said nothing less than Told you so.
I watched him pull two plates out of a cupboard and load them with a generous portion of fusilli and a spoonful of pesto.
With a glance, he made sure I was okay with the amount.
Together we carried our plates outside onto the terrace.
The day’s heat was still shimmering across the wooden flooring, but a light breeze coming up from the ocean made it bearable.
The sun was low on the horizon and was bathing the sky in spectacular reds.
I slipped off my shoes and took a seat next to him on the patio sofa.
He balanced the plate on his lap and crossed his feet on the table, and I quickly followed suit.
We both had relatively large feet. There were tan lines around my ankles and the mint-colored polish on my toes was chipped in places.
At least I didn’t have any blisters or bruises, which was the order of the day during tennis season.
“Sorry, I didn’t ask you if you wanted anything to drink.” He made a move to stand up, but I grabbed his arm.
“I’ll get something later.”
His eyes flashed, and I realized what my statement had implied.
“Oh, um, I didn’t… I mean, if you’ve got plans, then…”
“I don’t have any plans.”
“Okay.”
A tiny smile appeared on my face, so I shifted my eyes to my pasta.
“Having said that, Laurie’ll be coming home soon, and the vibe could get a bit…frosty.”
“You’re still angry.”
It wasn’t a question. I knew the answer already. Which is probably why he didn’t reply but just shoved a forkful of pasta into his mouth.
“Forgiving me but not her is a little unfair, no?” I said carefully.
“Who said that I’ve forgiven you?” he replied, but his eyes didn’t stay serious for more than a second.
“True, you just had too much pasta. Why?”
“Why I made so much pasta?” He shrugged. “For tomorrow?”
“Or…for Laurie?” His expression told me I’d hit the bull’s-eye. “Be real. You don’t want to argue with her.”
“Of course not. I hate fighting. And I’m no good at it.”
“Kay would say otherwise.” A little more seriously I said, “End it. Extend an olive branch to her when she gets home.”
A thoughtful crease appeared on his forehead.
“Can I ask you something?” I added.
He looked at me expectantly.
“What did she mean when she said that…that you have a pretty hard time behind you?”
He didn’t answer right away. “I had a few problems at work before moving here.”
It was hard for me to hide my surprise. On the one hand, I’d assumed that it had to do with a woman. On the other, I had never asked myself what he did for a living. Had done. Still did? No, he was talking about his old job.
“What…um…what kind of job?”
He hesitated. “I used to work with computers.”
“Computers?” I said in surprise.
He laughed softly. “Not what you expected, huh?”
“Well, I mean, you don’t exactly look like the classic nerd.”
“Might’ve been part of the problem.” His laugh was more like a sigh. “Wasn’t for me in the long run.”
He was obviously giving me the abridged version, but I didn’t want to dig any further.
“I thought it had more to do with an ex,” I admitted.
With a mixture of surprise and amusement, he raised his brows.
“Well, ultimately, Laurie was afraid you’d…that you could…you know…fall in love with me. So, it seemed kind of obvious.” My voice came out weaker than I would have liked.
“Hmm.” He lowered his eyes to his plate. “I haven’t had a real relationship in quite a long time.”
“Me neither. Relationships are hard when you’re on the road the whole year. Every other week another country. Hotel room. Time zone. And long-distance relationships aren’t really my thing. I want to have the people I love around me. Sounds selfish, I know.”
“I don’t think so. And you’re right about the long-distance thing. They’re predestined to fail.”
“Have you had one before?”