Chapter Twelve
Twelve
The moment I stepped into the pub, a chorus of voices rose and sang my name.
Blushing, I grinned and greeted some familiar faces along my way to the bar. Catena, Theo, and Quint were all busy pouring and serving drinks but stopped immediately to welcome me. The place was packed with a healthy Saturday night crowd, but Quint pointed to the bar stool on the right, which they’d saved for me.
“ Grazie. Come stai? ” I’d been looking up Italian words and committing phrases to memory. At first, I figured everyone spoke Sicilian here, but it was mostly Italian and English.
Quint’s golden eyes sparkled. “Ah, sono molto occupato e ho bisogno di andare in bagno .”
I wrinkled my nose. “I only know va bene .”
Catena appeared beside me, kissing both of my cheeks in greeting. “Ignore him, cugina . He is teasing you. He said he is very busy and needs to go to the bathroom.”
Quint laughed and I joined in. “I’ll remember that for next time.”
“Would you like to learn Italian?” Quint asked curiously.
I nodded. “I took Spanish in high school but never really spoke it. I think it would be wonderful to be able to have a conversation with my family. Even if they speak English. I expected to hear Sicilian dialects.”
“We are taught English and Italian when we are young. It is much harder in school when you do not hear it spoken around you,” Catena said, gathering up some empty plates. “Nonna and Babba will sometimes use a Sicilian expression but mostly speak Italian.”
“Mom never spoke Italian in the house,” I murmured. “I didn’t even know she knew the language.”
Catena patted my hand sympathetically. “Your mamma hid many things, but so did our parents. I am shocked we did not hear about it through gossip. All this time, Theo and I had no idea.”
Quint slid a glass of red wine in front of me—the same I’d liked before. “We do know how to keep our family secrets,” he said quietly. “I’m sure your grandparents made sure no one would mention it. They take care of their own here.”
I thought about his statement, which made me immediately imagine the Mafia, but I knew he meant it differently. For my mother to disappear and my cousins not to know about her existence must have required a big production of a cover-up. And they’d pulled it off.
I bet my grandfather led the entire process.
Theo came over, along with one of my second cousins, whom I’d met yesterday. A plate filled with mini fritters and a side of asparagus was placed in front of me. “What’s this?” I asked.
“Just a light dinner,” Quint said, resting both arms on the bar. His biceps stretched his T-shirt, but he wasn’t bulky like Jason. His muscles were leaner and more defined. I tried not to notice how perfectly he filled out his tight jeans. “Chickpea fritters with wild asparagus. I won’t bring out the bread.”
My lips twitched. “ Grazie. I’m still recovering from yesterday.”
He cocked his head. “Did you follow all my rules?”
“Yes. My grandfather yelled at me, so I ate the bread, too.”
One dark brow rose. “Ah, you did the right thing. Was it horrible, eating the bread?”
I shuddered at the memory of the firm crust and warm dough, which was almost orgasmic. “Yes. It was very horrible. I need a safe word if I ever go back there for dinner.”
Laughter danced in his eyes. “I will give you one, but you must only use it in emergencies. Capisci? ”
I couldn’t help it. I propped my elbows on the bar and leaned in. “Tell me.”
The energy charged between us. “You say, basta .”
I blinked. “I heard that word! One of my cousins yelled it.”
Quint nodded seriously. “You do not take this lightly. It means ‘no more,’ but you may only use it sparingly.”
“Got it. What do I owe you?”
He pulled at his beard and regarded me. “A favor. I will let you know when.”
I opened my mouth to give a smart retort, but someone called his name and he drifted to the other end of the bar. Shifting in my seat, I tried to make sure I wasn’t blushing. I didn’t mean to be flirting, but I thought I was. There was something about his masculine energy that pulled me in; the lazy warmth of his eyes and mischievous smile made my knees a bit weak. I watched him engage with a beautiful woman, pouring her some wine, and knew I was one of many among his admirers.
I ate my meal, drank my wine, and talked with everyone. I noticed my purse shaking a few times, so I checked my phone and found a stream of anxious texts from one of my clients.
Aurora, where r u? I need to talk. Now.
Please call me back. I need to make a decision and can’t do this alone.
It’s an emergency! I’ve emailed and left messages and can’t find you!
My stomach flipped and I got up from the stool. “Be right back. It’s a work call,” I said, stepping outside. I walked past the patio to a small grove of trees that lent some privacy. I took a deep breath and settled myself before calling her back.
“Desi, are you okay? It’s Aurora.”
The whimper on the other line was full of distress. I’d had a complicated journey with Desi for the past two years but had been happy with her recent results. She was high-maintenance and high drama and had very high standards. Most of her issues revolved around her insistence on perfection, from her physical looks and weight to her need to stand out in her career as an art curator. I never minded working with her, because she embraced my advice and any actionable direction. But in the past few months, I’d relied on texts and emails rather than face-to-face dialogue. I couldn’t seem to get super excited over her gain of three pounds or worry she wouldn’t fit into her new Gucci dress.
So I had been doing the exact thing I counseled my clients not to do.
Avoidance.
“I’ve been desperate to reach you. Thank God you’re finally getting back to me. Where have you been?”
I winced at her accusation. “I’m so sorry—I’m in Sicily on family business. Reception has been difficult, so I must’ve missed your calls,” I lied smoothly.
“I have a terrible problem that I need help navigating. I told you about my new boss, right? He’s straight from Switzerland and thinks he knows what art sells in New York. It’s ridiculous, but the gallery won’t listen to me.”
“Yes, I remember. What happened?”
Her voice got choked. “It was terrible. I don’t even know how to say it!”
A chill skated down my spine. “Desi, is he harassing you? Did he hurt you or threaten you?” I swore I’d do anything to help her in such an overwhelming situation, my mind already jumping through various responses.
“No, not that. But, Aurora, I spent hours setting up the new display for our art show, and he marched in and changed the whole thing! I was in shock. True shock. And when I began to correct him, he said I needed to trust him to try it his way. Honestly, I think he was humoring me! As if I were some type of minor assistant rather than the assistant director. I’m so upset, I can’t even breathe. I need to sit down.”
She panted into the phone. It took me a few moments to switch perspective and realize it was about the placing of paintings. I’m sure it was hurtful, though, to be questioned in her role. Many women had confidence issues, and a man demanding a task be done his way could cause real challenges. “I’m so sorry you’re going through this,” I offered. Accepting each client’s problem was key in establishing connection and trust. “Do you usually set up the shows? Is he trying to take over your responsibilities?”
“Well, no, it’s not technically my job. But our last director gave me free rein, and now this man suddenly wants to take it back. And then something worse happened, Aurora. I have to admit it to you. I got upset and I couldn’t reach you and I—well, I—”
“You can tell me anything,” I encouraged her, pacing back and forth.
“I ate two Oreos. Not just one. I had two, and even after I washed my hands and brushed my teeth, I still tasted the chocolate. It was awful. I opened up a portal and I need you to help me close it.”
I blinked. Had I once believed this was important? I vaguely remembered having a passionate in-depth conversation about her downfall at Dairy Queen when the new Blizzards came in and she’d eaten a mini. We worked out an action plan that began with forgiving herself, then moved to slowly increasing her workout by five minutes and upping her magnesium for the sugar cravings.
Now? Part of me wanted to tell her to just enjoy the damn Oreos and start again tomorrow. Because eating that bread at my grandparents’ house?
It had made me happy.
“Aurora? What should I do?”
I pulled out my tried-and-true lecture cornerstones and inflected passion into my voice. “Desi, one failure does not make a life. Success relies on multiple small steps that lead to finishing a goal. When did you eat the cookies?”
“Yesterday,” Desi said miserably. “After seven p.m.!”
“First, you’re going to increase your water intake today and flush out the remaining toxins. Then you’re going to forgive yourself. Would you yell at and punish a friend who’d had a bad day and indulged?”
“No. Never.”
“Then you will not do that to yourself. Are the Oreos all gone?”
She hesitated. “No.”
“You’re going to take the rest of the bag and throw it in the garbage. Then you will take the garbage bag out and put it in the trash can so it’s no longer in the house.”
“Yes. Yes!”
“When you go back into work, you are going to have a calm, rational dialogue with your new boss. You will smile and explain to him that you had gotten used to being responsible for the setup and would still like to keep the job. You will thank him for giving you new ideas that you will implement. If he disagrees and still wants to do it, you should remain open to his viewpoint and take pictures of the setup. After the event, it will be easier to track flow and see if it was a success. A winner allows herself to admit others may do it better. There’s nothing wrong with that—it’s how we learn and become the best.”
“Yes! I can do that. I’ll wear my pin-striped Vera Wang suit in Barbie pink for power!”
“Excellent.” I wrapped up my motivational speech, whipping up her confidence and taking her through a visualization. Finally, I hung up, knowing I had done my job and done it well.
I tapped into that place of satisfaction and joy at knowing I was doing exactly what I was born to do.
And still I felt…nothing.
I pressed my hand to my stomach and wondered why helping her had left me empty. As if I were putting on a show and not really connecting with Desi or her problems. Talking with Dr. Sariah was reminding me I wasn’t a therapist and that my obsession with action might not be what all my clients needed after all.
Maybe my entire career was fake.
I lowered my head and fought for breath as the realization crashed down around me.
“Aurora.”
The low, sexy voice pierced my panic, and I looked up to see Quint in front of me. He slowly reached out to gently grip my upper arms as I swayed on my feet. My skin tingled and I had a sudden craving to step into his arms, but he dropped both hands to his sides as soon as I steadied.
“Are you okay?”
I gave a quick nod. How embarrassing. I wondered how much he’d seen. I must’ve looked ridiculous having a panic attack over a simple conversation about Oreos and painting placements. I forced a smile. “Yes, sorry. It was just a client. I’ll get back inside.”
“No need. Everything is good. I’m on a break—want to sit with me for a bit?”
“Oh, um, sure.”
I followed him to a quiet bench away from the busy tables and sat beside him. The shadows closed around us, and after a few moments of comfortable silence, I began to relax. He gave off a calm energy, and weirdly, I didn’t feel the need to reach for conversation.
“How are you doing with everything?”
I tilted my head, wondering about his question. “Good.”
He turned. A smile tugged at his full lips. I tried not to focus on his mouth and to ignore my heated cheeks. Lord, I felt like a hormone-ridden teenager. “I do not think I would be good. It must be very difficult to face so much change in a short period. Losing your mom. Finding relatives you never knew about. Traveling to Sicily to learn the truth. It is okay if you are struggling.”
I wondered about the last time I was honest about feeling overwhelmed. With Jason, I’d tried explaining, but he was disappointed in my lack of strength. The public wanted to use my story to twist their own narrative of me as a popular figure, not caring about me as a person. And with Dr. Sariah, I was paying her so I could vent. Crying with my family had helped me release some of my loneliness from losing Mom, but I hadn’t confessed my fear regarding my career path. How everything seemed to be slipping away and I wasn’t sure how to get back to the person I once was.
Or if that was even possible.
I managed to sound light and teasing. “Are you offering to keep my secrets safe?”
He grinned. Warmth threaded his voice. “I’m offering to be a friend. Sì. I will keep your secrets.”
A shiver crept down my spine at the intimacy. A sudden impulse to share with a stranger in the shadows overcame me. “I’m having a hard time with my job. Everything was going so well, and then I lost my mom, and suddenly, I was unable to do anything. I figured with some time, I’d be back to myself, but it’s already been six months and I’m still a wreck.”
“Six months is not a long time,” Quint said. “Not when you’re mourning a parent.”
“I know.” Frustration curled in my belly. “But work used to be my safe place. I figured I’d lose myself there while I heal, but it’s been the opposite.”
“You are a life coach? Your job is to help people do certain things?”
“Yes. They state a goal they want to attain, and I help them get there. I also run a podcast, and I had a mini breakdown during one of the tapings. Now I’ve lost guests who were scheduled and sponsors, and I had to delay new episodes.”
“Catena said you are also writing a book?”
“Yes, but I can’t seem to write. The publisher delayed its publication, so I don’t even know when it will be released. I haven’t been able to finish it. I’m failing at everything I used to be good at.”
I waited for his good-intentioned advice, or a soothing gesture to show he was sympathetic. Poor guy was probably dying to run back inside and escape the ridiculous American who had her life tied up in knots. Strangers didn’t go around dumping their messes on one another. I figured whatever he told me, I’d accept with a grateful thank-you and go back inside to forget the whole encounter.
“Sometimes, failing is good.”
I blinked. “No, it’s not. I mean, sure, you need to fail while you’re learning, but I’ve invested plenty of time and effort specifically so I wouldn’t fail. I have no excuse. Don’t you think I should be pushing forward rather than giving up?”
Quint didn’t seem bothered by my rant, but he also didn’t brush it off. “I think there are different types of failures. Some can be used as tools to ask better questions. Go deeper. If we never stop to question ourselves or our happiness, how will we ever know we lost our way?”
I bit my lip and considered his comments. “Are you saying this may have happened because I’m not supposed to be a life coach anymore?”
“No. Not if you love being a coach. Or being big on social media. Or writing a book. Maybe this grief was a gift rather than a punishment. It has forced you to see all the things you have kept hidden. It has made you pause so you can choose again.”
Oh, this was a lot. I stared at the man calmly giving a speech that rivaled a TED talk. Even Dr. Sariah had never challenged me on this. I thought about my mother questioning how I used my time, afraid I had lost my way. I thought about Jason and me constantly racing toward our next goal without stopping along the way to breathe. All the pressure throbbed in my head and my body.
A confession ripped me apart. “I don’t believe in my ability to help people anymore. I used to think I had all the answers, but I realize I don’t. Honestly, I have no idea what I’m doing lately. But what’s worse? I’m questioning whether everything I worked so hard for is no longer what I want, and it scares the hell out of me.”
The weight on my chest eased and my lungs opened to allow in more air. Saying the words aloud was terrifying but also freeing.
Quint slowly nodded, and his hand reached out to snag mine. I caught my breath at the shock of his skin, at the rough weight of his fingers entangled with mine, the strength of his grip. It wasn’t a sexual gesture but one of support and security. “Do you feel you should always have the answers?” he asked.
I bit my lip. “Usually? Yes. I need to know the right steps so I can help my clients. But here I am, unable to advise anyone. Quint, I haven’t written a word of this book I swore I’d finish by end of summer. I’ve lost interest in motivational videos and my podcast. Everything I worked for and believed in is slipping away. What’s going to happen to me? To my business?”
His gaze met and held mine. His eyes burned with an amber light that made me want to linger and look deeper. To know his secrets and what made this man who he was. Quiet confidence vibrated in his tone when he spoke. “Sometimes, events change us. Losing your mother forced you to look at things in your life differently, and you are making new choices about what feels right. There is nothing wrong with this, cara . You are growing.”
I sifted through his answer and realized it was the first time I’d heard my breakdown termed in a good way. Dr. Sariah had mentioned the same concept, but I’d been too busy berating myself to listen. Jason had only exacerbated it, though blaming him for trying to help wasn’t fair.
“How do you know?”
His sigh disappeared into the night and wafted away. “Because I have lived this. I lost my mother, too.”
I sucked in my breath and automatically leaned toward him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“She was sick for a while, but it did not make things easier. My father worked in the fields and we were never close. He was a hard man, but I know he loved us.” Quint paused as if searching for the rest of the story and how to explain. “My sister, Carmella, was young. One of my aunts would come and take care of us, but Carmella had trouble. She became difficult. Acted out.”
I was a full-blown adult and had fallen apart. I couldn’t imagine dealing with such grief at a delicate age. “It must’ve been extremely difficult.”
“ Sì. I decided I would be the one to care for her. I was in university when this happened, so I came home and stayed to help. All of my plans were gone. I was going to study business and travel. Maybe move to the US or somewhere new.” His eyes flickered with the memories. “Instead, I gave it up and raised Carmella. Worked in the local restaurant and learned a new trade. I’d always liked to cook, so I did more of that. Eventually, I was able to join Catena and Theo and have something of my own.”
I thought of him alone with his sister. Abandoning his own dreams for his family and an unknown future. “Carmella is lucky to have you.”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “I am lucky I have her. I think you are too hard on yourself, Aurora Rosa York. You have not allowed time for the empty spaces to be filled again. This takes time and patience.”
“I’m stubborn.”
He chuckled. “That is good. It means you are a fighter.”
“So I should just stop worrying and let the universe guide me? Trust in the unknown and all that good stuff?” I frowned. “I don’t like that at all. I work better with being the master of my own fate.”
“Maybe you are forcing yourself to be who you were, not who you are now.”
His thumb pressed into my palm. I studied his face: the rough lines of his features, the fierce dark brows, the sexy scruff of his beard hugging sensual lips. My entire body surged with heat and a deep understanding of what this man had gone through. How he’d chosen to live after tragedy. How he’d sacrificed to take care of his sister and was proud of it.
“Quint?”
“Yes?”
“I feel better.”
His smile made breath gush into my body in one big rush, making my head spin. “I am glad.” Quint released my hand and I mourned the loss. “You have family and friends who care about you.”
“Are you my friend?”
I opened my mouth to take it back and say I was joking, but he nodded, his gaze serious and intent. “ Sì. I am your friend and am here if you need me. Capisci? ”
“ Capisco. ”
We walked back into the pub. Back to the laughter and light and revelry. But for a long time, I replayed our conversation in the shadows and wondered why his offer of friendship seemed like the best gift I’d been given in a long time.