Page 49 of In Italy for Love

‘I’m not jealous of Davide right now,’ he responded, searching for her mouth again and drawing out a deep kiss. ‘I’m sorry I made you think I didn’t want you. That first date was…’

‘What was it?’ She drew back with a wry smile. ‘I’ve been trying to work that out myself.’

‘A surprise,’ he finished – inadequately, but the word would have to do for now.

She shivered and he noticed how cold he was himself. With a sigh, he dropped his hands from her face and looked around for his phone.

‘I’ll have to call the breakdown service. I have no idea how long it will take them to come out this way. Can I call you a taxi?’

She shook her head as he found the number. ‘If you have to wait here, I’ll wait too.’

The time estimate was three hours. ‘It’s a busy Saturday night,’ he explained to Jules in dismay after he disconnected the call.

But her response was a shrug. ‘These things happen,’ she said lightly, stretching in her seat. She glanced at him. ‘I thought you said this was the crossroads of Europe. Surely there should be a tow-truck on standby at all times.’

He clicked his tongue at her, but gestured her closer at the same time. ‘You’ve had leaves in your hair all afternoon.’He picked them off and carefully untangled the twig from her ponytail, trying not to think of Berengario’s words about wanting to take care of her. It was his character, that was all.

She might know a little about his situation now, but they’d still promised each other no expectations – especially not the expectation that she might stay longer than necessary.

‘Your passport will be on its way soon, yes?’ he forced himself to ask.

She nodded. ‘I had an email from the Italian passport office saying the application had been approved. That one might be another week. My new Australian one should be on its way too, according to the processing times.’

‘Mmph,’ was all he managed to say in response.

‘Do you think… we’ll keep kissing for that time? More?’ She peered at him guardedly.

‘I want to,’ he answered, a little dismayed that she’d been reckless – brave – enough to ask.

‘But?’

Had he implied a ‘but’? Perhaps there was always a ‘but’ with him: he was singlebuthe’d been married and his wife had died; he liked her a lotbuthe’d belonged to someone else first; they were good together in bedbutshe would never have a chance to get to know him properly in such a short time.

‘Well, I don’t sleep well. I told you that.’

‘Is that since she died?’

He nodded, the feelings rising in his throat.

She studied him and apprehension tightened in his chest again, wondering what she saw, what the damage was three years after the worst had happened.

Glancing away as though she’d seen enough, she gave his hand a brief squeeze then snatched hers back. ‘Your hands arefreezing! How are we going to manage three hours of this?’

Peering back at the rustic restaurant, shuttered and empty, he said, ‘Maybe Gabriella leaves a key out.’

Arco was the first to zip inside after Alex jiggled the back door of the restaurant open. Maddalena had called her friend to ask about a key, so thankfully they weren’t breaking and entering. Apparently Gabriella was in Udine for the evening and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow.

Alex had to duck under the lintel as he followed Jules into the lingering warmth of the kitchen and switched on the light. She still felt a glow under her skin when she looked at him, fired up again by the kisses in the car. She wasn’t looking for everlasting love, happily-ever-after any more, like the foolish twenty-five-year-old Jules who’d fallen for Luca and turned her life upside down. But whatever ‘this’ was between them, she was pleasantly tipsy on it.

Following Arco through the archway and into the dining room, Jules sighed with relief to find the air still warm. Alex gestured to an old stove in the corner and she approached happily, pressing her palms to the pink glazed tiles that still held heat from the fire.

Arco turned in a circle and squeezed into the space between the stove and the table beside it, while Jules slipped into the bench seat to admire the heavy old beams in the ceiling and the rusty ironwork nailed into the exposed stone walls. In the middle of the room was a fireplace, open on all sides, with an enormous decorative flue hanging from the ceiling above, plastered and edged with red and white fabric.

‘That,’ Alex said, following her gaze, ‘is a lovely fogolâr.’

‘It’s a real fire hazard,’ she responded.

He lifted his hands in a shrug. ‘That too. Gabriella said there was some jota left in the fridge that we can have. I’ll put it on to warm.’

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